Why did you choose cartoon as your medium?
I went to art school many years ago wanting to become a painter, but I also used to draw a lot of cartoon-type characters as a child as well. As an adult I started drawing cartoons again in my twenties and it is really the perfect medium for me because it gives me the combination of visual and verbal communication. I guess I am a cross between a writer and an artist and somehow one of those mediums on its own would not be enough for me.

How long does a typical piece take and what is your process?  
I draw all my cartoons in pencil first, then draw over the lines in ink, then rub out the pencil and draw over the ink lines in ink a second time to give the lines a slightly uneven look. A cartoon can take between two and five hours depending on the complexity of the drawing.

Can you tell me a little about Fred? Who is he based on?     
I am not sure who Fred is really. He is a combination of several things, suburban man, an inventor of ridiculous things like the ten-man spade, and a big baby. His life is also a combination of recognisable domesticity and surrealism.

In an era of the South Park and Family Guy, it’s refreshing to see cartoons which are witty and cheeky but not gross. Is this something you have purposely set out to do or is it simply a reflection of your own sense of humour?
My cartoons are not necessarily a reflection of the only kind of humour I like. I like dark, morbid ‘gallows humour’ and some very crass, vulgar humour too, but it doesn’t come naturally to me to produce that kind of stuff myself. I have found that a very small minority of my Facebook audience can be easily offended and they are quick to let me know about it, but they are always free to stop looking at my work. I certainly won’t allow anyone to restrict my creative freedom.

Can you tell me about Off the Leash? Is it based on your own pet?  
Off the Leash came to me simply because I started having cartoon ideas featuring dogs, then a while later some friends who work in social media told me that I should be putting my work on-line. I am not naturally a social media type of person so I needed encouragement and some help from my wife. I was pleasantly surprised by the reaction to my work and simply kept on going. It has now taken over my life and the first Off The Leash book is being published this September.

Off the Leash is your first work displayed via a blog. 
Social media is brilliant for an artist like myself, it is an audience at your fingertips. I can do a drawing and as soon as the ink is dry, scan it and post it on my page where it will be seen by thousands of people within seconds. Also, I really do enjoy the interactions with my audience, I get sent a lot of very sweet, warm messages by lovely people who are passionate about their dogs and they send me very funny pictures of their dogs too.

What’s next for Rupert Fawcett?
I have the book coming out in a few weeks and later in the year I hope to be doing high quality signed, framed prints. In the future I think there is a good opportunity for animation, but I don’t feel ready for that yet, and I am incredibly busy.

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All artwork by Rupert Fawcett
rupertfawcettsdoggyblog.tumblr.com

Curiosity cabinets—filled with fossils and minerals and taxidermied creatures—became de rigueur; a window through which to experience exotic lands, and a reflection of good taste and wealth. As scientific thought blossomed, the desire to possess items grew into a desire to understand them. Curiosity cabinets developed into natural history collections, and went on to form the future model, and in some cases, the actual contents, of the museums we still visit today.

One of those is the Natural History Museum at Tring, in Hertfordshire, England, which began as the private collection of Lionel Walter, 2nd Baron Rothschild and part of the international financial dynasty. He shunned a career in the family firm of merchant bankers, and instead from the age of seven, when he declared to his parents that he was going to “make a museum”, established himself as a collector and zoologist. By the time he was 10, Walter (as he chose to be called) had an array of items—including insects, butterflies, various birds, fish and even a monkey—large enough to fill a garden shed. At 18 he move to Cambridge to study the natural sciences and for his 21st birthday his father gave him money and land to build that museum he’d first declared would be his 14 years earlier.

In 1892, at 24-years-of-age, Walter Rothschild opened his museum to the public. At the time it was considered one of the most comprehensive private collections ever assembled in the world. Walter employed a team of collectors who travelled the world to bring back new specimens—not only for mounting, but live animals for his menagerie. He was particularly fascinated by cassowaries, kept giant tortoises, and used zebras to draw his carriage.

