The Case for Depressed Toys — An Interview with Monster-Maker Lisa Lee
Lisa Lee’s Instagram gallery gives you the rare chance to find your ideal combination of tragic grace and hopeless perfection. And how it hurts to love these fever dreams!
“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark?” Werner Herzog asks in a reflection on that necessary uneasiness so rich in Lisa Lee’s “Leather Monsters,” a luxury line of art-objects which are “case studies” in how beauty pouts and despair teaches.
Her monsters embody the insight discomfort and vulnerability reveal. (As Herzog puts it, without monsters, the ocean would be “like sleep without dreams.”) Her unusually direct use of watery eyes and obvious distress combined with symmetry and craftsmanship enriches the collector of her work by provoking a timeless instinct. Her monsters are also an eccentric celebration of all that makes monstrosity such an essential element of pop culture, that sublime hint of revealing the hidden…
What makes Lee so intriguing as an artist and designer is also what makes her so uncommon to interview. This Vancouver leathersmith (a former crisis hotline operator and graveyard-shift mental health facility worker) speaks and works with a rare harmony of emotional clarity and technical skill. You see how she coaxes these loving gremlins out from forgotten leather jackets and discarded handbags.
Would you say your collectors come to you because you explore something almost unspeakable or, at least, hidden that they can’t find from a smiling commercial doll?
LISA LEE: Over the furry, cute, cookie-cutter toys, Leather Monsters are — firstly — one of a kind. People who love original, sustainable art recognize that — in addition my use of authentic, emotional features. My buyers are cool aunts, outlier parents, childless adults, single people…anyone who needs a partner in crime. There is a real empathy gap in the world of toys. None of them know how you feel.
You’ve said Leather Monsters started as sock dolls you made after crisis calls. Can you talk more about working in that clinical space?
LISA LEE: For years, I worked at a 20-bed boarding-style home for clients with well-recorded psychiatric histories. Instead of psychiatric hospitalization, they came to our home for stabilization. My night shifts were usually from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m., and I would take calls for a good portion of British Columbia. Surprisingly, there were only a handful of calls every night, some of them were frequent callers.
The sock monsters I made there were the proportions of a toddler (intentionally) with large pupils to communicate subconsciously that they like you while still expressing sadness. It invokes sympathy. I believe and have found that feeling sympathetic for someone (or something) helps us give.
Being giving, comforting them, feeling their desire to comfort — I feel it’s all a circle. The home was kept quiet at night. The clients who were up early — or stayed up late — sometimes helped me design new monsters and played with the ones I made. These experiences had a calming effect and de-escalated anxiety.
What makes your monsters captivating to you, your followers, or collectors?
LISA LEE: Monsters are awesome! Leather monsters are made to carry-on past my death, evoking emotional responses — hopefully positive ones — for well-over 50 years, but I have my favorites. The best of a litter, for me, is the baby “sea monster” on my Instagram. He’s here on the couch with me. Fans enjoy the novelty of something that is original and loveable; return customers are moved by extra touches like my notes and the honest personality of the arriving monster; and, collectors, well, I think they really connect with what I’m doing and can’t get enough of these strange little guys in their house.
How does beauty and despair occupy the same space in your work?
LISA LEE: I aim to have endearing proportions, symmetry, and a sympathy in expression. The combination works. I’m always working to improve on the limb-to-body, head-shape, and other proportions. We need more empathy in the world, and my monsters make you feel for them. I think that’s a good thing, but sometimes people question what I do. “Why are they so sad?” That’s the point! It’s simple but essential. My monsters are objects, sometimes simple companions, but they can also develop empathy in kids, spark compassion in adults, and help us recognize sadness in ourselves. With a monster, I hope my collectors are kinder — especially to themselves.
Do collectors give you colors and character descriptions or are custom orders more conceptual (like a mood, place, or experience)?
LISA LEE: Customs, they range. Sometimes they are full on situations and intentions: “My friend is an incest survivor, and I want her to have something that reminds her of her beauty. Perhaps a bird.” (I proposed a phoenix with a neutral eyelid placement to achieve no set emotional expression.) Others are more straight-forward, like “Make me a bear. Blue. A cross between the two I already have from you.”
Vancouver’s Lisa Lee creates a renewable moment of oddly human dialogue and an intimate emotional space between object and observer, beloved and lover. In her online store and studio accounts, there is a tone of grace about each creature’s “dark night” that allows something universal to sneak out from under the attitude of casual disinterest. Perhaps only such discreet, bleak, or misty beauty can be so merciful.
