On an absolutely perfect day — warm but not hot, not a cloud in the bright blue sky — a giant bronze squirrel wearing what can only be described as acorn regalia looks out over an Upper East Side crowd with (literally) beady eyes.
It’s just one of the four 10-foot bronze sculptures that make up Mississippi Choctaw/Cherokee artist Jeffrey Gibson’s new facade commission at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, “The Animal That Therefore I Am.” Drawn from Jacques Derrida’s 2006 book of the same name, which concerns the relationship between humans and animals, the installation emphasizes the awe-inspiring interconnectedness between all living things.
The sculptures, which were installed today and will be officially inaugurated tomorrow, September 12, are the sixth commission in a series for the niches of The Met’s facade, following works by Lee Bul, Nairy Baghramian, Hew Locke, Carol Bove, and Wangechi Mutu.
One of Jeffrey Gibson’s 10-foot bronze sculptures towers above visitors at The Met.
The four animals depicted — a deer, coyote, and hawk, along with the aforementioned squirrel — carry significance in certain Indigenous cultures. A Choctaw legend about solar eclipses, for instance, tells of a large, hungry squirrel devouring the sun. (These fluffy-tailed rodents are also ubiquitous in New York City and especially in the sprawling Central Park behind The Met, and all the animals can be found in the Hudson Valley, where Gibson lives and works.)
The artist told the Wall Street Journal that he collected driftwood from the banks of the Hudson River to create the original forms, editing them digitally before casting them in bronze. Each of Gibson’s fauna is dressed in finery inspired by either the food they consume or what they leave behind after death.
Jeffrey Gibson’s “The Animal That Therefore I Am” (2025) at The Met
The squirrel is crowned with a wreath of acorns, and its turquoise shroud is adorned with beaded versions of the nut; more of those are strung around their neck. The hawk, a symbol of strength and communication in some Native cultures, is accessorized with a bright red cape strung with beaded feathers, while the deer is dressed in what is wonderfully detailed and textured to look like deerskin. The coyote, meanwhile, wears a necklace strung with ruby red strawberries and what looks like a coyote-fur hooded jacket.
Though the verb “wears” actually doesn’t seem to go far enough to describe these animals’ relationship to their garb. The coyote’s limbs are not shrouded by the pelt; rather, the pelt makes up its paws, hanging limply and trimmed in yellow. Similarly, the legs of each sculpture take the form of gnarled wood, as if they have just temporarily become animal and will soon transition into a baser form of nature.
Each 10-foot bronze has its own distinct niches.
As such, Gibson’s sculptures suggest the merging of the animal and vegetal, the natural and the artistic, the real and the mythical. They also insist on a recasting of both hierarchies and of time. These animals were here long before The Met was; the greenery behind is not the backdrop, but the natural order of the ground beneath our feet.
“To be honest, they don’t fit,” Scott, 55, from Vancouver, Canada, who wanted to be identified by first name only, told Hyperallergic. “I don’t think they go with the architecture.” He pointed to the contrast between The Met’s “classic, old style,” and these sculptures, which he described as “modern” and “eclectic.”
“I think it’s the coloring,” his companion, 25-year-old Georgia, piped up.
The installation features a deer, coyote, hawk, and squirrel.
The pair might have responded similarly to Gibson’s vision for the Venice Biennale last year, which set vibrant and geometric forms starkly against the sober, Palladian-style United States Pavilion. Inside, the artist presented beadwork sculptures whose titles subverted the language of foundational American documents.
Others liked Gibson’s commission for the same reason the two didn’t.
“I love how there’s a lot of Indigenous influence,” 26-year-old Colorado resident Alison Phommaxahane told me. “It brings that culture back into the city.”
Her friend, 28-year-old New York resident Camille Archer, commented on the dress of these regal animals: “The fabric adds something to the architecture,” they said, “a different texture.”
“And the way they’re placed, it looks like they’re, like, protecting, or overseeing, or guarding.” Phommaxahane chimed in.
“Like gargoyles,” Archer agreed. The works will be on view through June 9, 2026.
Gibson’s sculptures suggest the merging of the animal and vegetal, the natural and the artistic.
