Much ado about stuffing: when animals become lifelike in death

Two weeks ago, Namibian Sun reported on the Namibia Professional Hunters Association's (Napha’s) criticism of a vainglorious social media post by an American trophy hunter. In the post, the hunter boasted that “I proudly killed three cheetah cubs...I would do it again under the same circumstances. Hunters who obscure their faces are moral cowards.”

Napha found the language and tone of the post “disrespectful and inflammatory.” If the hunt occurred fifteen years ago, as reported, why the furore now? In response, Napha president Axel Cramer emphasised the country’s legal framework, “which requires that such actions (including the elimination of problem animals)... be carried out responsibly and ethically.”

The story reminded me of another American trophy hunter who killed a famous lion named Cecil outside Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe in 2015. Responding to the incident, the National Geographic magazine revealed that Cecil was part of a Wildlife Conservation Research Unit exercise. As a result, news of the lion’s death “sparked an international outcry and greater scrutiny of trophy hunting for the heads, skins, or other body parts of wild animals.”

Origins

The two stories reminded me of an advertisement by a taxidermy company last year, which called for “any qualified, upcoming or interested parties to apply for the position of a taxidermist.” However, the invitation for applications parenthetically added a caution as it dissuaded “taxi drivers” from applying.

Overwhelmed by curiosity, I enquired from a spokesperson of Trophaendienste Taxidermy and Curios why the invitation, which called on “any qualified, upcoming, or interested parties”, proscribed taxi drivers from applying. Happily, the spokesperson understood my puzzlement and gently nudged me to read more about taxidermy.

An early result of my reading was the song: “I ordered a taxi driver not a taxidermist” by the Australian avant-garde metal band Troldhaugen. The song tells the story of a customer who requests a taxi driver, only to get a visit from a taxidermist. I, therefore, learnt early on that the word taxi is an accepted short name for taxidermist.

Dilemma

The Napha story refers to the words “ethical and responsible.”

Taxidermy comes from the Greek words taxis (order, arrangement) and derma (skin).

Taxidermy thus translates to “the arrangement of skin.” Herein lies one of taxidermy’s abiding challenges. On one hand, journalist Sylvia Thompson of the Irish Times can celebrate taxidermy as “a sign of culture, worldliness, and sophistication to exhibit stuffed animals and birds in the drawing rooms of large homes, and subsequently in museums.” In addition, Thompson says lecturers can use the museum exhibits “to help students better understand the forms and structures of various creatures... biodiversity, to raise ecological points, and discuss modern biology and rewilding issues.” Yet, the words “ethical and responsible” retain a hounding and haunting presence around taxidermy.

This may explain why the Curious Nature of Phoenix in America promises that “we strive to source our pieces with as much background knowledge as possible. To us, ethic-sourcing means that all our taxidermy mounts are vintage, died a natural death, or that at no time were hunted or killed for sport.”

In similar tones, taxidermist Jazmine Miles Long regrets taxidermy’s sensitive nature as “the intimate relationship between death and maker.” Jazmine has a young son whose questions leave her feeling like “a grief counsellor and listening ear.” Researcher Daniel Lopez Fernandez of the University of Valencia echoes Jazmine’s angst when he writes that, “contrary to other forms of art, in taxidermy, animal death is essential... the death of the animal is required to present that same animal in a ‘lifelike’ state.”

In a world always searching for (political) correctness, it is unsurprising that Fernandez has come across a different form of taxidermy: “In contrast to traditional forms of taxidermy, some contemporary artists have begun to produce works that can be aptly characterised as forms of botched or bad taxidermy – in this form, things appear to have gone wrong because the artists botch the animal body... by seizing the spectator’s attention with art that is discomforting, or even grotesque, the work forces the spectator to question how and why the animal died.”

Guide the way

A war of words is in the offing. London-based taxidermist Philip Leggett argues that taxidermy should remain an art which determines whether a piece “is jaw-droppingly brilliant or frankly appalling.” He emphasises that customers should consider attributes like “anatomical accuracy, standards, quality, and ability in order to get a taxidermy mount... proudly on display for a long time, possibly decades.”

Amateur, part-time and full-time taxidermists and full-fledged taxidermy companies agree that hunting should achieve more than just supporting conservation efforts. For example, journalist Merle Patchett writes in the Architectural Review that, “whether it is in museums, galleries, designer boutiques or fashionable residences, taxidermy animals... are utilised as important resources for telling complex histories of relations between humans and other animals.”

The Egyptians are the earliest recorded taxidermists with their preserved mummified pharaohs, dogs, cats, monkeys and birds, as early as 2200 BC. But, with continued disputes around the craft, taxidermy has been the subject of debates on colonialism and hunting.

However, supporters of the industry, like Katie Pavid, still argue that “it is a vital tool that allows us to teach about the huge range of life on Earth.” Thus, it seems Napha’s two words, “ethical and responsible,” must continue to guide the way in which the industry does its work.

*Lawrence Kamwi previously worked as a broadcast journalist and civil servant in Zimbabwe. He now enjoys writing on eclectic subjects and studying filmmaking.