The Fire at the Taxidermist

As a lover of nature and the preservation of its longevity it seems immoral, but yes, I must confess that I love taxidermy. Unfortunately, I am not in the buyer's market with even stuffed street pigeons going at 400€. Like the giddy American girls who flock to the windows of Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent, I can be found gazing longingly through the glass at the mountain goat from "Claude Nature". The one time that I did put my hand in my pocket (£5 for a weasel stole on Portobello market), it ended badly when I returned after a summer absence to find that a mouse had eaten its nose and paws. 

The art of taxidermy is dismissed by many as a dark and morbid use of nature to create objects of a purely whimsical benefit, to amuse or disturb. Walter Potter's anthropomorphic dioramas best fit this category, with card-playing kittens, or boxing squirrels to mention but a few. I was lucky enough to see some of these oeuvres when visiting the Museum of Everything on Primrose Hill last year, which are otherwise scattered in private collections. Whilst these do amuse and amaze, they fail to explain my fascination. Similarly, Damien Hirst's "The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living", a tiger shark preserved in a formaldehyde tank, fails to hit the mark for me. Too clinical, too knowing and too vulgar, it did at least raise interesting questions on the exhibiting of a dead animal, and the ownership of the work.

The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living, Damien Hirst 1991

Yann Martel's "Beatrice and Virgil" contains an eloquent description of a taxidermist, not as a preserver of death, but of life. The profession seeks to take that which was beautiful in the living creature, and attempt to present its character, its form and its context. Indeed, the best taxidermy is that which looks as if it will leap from its pedestal at any moment. Miles away from Potter's boggle eyed kittens, or Hirst's tanked in putrefying fish are the exquisitely worked specimens at 46 rue du Bac, Paris. Since 1881, Deyrolle has been the world's finest purveyor of Natural History, from ammonites to aardvarks, beautifully rendered with an enviable craftsmanship. Each hair is perfectly groomed, each paw gracefully positioned, and every eye full of life. But when on the 1st of February 2008, a fire gutted the building, the iconic store seemed done for.

Touched by Fire, Martin d'Orgeval, 2008

However, it would seem that I am not alone in my appreciation of fine taxidermy. France's Ministry of Culture began a collection, Hermès sold a limited edition scarf to raise money, and past clients returned works they had purchased. Ingeniously, the charred remains of animals were crafted by a range of artists, before being auctioned off at the Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature. The efforts paid off, the doors reopened, and Deyrolle today continues to stand as a testament to art of taxidermy. This weekend, I took my brother, prime candidate for mocking my taste in a 'naturalised' animal, to see the shop. Whilst we left empty handed, I like to think I converted one more to the dark side.