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Artist Brian Mock has a visionary gaze, and under it, unwanted nuts and bolts, keys, springs, gear shifts, chains, butter knives, bike parts, and more become majestic lions, mardi gras masks, loyal dogs, cowboy boots, grizzly bears and portraits showing facial expressions. All are life-size—some even larger than life (he just finished up a 7.5 ft guitar for the Hard Rock Hotel in Dublin and previously made a 9 ft one for a hotel in Nashville); and all are meticulously crafted.
Based just outside Portland, Oregon, Mock taught himself to weld in the ’90s after years of drawing, painting, and woodworking. A tight budget forced him to practice on scrap metal, but he soon found unique inspiration in needing to mine what was available rather than dashing to the store. Plus, his work was keeping “junk” out of the landfills.
When exploring his up-cycled creations, you’ll notice all the bits and pieces, and imagine how they were formerly used, and then, how they were discarded to rust and pollute our soils and waterways. Mock has salvaged 20–30 tons of metal thus far, making every piece burst with life again.
I’ve always been a resourceful person, so it was natural for me to gravitate towards a profession in recycled materials. I find the items so interesting to work with–knowing that they had a purpose and a story before becoming something completely new in the art.
I usually start with a rough sketch to give me some direction on measurements, but other than that, I let the pieces guide me–that’s a great way to put it. I have a large inventory to choose from, and keep lots of bins on hand to rummage through as I go, grabbing pieces and fitting them together like a jigsaw puzzle.
I’ve been collecting for years from local machine and auto shops that give me free access to their dumpsters, from people who are looking to offload garages full of grandpa’s old stuff, and occasionally, from scrapyards. But almost all of the material I have has been donated, which I’m extremely grateful for.
This type of work limits me to using only what I have on hand. Sometimes I think about how much easier my job would be if I could go out and buy a specific piece I may need. Instead, if I can’t find the perfect piece in my piles, I have to make it.
I do, yes. I think that by design, my sculptures ask us to evaluate the waste created by our consumer culture, and question how we as individuals can do a better job at reusing items we’ve been quick to throw out, which end up in landfills that are detrimental to our planet’s health.
I really enjoy making musical instruments. Some of my favorites were a trumpet and a saxophone I made a few years back. The distinct shapes and curves of those pieces were fun to work on. People always ask me if they play, which is a huge compliment because it means I got them to look right.
No, but I did have a harder time parting with sculptures early on in my career when they were created from my mind with no guaranteed owner. As I’ve shifted to commissioned work, it feels like the sculptures already belong to the clients I’m making them for, so they’re easier to let go of.
I started making dogs because Portland, OR (where I began selling my work) is a very dog-friendly city. People really love dogs here, and the dog sculptures would consistently sell out. Then people started commissioning their own dogs. The lab-style dog happens to be the most popular request, but I really enjoy making all breeds of dogs.
When scrap metal ends up in landfills, it can leak pretty dangerous chemicals into nearby soil and water supplies, which is damaging to the natural habitats of the animals that depend on those resources. Including us! Over the course of 20 years, I’ve probably kept about 20–30 tons of metal out of landfills.
I just finished up a 7.5 ft H guitar sculpture for the Hard Rock Hotel in Dublin, and am now shifting gears to a running dog for a public park in Dallas, and a large wine bottle for a vineyard in Napa Valley.
For more stories on sustainability, be sure to check out Musings.
