AMY STOCKLEIN
Nancy Bittner, with husband Peter, carves her Spider-Ham (aka Peter Porker) sculpture: “I’m just revealing what was already there.”
Spam is an unforgiving sculptural medium. The smooth, gelatinous loaf cuts easily enough, but it demands the utmost precision. If the artist’s blade slips or sticks on a rogue bit of connective tissue, there’s no reattaching the severed strip of luncheon meat.
“There’s no comparison to clay. [Spam] is so slippery and hard to carve,” says Rachael Taylor, a ceramic artist. “I don’t think I like it.”
Taylor is a guest at one of Madison’s most exclusive events: David Pouncey’s annual Spam-carving contest. Inspired by a similar event in Seattle, Pouncey has hosted the party since 1994, and he believes it’s the longest-running Spam-carving competition in the world. He contacted the Guinness Book of World Records a few years back, but they needed photographic proof from every single year to verify his claim — plus $300.
This year is the contest’s 25th anniversary, and Pouncey has gone all out, setting up tents and draping the backyard with blue and yellow flag garlands, an homage to the iconic Spam can. A Spam-themed ice sculpture slowly melts under a tent. People pose for photos with a larger-than-life can of Spam.
Seated in his garage, Pouncey greets guests while a few artists work at tables behind him. “We could never have this inside,” Pouncey says. There’s a bit of a breeze, but not enough to carry away the lingering smell. It’s briny and a little sweet, somewhere between pork sausage and hot cat food.
When Pouncey was a kid, Spam was a fixture on his family’s dinner table. His father worked nearly 40 years at the Hormel Foods Corporation, the maker of the iconic luncheon meat. “We had it far too often,” Pouncey says. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve grown to detest it so much.”
But really, it’s more of a love-hate relationship. Spam is still on Pouncey’s table — albeit less frequently than before, and in far greater quantities. Each year, he provides the Spam (usually about six cases, or about 100 cans) and his guests provide the artistic talent.
Taylor is sculpting a Spam goddess with the head of a pig, modeled after Paleolithic Venus figurines. She brought her clay modeling tools, but a regular paring knife seems to work best. Beside her, Nancy Bittner is carving a likeness of Marvel Comics character Spider-Ham (aka Peter Porker). “I feel like Michelangelo,” Bittner says. “I’m just revealing what was already there.”
Petrified sculptures from years past line the shelves of Pouncey’s garage, including an impossibly delicate rosette (last year’s winner, carved by Bittner) and an uncanny likeness of actor Sam Elliott (he’s “Spam Elliott” in this context). “Spam goes from pink to cured in about a week,” Pouncey says. There’s no risk of the sculptures attracting stray cats or racoons. With the exception of one particularly harsh winter, animals have passed on leftover Spam.
Sculptures are evaluated by a panel of five judges. Pouncey never participates (“I’m too close to it,” he says), and one judge is always a vegetarian. There are categories for sculptures with and without props, plus a prize for “most bizarre.”
Lots of creations are based on puns, and many are irreverent. In years past, artists have sculpted things like the Oklahoma City bombing, the Twin Towers, and “a very intricate toilet” titled “Afterbirth.” “Nothing is sacred,” Pouncey says.
Carving goes on all afternoon. Before winners are announced, there’s a surprise performance from the St. Andrews Sisters, a trio of nuns from Austin, Minnesota (and home of the world-famous Spam Museum). When the results arrive, Taylor’s “Return of the Spam Goddess” takes first place. But perhaps the most ingenious creation was from Chuck Michaels, who pureed Spam in a blender and injected it into a statue of a nun. When activated, she vomits meat paste.
“It’s a grotesque, repulsive medium,” Pouncey says. “But there are amazing things that come out of this can. And it keeps me coming back.”
Spam invented: 1937
Stands for: Spiced ham, or Special Processed American Meat. Nobody knows.
Cans of Spam sent to troops during World War II: 100 million
Shelf life: Indefinite