“No doubt there are many idiosyncratic motives, but I offer seven incentives—what I call narratives of longing—that impel the creation of taxidermy: wonder, beauty, spectacle, order, narrative, allegory, and remembrance” (7).
“As part of his larger work on poetry, La deca ammirabile, published in 1587, Francesco Patrizi lists twelve sources of wonder available to the poet: ignorance, fable, novelty, paradox, augmentation, departure from the usual, the extranatural, the divine, great utility, the very precises, the unexpected, and the sudden. For Patrizi, wonder was a shocking encounter with obscurity tinged with delicious anticipation. It was the tingling experience of going back and forth between what our reason tells us cannot be so and what our eyes cannot deny is so. when something new and unexpected appears before us, Patriti explains, it ‘creates a movement in our soul, almost contradictory in itself of believing and not believing. Of believing because the thing is seen to exist; and of not believing because it is sudden, new, and not before either known, though, or believed able to exist. ’ Even the usual could provoke wonder if its appearance was somehow unexpected: a shadow, for example strangely enlarged and looming up a wall could momentarily disorient. In other words, wonderful objects were not merely seen but experienced as visceral and emotional events” (19).
“If Victorian taxidermy clashes with current sensibilities, in great part it is because the meaning of animal beauty has been redefined. Killing an animal in order to admire it is now almost a contradiction in terms. I n other words, just as a romantic, spiritualized sensibility marked the nineteenth century’s natural aesthetic, ecological concerns about species loss have come to characterize our evaluations of animal beauty today. Of course, in contrast to nature photography or even zoos, taxidermy is an extreme, deathly encounter with animals. But taxidermy is not motivated to destroy or mar animal form but to preserve it” (55).
“At least until the mid-eighteenth century, scientific inquiry was not distinct from aesthetic appreciation” (57).
--p.61-62 explains the astonishing TWO OCELOTS
“Any Victorian household would have at least one or two stuffed birds under glass, along with some small natural history collection: pressed ferns on the parlor wall, a collection of butterflies, or at least a few shells, feathers, or minerals” (68).
“Waterton argued that Horace’s instructions for poets, which encouraged them to access the vital core of their characters’ moral fiber, were equally germane to taxidermists” (74).
“In a sense, collections are choreographed performances, and each collected item emboldens the fantasy” (80).
“The average lifespan of big cats in the early years of London’s Zoological Gardens (opened in 1828) was about two years, which meant that one lion, tiger, leopard or puma died each month” (89).
“Artistic taxidermy was still considered scientific—it still faithfully presented beasts—but the science of natural history was blurred with emotion” (94).
“Comparing your size to the size of a moose or a hummingbird, or seeing the shape of a wombat or a pygmy hippopotamus, is always startling. There is something very personal about encountering an animal face to face, even if dead, even if taxidermied, even if behind glass” (136).
“If tombstones are commissioned from grief, trophies are commissioned from triumph” (150-51).
“In a sense, trophies epitomize everything that is disliked about taxidermy in general. All taxidermy makes death overt, but just heads are decidedly deader” (151).
“Abhorrence is understandable in vegetarians, animal rights activists, and any community that believes there is no excuse for killing an animal. But for meat eaters and anyone who owns leather shoes, bags, or furniture, the sharp negative reaction to taxidermy is less straightforward. What is the difference between a steak, a belt, and a trophy in all cases an animal has been killed, dissected, and shaped, and yet a distinction exists in contemporary opinion. What makes hunting trophies so particularly objectionable.
[…]
Adverse reactions to trophies potentially highlights a hypocrisy for anyone who routinely uses products from purposely killed animals. From shoes, to baseball mitts, to cooking shows on television, it is impossible to live a day without encountering animal parts” (151).
HUNTING and how it is defined, “First, the animal must be wild, as opposed to domesticated and docile, and able to run away; killing a dairy cow or a lion in a zoo is not hunting….” (156).
“Anthropomorphic taxidermy offers a queasy material fable of human supremacy wrapped up in witty cuteness. The humor is not a knowing humor of dark truths revealed with deceptive simplicity, but rather the unsettling drollery of dead bunnies doing sums” (189).
“After all, taxidermy is as much an encounter as an animal-thing” (194).
“By the mid-nineteenth century, dogs in particular had become the cliché accessories to modern life, and dog breeds continued to mushroom throughout that century into the next. In 1788 the French naturalist George-Louis Leclerc de Buffon described fourteen breeds. By the end of the nineteenth century, more than two hundred breeds could be distinguished: sheepdogs, Great Danes, bulldogs, collies, proliferating sub-breeds of poodles and lapdogs, all reflecting their owners’ class, style, and sensibilities” (206).