Rogue taxidermists
It seems only fitting that in our non-Reality-based Community, the Minnesota Association of Rogue Taxidermists would grab such a hold of our imagination.
Yes, in an age where more people believe in the existence of angels than in Darwin's theory, when more expect to see a UFO than to see a Social Security check when they retire, it is only fitting that we should see a trend towards "Cabinets of Wonders."
In a recent four-way phone interview, the Rogue Taxidermists, speaking from Minneapolis, acknowledged a certain spirit of mischief in their work. "I think the point of the association should be to get as many people doing weird taxidermy as possible," said Mr. Bibus, with a prankster's glee.
Indeed, the absurdly gory, sometimes campy nature of the work is aggressively weird. But the three are earnest about their art and the ideas they are trying to highlight through taxidermy. All are animal lovers, with a number of pet dogs, cats, birds and fish among them; they use only roadkill, donations from veterinarians and unused animal remains from museums. A strict waste-not-want-not policy accounts for Ms. Brewer's mummified squirrel heads and pickled internal organs, what she calls "carcass art," which is not technically taxidermy.
To be sure, the Rogue Taxidermists do not claim to be the first to suspend animal remains in formaldehyde and call it art. But they hope that through their exhibitions they can inspire people to recognize the natural world around them and to reconsider their position in it - whether, as Mr. Marbury said, the reaction is "revulsion or love or distrust."
In Mr. Marbury's estimation, taxidermy has a unique capacity to evoke the mystery of death. "When you deal with a dead object and then you are imbuing it with life and giving it characteristics," he said, "people become uncomfortable."
Taxidermy, literally "arrangement of skin," flourished in the 18th century, when seagoing voyages of exploration inspired in the public a fascination with natural science through the exhibition of the exotic animals and strange specimens brought home. At the turn of the 20th century, Carl E. Akeley, the acknowledged father of modern taxidermy, transformed into a form of sculpture the practice of crudely stuffing preserved animal skins. The lifelike animals in his dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History in New York and at the Field Museum in Chicago set the standard.
Yes, in an age where more people believe in the existence of angels than in Darwin's theory, when more expect to see a UFO than to see a Social Security check when they retire, it is only fitting that we should see a trend towards "Cabinets of Wonders."
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