Taxidermists exhibit their love for animals by creating art from their deaths
Story by Lizzie Falconer
Photos by Ivar Vong
“Well, when I first get the animal, I guess that’s the gross part.” David Clark stands in his garage-turned-workshop, hands on his hips, Oregon baseball hat perched on top of his graying hair. “You know, I have to skin it and then salt the skin to get all the moisture out.” He motions to the hide of a huge animal sprawled out on the floor, 3 inches of salt covering it from top to bottom. He later mentions it’s a mountain lion that was shot after it killed six of a farmer’s sheep. “After that, I send the hide out to the tanner, and when I get it back that’s when the fun starts.”
Clark is a taxidermist—he skins and mounts animals for a living.
Taxidermy, the art of preserving and reproducing a lifelike representation of a dead animal, is a practice that makes some people squirm. In Clark’s shop, Golden Eye Taxidermy Studio, the blank, glassy gazes of deer, bears, and various species of birds stare down from their places on the walls. The animals all appear in moments of action: a bear’s mouth open in a forever growl, a pheasant posed for take off. The light from the window glints off the iridescent feathers and the question arises: Are these animals macabre or art?
To answer this, it’s necessary to look back at the history of taxidermy. Derived from ancient Greek, “taxidermy” loosely translates into “the movement of skin”—or more specifically, its removal. Humans have been utilizing the skins of animals for everything from shelter to religious artifacts for thousands of years. Native Americans used deer hides to cover their teepees and ancient Egyptians used preservation techniques to mummify cats for the afterlife.
But creating animal reproductions for decoration is more recent. Its history lies parallel with the explosion of the fur industry in Western Europe during the 1700s when the demand for quality leather and fur was high and every small town had its own tanner. The increase in hunting and accessibility to a tanner led many hunters away from using their animals only as clothing and toward showcasing their kills on the wall. Deer heads began appearing on the walls of homes and taverns. The method of preservation? Arsenic on the skin and stuffing the insides with rags. Not surprising, this primitive method led to many disfigured mounts rotting on their wooden boards.
This all changed with Carl E. Akeley in the 1860s, who pioneered modern taxidermic methods for museum displays. An American explorer and naturalist, Akeley focused his taxidermy on African mammals, leading many expeditions to find and hunt elephants, cheetahs, lions, and rhinos. Akeley’s interest lay in preserving the world he saw around him, and he placed his animals in postures and environments that mimicked real life. Instead of stuffing his animals with rags or straw as was common, he used plaster of Paris to cast a mold of the animal’s body, which he would “fit” with its actual hide. Thus, he was able to mimic exact muscle structures and veins making his mounts incredibly lifelike.
Around the same time in the Northwest, a doctor by the name of J. Linsey Hill was creating his own taxidermy paradise. After traveling the Oregon Trail with his family in 1853, he set up shop in Albany, Oregon. Highly respected in his community, Hill was the mayor in 1884 and served as the surgeon general of the Oregon National Guard. A history lover, he set up a museum in his house, where he displayed many of the animals he had personally taxidermied. Some of these animals now reside in a cold, well-lit room adjacent to the Benton County Historical Society. Hundreds of boxes line the walls, all labeled “Critter #__” and then “mammal/bird/reptile” depending on the species inside. One of the strangest members of Hill’s collection is a full grown Saint Bernard that is posed lying down, its mouth drooped and glass eyes murky. In a sepia-toned photo Hill is captured walking down a street of Albany, all of his mounts sitting comically on a cart the size of a truck bed, being pulled by oxen, like a creepy homecoming float.
In cases like Akeley and Hill, it is clear that taxidermy is not used only by hunters. With Akeley’s mounts, schoolchildren in New York and suburban housewives—those for whom the wildlife of Africa were only seen in picture books—could see a lioness and her cubs or a cheetah preparing to run. Hill built a museum in rural Oregon as an educational tool, and his animals will be available for public view once again.
More than a hundred years later, David Clark is still following the basic method of taxidermy pioneered by people like Akeley. Instead of working on gorillas or elephants, his primary business consists of animals hunted from around the Northwest. Instead of plaster of Paris, he uses polyurethane molds to give structure to his animal skins.
For many, the idea of a taxidermist conjures up the image of Norman Bates, Dr. Frankenstein, or a hillbilly hunter posed over a deer carcass with a knife. But looking at the process of taxidermy counters these misconceptions. Taxidermists cut, sculpt, paint, and sew all in an attempt to preserve the natural beauty of their subjects. Their practice is artistic, their tools the same as many other forms of more mainstream art, but in their case, they attempt to put life back into a place where it was taken away.
Bryan Bradburn is an attorney by day and a taxidermist by night. An avid hunter, Bradburn became interested in taxidermy when he visited a competition with his brother a few years ago. “I’ve always really enjoyed art and building things. I’ve always loved working with my hands. It seemed a natural thing for me to start doing. I love hunting. I love animals. Why not?” Bryan, unlike David, uses his reproductions to compete in taxidermy competitions. Put on by the National Taxidermists Association, these large competitions draw taxidermists from all over the region looking to win money or taxidermy supplies by displaying their best work.
Mounts are judged by how lifelike they appear and the quality of the work. “The eyes have to be moist looking, no cowlicks in the fur, no paint flaws, the pupils straight, the ears straight.” Every animal is different, and the taxidermist has to be aware of every minute detail, including what angles the eyes need to be positioned in. For deer, eyes must forward 45 degrees and tilted out 10 degrees. Most often the eyes are glass, and bought through wildlife supply and taxidermy catalogues. These catalogues also offer the polyurethane mounts, teeth, and other “accessories” like antlers, earliners, and neck foam for support. The process of taxidermy is long and arduous, and taxidermists need to be artistic, creative, and fastidious in their work to create a realistic result.
Both men also note that many hunters believe in using all parts of their kill. Mounting the skin of their animal is another way to make sure the animal was not killed in vain. “They are hunting these animals for food,” Bradburn says. “And they appreciate the animal for everything it gives them.”
Clark also finds inspiration in the natural world. “I’ve always loved nature. And I’ve always noticed things. Most people go around this world not noticing, but I love watching animals and the way they move.”
The art of taxidermy lies in the detail of the work. It reads like an inherent contradiction: a love for nature with a love for taxidermy. But the men and women who do this job must use their appreciation of nature and understanding of animals to cut, paint, and stitch an accurate reproduction. The creepiness of the work can be negated by understanding the value of it: for scientific purposes, for display, or simply because nothing should go to waste.
At the end of the day, Bradburn* is a taxidermist because, “I like working with beautiful animals.” He refers to his workshop affectionately as his “little shop of horrors.” When asked about his own hunting habits he said, “I bird watch more than I hunt. I would barely step on an ant.” He chuckles, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he laughs. “I’m getting soft in my old age.” At the end of the day, it takes a great animal lover to be a great taxidermist.
*Editor’s Note: Originally attributed to David Clark. Ethos sincerely apologizes for this error.

Gallery • 8 Photos

Ivar Vong

7/29/10, 4:39:02 PM Pacific Time