The work of Upper Peninsula artist Ritch Branstrom spans both peninsulas, and more.

Exploded shotgun shells form the eyes, with flattened muffin tins added for emphasis, and metal can lids form the feathers. The effect is surprisingly animated as the figure of an owl takes shape under the practiced hand of Ritch Branstrom, a Rapid River artist and member Alger Delta Cooperative.

Like the popular “I Spy” children’s books, nothing is what it seems in Branstrom’s workshop. First, a visitor sees each sculpted piece in its entirety—perhaps as a fox, a motorcycle, or a bug. Then upon closer inspection, there is recognition of the separate components: a can, a brake pedal, or a cast iron pot. His formal education in engineering and art is apparent in the inspired blend of cast-off metal and wood, leather and glass, plastic and paper, which he combines in surprising ways. The construction technique he favors is layered piecework, secured with screws or rivets. Or both.

“My art is a byproduct of day-to-day life,” says Branstrom. “All the pieces in here have so many stories attached to them—that’s what makes it [this art form] so interesting. And we don’t even know the whole story of each individual part,” he says as he waves a hand around his studio that’s brimming with…everything.

Branstrom’s parents are from the Upper Peninsula, near Perkins, and moved to the Detroit area after World War II in search of steady employment. They raised their children in the suburbs, a working class family of mechanics and carpenters. “My uncle had a junkyard and seeing all his junk affected me,” laughs Branstrom. The family spent a lot of time vacationing among the woods and water of the U.P. and that exposure to wildlife comes through strongly in Branstrom’s choice of sculptural subjects. His art work is a quirky blend of the two peninsulas’ cultures—the marriage between industrial hands-on skills bristling with rusted auto parts, and a rural love of “making-do” with some northwoods naturalism thrown in. This “found object art” may be 21st-century Michigan’s most indigenous art form.

Beer-can fish, starting at around $30, are some of his very popular small artworks. “Beer cans…they’re a U.P. natural resource,” Branstrom jokes. He tries not to tinker too much with the found shape of whatever debris he’s using. “Basically, I challenge myself to work with what’s readily available to me,” he says.

Branstrom’s creative process begins with a piece of something that looks like it could become something else. Like two truck bumpers whose curves remind him of a woman’s buttocks. Or an old section of boat motor that looks like the front of a motorcycle. There is excitement in his voice when he speaks of the malleability of aluminum refrigerator shelves. His artist’s eye sees the poised grace of a buck’s extended leg and hoof in the long shaft of an iron spike-puller. Branstrom likens his raw materials to a compost pile – he stirs it up and challenges himself with what surfaces.

Although Branstrom has been fashioning art composed of recycled materials for 16 years, there is a new public appreciation for the environmentally-friendly. He believes that all of his life experiences have uniquely fitted him for producing “found art.”

“I don’t really think of myself as green—I’m just being resourceful,” he says.