Photos by Joel Koyama The Abandoned Antarctic Shanty is one of the top curiosities in this year's Art Shanty Projects. Right: Artists work on the Ice Museum Shanty. The annual Art Shanty Projects seem to inspire a survivalist bravado in the hearts of local artists. For five weeks every winter, creative types from all over the Twin Cities ditch their stigmas as lily-livered, sensitive souls and step into the manly reputation of brawny outdoorsmen. They callous their hands with power tools and carpentry. They brave frigid temperatures and dangerous wind chills. They rough it, camping out on a frozen lake without any gas generators. They build fires and wear flannel. An art carnival with a backbone, the Art Shanties embody the two hallmarks of a Minnesota winter: the blind impulse to create and an insane hardiness born of cabins, snowmobiles and 10,000 lakes.
For those unfamiliar with the event -- which, in its fifth year, remains on the fringes of public consciousness despite massive attendance, surging press coverage and support from giant arts organizations such as Walker Art Center and the McKnight Foundation -- the Art Shanty Projects are a sort of wilderness art camp. Teams of artists erect elaborately conceived ice-fishing houses, each based on a theme, and then transport their creations to the frozen surface of Medicine Lake in Plymouth, where they stand as a temporary village for about a month.
So when organizers Peter Haakon Thompson and David Pitman use words like "pioneer" and "frontier," they're not indulging in artistic metaphor. They're talking exploration in the literal sense -- the cavalier thrill of bringing human occupancy to a bleak and forbidding natural landscape.
Pitman especially delights in this spirit of artist-adventurer. A gregarious bear of a man in a Green Bay Packers hat, he works on houses when not indulging his passion for fine-arts painting and amateur radio. Last year, he attempted to make Medicine Lake his primary residence for the duration of the five-week festival. With his constant urging for Thompson to "put the event on steroids," Pitman is the quintessential shop-class tinkerer with high artistic aims. What's more, he likes the perceived danger of the Art Shanties.
The Hennepin County Water Patrol never sets foot out on the lake, he assures me. "They never drive out there. They never tell you that you can drive out there, no matter how thick the ice is. And they always, always wear life vests." He pauses for effect. "The ice is never safe."
Photos by Joel Koyama The Ice Robot Shanty (foreground), the Medicine Lake Fishery shanty (back left) and the K-ICE radio station (back right) on Medicine Lake. Right: Lucas Koski and Peter Sowinski work on their Medicine Lake Fisheries Shanty. Nor is it ever really governed. Strangely, the frozen surface of Medicine Lake comprises a sort of loosely sanctioned no-man's land, almost completely free of state jurisdiction. (Only the Water Patrol, whose authority is confined to rivers and lakes, provides oversight.) Because the "territory" exists only for a few months and because no one owns it, the ice remains ripe for colonizing throughout the winter. It's an outdoorsman's version of a legal squat.
"It's the last place where you can go build something and actually live in it," Thompson observes. "It's like a final frontier, a pioneer thing."
Thompson knows a thing or two about temporary art landscapes. For his so-called "'A' Project," his mobile, 10-foot-tall sculpture of a red letter "A" turns up at parks and street fairs throughout the summer, a sort of art welcome mat that transforms impersonal public spaces into friendly creative forums. Similarly, the shanties let the surrounding community know it's OK to come hang out and participate. The Polaris-clad are just as welcome as the city dwellers.
"We get a huge response from people living on the lake," Thompson says, noting that he and Pitman proceed with the blessing of the Plymouth Art Council. And, for all the talk of colonization, the artists strive to not encroach on the community already out on the ice -- the scores of fishermen, skaters, kite skiers and snowmobilers that use the lake as their winter playground. As a result, the village must be adaptable, ready to move to cede prime fishing spots or free up ice for skaters.
"One of the most important things is respect," Pitman adds. "Blowing it up to the Uptown Art Fair's capacity is not the goal."
Still, visitors can expect crowds. So bundle up, grab a map and a thermos of coffee, and brave the trek out to the lake.
