Boxing Squirrels and Baby Chimps: The Finale
If you're one of the people who just isn't interested in this topic anymore, you at least have to scroll to the bottom of this post. You have got to check it out. Really.
For those (nice, smart, beautiful) people who are interested in this last post on this topic, there are conclusions that I have reached. I will offer them to you. To begin, here are some squirrels in their natural habitat:
This is what they do in the trees where we can't see them. Why else would 19th century taxidermist Edward Hart pose them like that? Perhpas because Ed, like most modern taxidermists, considered himself an artist.
In covering the World Taxidermy Championships, I had to learn to divorce my concept of what hunters do from my understanding of taxidermy as a trade. Try to forget that most taxidermists are also seasoned hunters. That will only confuse you and weaken my point.
The reason the trade show felt so much like a craft show was because it was a craft show. The taxidermists, it turns out, obsess over the anatomy of the animals they mount. They study whole carcasses, read piles of physiology books, and sit in their hunting blinds just to watch and learn how an animal moves, how it behaves.
A taxidermist's pride, it turns out, doesn't come from mounting the giant head of a dead beast because they're glad the beast is dead, or because they are seriously insensitive. It comes from their ability to mount a lifelike pose. As one judge said, "they ought to look like they're about to breathe." And the good ones do. I can't tell you how many times I turned around in the judging area to come face to face with a deer - and caught my breath.
The result is that the animals and their reconstructed habitats are reduced to paint-by-numbers kits without any apparent reverence for the lives they are imitating through the use of putty, glue, glass, and plastic. The goal is to create an animal that is the quintessential example of its species, not to celebrate the life of each trophy buck.
All of this implies a certain arrogance that is at the heart of my questioning on this issue. As humans we are at the pinnacle of the food chain, and hunters and their taxidermist friends know this and live it. It's true that they're most often conservationists and that the fees they pay for hunting and fishing licenses cover the costs of land and habitat preservation in our parks and open spaces. They feel justified in their actions and often rationalize that they are performing a service, controlling burgeoning populations resulting from irresponsible land usage.
Honestly, though. I understand that argument when it comes to deer. But bears? Coyotes? Or any other predatory animal? I interviewed one guy who said I might think differently if I had ever visited a slaughterhouse. Unlike livestock, the animals he hunts "have a chance" to survive. As if the rifle is the great equalizer. And taxidermists are not exempt from this accusation: the men and women I spoke with absolutely love to work with exotic, endangered species.
As humans, we often assume dominance over arenas where we have no business presiding. We feel it is our right to shoot, stuff and mount these animals in poses that typify our perceptions of them: the snarling coyote, the swiping bear, the alligator eating a snake. We love the machismo-soaked stories of the kill and the capture. We say things like:
In conclusion, I will leave you with something completely disturbing. It was the wildest thing I saw all day. These are freeze-dried pets. You can keep Fluffy by the fire forever. They are 100% real, skin and all. And yes, that is a baby chimp. This is another of Jay's photos you can see at Ambivalent Domain, the Mad Art Gallery opening June 3rd. You should check it out.
If you want a postcard for the show, email me your mailing info. Ciao.
For those (nice, smart, beautiful) people who are interested in this last post on this topic, there are conclusions that I have reached. I will offer them to you. To begin, here are some squirrels in their natural habitat:
This is what they do in the trees where we can't see them. Why else would 19th century taxidermist Edward Hart pose them like that? Perhpas because Ed, like most modern taxidermists, considered himself an artist.
In covering the World Taxidermy Championships, I had to learn to divorce my concept of what hunters do from my understanding of taxidermy as a trade. Try to forget that most taxidermists are also seasoned hunters. That will only confuse you and weaken my point.
The reason the trade show felt so much like a craft show was because it was a craft show. The taxidermists, it turns out, obsess over the anatomy of the animals they mount. They study whole carcasses, read piles of physiology books, and sit in their hunting blinds just to watch and learn how an animal moves, how it behaves.
A taxidermist's pride, it turns out, doesn't come from mounting the giant head of a dead beast because they're glad the beast is dead, or because they are seriously insensitive. It comes from their ability to mount a lifelike pose. As one judge said, "they ought to look like they're about to breathe." And the good ones do. I can't tell you how many times I turned around in the judging area to come face to face with a deer - and caught my breath.
The result is that the animals and their reconstructed habitats are reduced to paint-by-numbers kits without any apparent reverence for the lives they are imitating through the use of putty, glue, glass, and plastic. The goal is to create an animal that is the quintessential example of its species, not to celebrate the life of each trophy buck.
All of this implies a certain arrogance that is at the heart of my questioning on this issue. As humans we are at the pinnacle of the food chain, and hunters and their taxidermist friends know this and live it. It's true that they're most often conservationists and that the fees they pay for hunting and fishing licenses cover the costs of land and habitat preservation in our parks and open spaces. They feel justified in their actions and often rationalize that they are performing a service, controlling burgeoning populations resulting from irresponsible land usage.
Honestly, though. I understand that argument when it comes to deer. But bears? Coyotes? Or any other predatory animal? I interviewed one guy who said I might think differently if I had ever visited a slaughterhouse. Unlike livestock, the animals he hunts "have a chance" to survive. As if the rifle is the great equalizer. And taxidermists are not exempt from this accusation: the men and women I spoke with absolutely love to work with exotic, endangered species.
As humans, we often assume dominance over arenas where we have no business presiding. We feel it is our right to shoot, stuff and mount these animals in poses that typify our perceptions of them: the snarling coyote, the swiping bear, the alligator eating a snake. We love the machismo-soaked stories of the kill and the capture. We say things like:
"There's room for all god's creatures,
right next to my mashed potatoes."*
*A note: This lovely sentiment was gracing the front of a t-shirt that was hung up across the way from a life-size mount of a black bear with a plastic bag over its head. As if that didn't sum it up...
right next to my mashed potatoes."*
*A note: This lovely sentiment was gracing the front of a t-shirt that was hung up across the way from a life-size mount of a black bear with a plastic bag over its head. As if that didn't sum it up...
In conclusion, I will leave you with something completely disturbing. It was the wildest thing I saw all day. These are freeze-dried pets. You can keep Fluffy by the fire forever. They are 100% real, skin and all. And yes, that is a baby chimp. This is another of Jay's photos you can see at Ambivalent Domain, the Mad Art Gallery opening June 3rd. You should check it out.
If you want a postcard for the show, email me your mailing info. Ciao.
posted by Jackie at 8:47 PM
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