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Watch the Gap: The Shock of Application and Wolves in Sheep's Clothing Main Menu

The Trap is a Gap

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An earlier work entitled Burr Coat (1994) is a case in point. It looks like a warm, woolly jacket … until you go to touch it. Meticulously covered in burdock burrs, the coat bites back and so does its message: comforting someone with warmth and affection always comes at a prickly price. Or, more simply put: beware the cloak of kindness, as we are naturally predisposed to violence, not empathy. (This is a “truth” she maintains throughout much of her work). What’s more, the burdock, also known as Arctium, are native to the “Old World,” suggesting our evil nature follows us throughout time—literally there is no escaping it—sticking to us like one of those pesky burrs.

For Hamilton, nothing is ever entirely straightforward, especially the way in which we cloak our evil in a coat of (seeming) civility.

And, like the King’s ministers who are sent to confirm the reality of the cloak the scoundrels are busily pretending to weave, we maintain the charade. “What a beautiful work, Anitra.” She’s still chuckling. We’ve fallen into her trap.

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A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing Emelie Chhangur
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Red Coat

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Red Coat Emelie Chhangur The title of later work, Red Coat, functions in a similar way as in Burr Coat, only its resulting message has a much more sinister undertone. Here, the coat is covered not in nature that pricks but culture that kills. The “red coat” is a symbol of the British army, but the coat in Red Coat is actually a Canadian WW I greatcoat, now covered entirely in plastic red poppies—the symbol of the fallen soldier. Hamilton’s message is a euphemism, like the expression “fallen soldier” and the title Red Coat. Now Red Coat stands for the symbol of a bloody death on the battlefield where poppies grow, row by row. Pricked by the pins that hold these poppies onto Red Coat when we try it on, we performatively acknowledge the blood shed it symbolizes.

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1. The Trap is a Gap
  An earlier work entitled Burr Coat (1994) is a case in point. It looks like a warm, woolly jacket … until you go to touch it. Meticulously covered in burdock burrs, the coat bites back and so does its message: comforting someone with warmth and affection always comes at a prickly price. Or, more simply put: beware the cloak of kindness, as we are naturally predisposed to violence, not empathy. (This is a “truth” she maintains throughout much of her work). What’s more, the burdock, also known as Arctium, are native to the “Old World,” suggesting our evil nature follows us throughout time—literally there is no escaping it—sticking to us like one of those pesky burrs.
  
  For Hamilton, nothing is ever entirely straightforward, especially the way in which we cloak our evil in a coat of (seeming) civility.
  
  And, like the King’s ministers who are sent to confirm the reality of the cloak the scoundrels are busily pretending to weave, we maintain the charade. “What a beautiful work, Anitra.” She’s still chuckling. We’ve fallen into her trap.

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