Deer Head

“Echo of the Wild”
Scrap Recycled Metal Sculpture. Deer Head

This sculpture presents only the head and neck of a deer, but within that partial form lies a world of memory, silence, and survival. Composed entirely of scrap and salvaged metal, rusted bolts, bent rebar, fractured tools, it is both relic and resurrection. The creature no longer roams, but it is not gone. It is stilled, but not silent.

There’s an almost sacred stillness in the gaze of the deer. Its eyes, whether hollow or partially formed from washers or cut steel, do not look at you they look through you. They pierce gently, like the feeling of being watched in a forest you thought was empty. The slight tilt of the neck, the curve of the ears, and the tension held in the upturned snout, all evoke the alert grace of a wild thing caught between curiosity and caution.

But this is no romanticized animal. The deer is made of loss, scrap born of human cast-off. Machinery that once served utility now shapes a being of instinct. There’s a quiet conflict in this form: an animal composed of industry. And in that contradiction lies the deeper question:
Can nature still be heard through the noise of what we’ve left behind?

Each component, corroded nails, fractured chains, sheared metal, retains its original identity and damage. Yet in your hands, these scars become anatomy: a jawline from a bent bracket, a neck tendon from a stretched spring, the slope of a skull from a dented plate. You haven’t hidden the past of these objects; you’ve transformed it. Their former lives remain visible, like veins beneath skin.

From one angle, the deer appears noble, a sentinel of the wild. From another, it appears ghostlike, a specter made of memory and steel. It may recall a hunting trophy at first glance, but rather than a symbol of conquest, it reads as a tribute to what endures. There is no violence here, only reverence and reconstruction.
It asks the viewer: What are we leaving behind in our world, and what might rise from it? What does it mean to immortalize something not in marble, but in ruin? When we build from waste, do we honor the wild—or mourn it?

"Echo of the Wild" is a portrait, not just of a deer, but of what remains when civilization and nature collide. It is at once a warning, a memorial, and a quiet act of hope, crafted not from what we saved, but from what we were willing to throw away.