Following his death in 1937, the museum was bequeathed to the nation, and became part of the Natural History Museum. Today it retains its unique Victorian character, including original floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted hardwood and iron cases. Many of the 4,000 specimens on public display are still arranged in the very particular way Walter had dictated during his life.

One of the museum’s unique features is its gallery of stuffed dogs. The 88 specimens form the largest collection of domestic dogs on display in the UK, and highlight the variety of different types of Canis lupus familiaris as well as the impact of selective breeding. From toy dogs and terriers to work dogs and racers, the canine exhibits at Tring are testament not only to the human urge to own and influence, but our desire for companionship and the way in which dogs—man’s best friend—can fulfil that role.

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Images courtesy of Amy Freeborn
nhm.ac.uk/tring/

His latest project Your Pet and You is a seemingly simple premise whereby pet owners are photographed alongside their pets on a wooden plinth. However the resulting shots, published in “charismatic” black and white hold much more depth, and are all at once sweet and quirky.

The project began simply enough, as Lang couldn’t help noticing his roommate’s cats would constantly perch on the wooden block in his living room. He began shooting both the cats and their owners and gradually, the idea took on a life of its own and extended to more friends and family, and eventually strangers. Lang says of the project “I love animals; they have so many characteristics and behaviours. I like to work with them, because they are not vain, they just act! Normally I like to photograph people, which is my real passion. In the project both subjects appear so all my favourites appear.”

As the series has progressed so has the breadth of subjects and Lang is open to all creatures weird and wonderful, like the strikingly beautiful Waldemar, the owl or the hairy tarantula that truly tested his courage. Same goes for Fibi, a cat with no interest in leaving her transport box. Despite her owner receiving minor flesh wounds from the camera-shy feline, and Lang only managing five photos; he still managed to take a great image and all others made it home in one piece.

Yes some of the shots prove that pets really can look like their owners but there is so much more to the project, and the warmth and personality lying beneath is a joy to behold. Lang puts it best himself. “I like the confidence between the pets and their owners… working out their characters, is the most sparkling thing about the series”.

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For see the complete series, click here
tobias-lang.com

I Dreamt of Dogs overlays poetry, short stories and essays on photos Sabo took with an SX-70 using film from The Impossible Project; both the writing and the dog models came from contributors found through her photography business’s Facebook page. Sabo aims to launch the project’s book with an accompanying exhibition of large-format prints, and, on top of it all, 80% of proceeds from sales of the book and prints will go (anonymously) to handpicked, small-and-needy animal rescues. I asked her a few questions about the project and her dog-dreams that inspired it.

Tell me a little bit about the beginnings of I Dreamt of Dogs.
Dogs are such a huge, huge part of my life, personally and professionally, so it just made total sense that I would put my energy into a dog project. When I injured my back last year I suddenly had to stop shooting weddings, and this left me much more time for personal projects. I was inspired to start by the instant film shots of my own dogs, Jack and T—the name of the project and its shape all came to me at once.

How did the project and the photography sessions unfold?
Unlike dreams and dreamy images, the project confines were very finite and specific. I had one roll of seamless paper and I used one set of hot lights from Lowe’s. There was no posing, really. I had the dogs sit on a mark, and just let them be. If they sat, great. If they jumped, or needed their owner to sit when them, that was fine too. There was really nothing the dogs could do that was ‘wrong’. It was all about capturing their energy at that moment in time. I shot 20 dogs altogether, including my own two, over a few weeks.

Why did you choose to use The Impossible Project film and your SX-70?
Instant film is so much like a dream; the results can vary widely, and with dogs, who tend to fidget and jump, the images are often blurred to the point where you can barely tell it’s a dog. I love that. It’s exactly like some of my dog dreams. This is absolutely the only medium in which I could do this project; like dogs, it is very much in the moment. There’s only one in the entire universe! They’re unique, they’re flawed, but they’re beautiful. No two are alike and that in itself makes them precious.

