Creative creatures in Old College

Puma on board

More concrete details are revealed in an article published in the 'University of Edinburgh Journal' in 1976. Written by Jessie M Sweet, a specialist on the life and work of Professor Robert Jameson, it was entitled ‘The University Puma’. Sweet writes:

On 10 October 1826, William John Napier, Ninth Lord Napier, Captain of the Diamond frigate arrived at Portmouth from the South American station with some live animals including a young female puma (16 months old), two racoons, an African monkey (also a cask of fishes in spirit) which were destined for Robert Jameson’s Natural History Museum in the University of Edinburgh.

Sweet draws on the account given in James Wilson’s 1831 'Illustrations of Zoology' , a copy of which is held in the University Centre for Research Collections. Wilson states that during the voyage from São Paulo:

[The puma] was in habits of intimacy with several dogs and monkeys, none of which it ever attempted to injure; nor did it even return the petty insults which the latter sometimes offered; but if an unfortunate goat or fowl came within its reach, it was immediately snapped up and slain.

A big cat’s life

Following a brief stay in London, the puma arrived in Leith on 8 January 1827, dispirited by the cold weather. Although it was destined for Jameson’s collection, Wilson makes no mention of the animal living in the Museum. Rather, he describes encountering it in a lumber room elsewhere in Old College. Apparently lonely at night, the otherwise tame puma caused regular disturbances leaving Jameson to wonder what should be done with it. By the summer of that year the decision was taken to move it to a menagerie in Selkirk; the Museum Report Books – held in the Library of the National Museum of Scotland – note that the puma left the museum on 15 June, accompanied by museum attendant Archibald Wilson.

An artist’s impression

Barr has previously dressed as a bird and lived in a cave on the isle of Eigg in response to the myth of Sweeney – a 17th century Irish king who was cursed with madness and turned into something between man and bird. In a similar way the story of the puma was rich with possibilities. As a glimpse into a very different world, it evoked larger histories of colonialism and Enlightenment. The costume Barr made for his performative interventions was never intended to look exactly like a puma but was intended to distil the sense of something different, perhaps ‘other’.

When in costume Barr refuses to speak and moves around the Quad in slow, methodical movements, sometimes resting – and even sleeping – in the space. Lasting a number of hours at a time, these interventions have an element of endurance about them, while also allowing numerous passers-by to spot the strange figure, or simply walk right past without noticing.

Meet the artist

What do you aim to achieve with your interventions?

I don’t have outcomes in mind when I make these performative interventions. I like to work in a solitary way, whereby I have control over my actions. But I also like to avoid dictating how a ‘viewer’ comes to those actions, and how they respond to them, and ultimately what the actions mean.

Why were you drawn to the story of the puma?

Ultimately, I have been drawn to the story of the puma because it presents a figure which is fundamentally ‘other’; a foreign body – dislocated – which offers an uncertainty of intention. At a time when our political landscape is littered with narratives about foreign bodies, and the perceived threats that they embody, my acquaintance with the puma seemed timely.

What has the experience of being in the Old College quad in costume been like?

To a significant degree, it has been shaped by the material qualities of the costume that I wear. That costume is heavy – it was made from approximately 5km of jute twine, amongst other things – so my movements are generally ponderous.

How do people react to your presence?

Though I never talk to people to solicit their feedback, I have a sense as to how people experience my performative interventions. For example, a tourist may not see me at all, until, back at home, they look more closely at the photo they took, in which I appear in the background. On the other hand, members of staff may see me regularly, and for them my presence perhaps begins to become much more just a part of life.

I often sit, and remain quite still. So from a distance I may look like an object. As a viewer approaches, though, and sees a little movement, there is a realisation that they are looking at a subject. I feel that there is interest in the ambiguity, and that something slight but important occurs in the realisation that we cannot be certain about what we perceive when we inhabit our social landscape.