Why did you incorporate writing into this project? Did you write any pieces yourself?
I love to write, but I’m writing only one piece for this project. I was an author (under a different name, Susan M. Brooks) for years and years, so it’s very much a part of my life. But I wanted to add writing to the images because, ever since I was a child, I would write my dreams down. They’re often elaborate stories, and sometimes they’re horrible nightmares.

I can’t imagine the writing without the photos, or vice versa. They absolutely must be experienced together. I don’t care what format the writing is in (it’s still coming in), as long as it is an authentic piece of that author’s experience with dogs, good or bad. What I’m hoping to capture is a very innocent, maybe naive, image of the role of dogs in our lives. When the writing is done, I’ll pair pieces with the photos I think match them best.

Did you have a dog growing up?
My first dog was Hank, a Wire-Haired Terrier, whom we got when I was about 7 or 8. I doted on him constantly; let him sleep in my bed under the covers and even made him ‘nap’ with my pet rabbit. I adored him, but as I grew up and older I spent less time with him. After I left my parents’ house when I was 18, they gave Hank to someone else who lost him. It grieves me terribly to this day that my childhood buddy was just left behind by all of his. I wish so much I could do that over again. It’s so painful to think of.

Do you think you’ll ever stop capturing our best friends on film? I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you didn’t.
Never. I have quite a few issues to work out through my photography! I mentioned my childhood dog’s fate. Maybe that’s why this project has become so personal. Maybe I’m looking to work out my issues.

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For more information about this project, click here
susansabophotography.com

The first time I stepped onto Dead Dog Beach in Puerto Rico, I had no experience photographing stray dogs. I mainly work in the studio—glossy, sleek, polished dog portraits; glamorous dog haute couture—bedazzled silk dresses and feathered hats on docile Chihuahuas. Dead Dog Beach was definitely out of my league. A dumping ground, it is known for its stray dog population, and the abuse that has occurred on the isolated beach including gang rituals, target practice, and cars running over helpless dogs and puppies. Dogs are dumped here everyday.

Wearing work boots and dirty clothes, I ventured under the harsh sun with Chrissy Beckles, founder of dog rescue group The Sato Project. From a distance, we spotted a shape on the ground. Chrissy tensed up. After several years of rescuing dogs from Dead Dog Beach, she is used to finding dead bodies and horribly abused animals. We approached and discovered a small orange dog so emaciated and weak it barely breathed and refused to eat. I had never seen anything like this. Pointing my camera at his face, I felt disgusted with myself for photographing this horror. I photographed over and over as Chrissy rushed him to the vet. My hand was trembling holding the flash. I did not know whether I should put the camera down and help, or keep on shooting. And then, as I pressed the trigger one more time, I captured Angel’s last breath. He looked straight into my lens, exhaled and passed away in Chrissy’s arms. She was hysterical, screaming and crying. I decided to keep the camera rolling. I filmed and photographed until there was nothing left of the moment.

This was one year ago. Since then, I have returned to Dead Dog Beach multiple times. Some of the dogs I see are very frightened or completely feral. Others have lived in homes and follow people around the beach, wagging their tails, looking for their owners, food, or just a gentle hand. Some dogs are in a state of shock. Others, reconnecting with their deep wild nature, organise themselves into packs in their battle for survival.

As I am photographing, I sometimes wonder: could the dogs of Dead Dog Beach survive on their own? If not, why can’t they? Has our bond with dogs made us so codependent that we feel the need to rescue them, and has it made dogs unfit for life in the wild? The pursuit of these questions is what fuels my photographic work.

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To see more of Sophie Gamand’s work, including studio portraits of Satos click here
To learn more about The Sato Project and donate to help save the dogs of Dead Dog Beach, visit thesatoproject.org