I came upon twin fawns
in the display case of a mom and pop toy and science store in kansas
city, missouri. it took me two years to win the trust of the shop
owner and save the money to buy them. a taxidermist spotted a dead
deer by the side of the road. he stopped to properly dispose of the
body and realized she was pregnant. he opened her and found near
full-term twin fawns, he removed and preserved them.
Deer rarely have twins and the taxidermist retained the uterine gesture of their
bodies. i built them a vitrine with a light blue base. their prematurity exaggerates
the delicacy of an incredibly sweet thing. the points of their hooves, the length
of their lashes, the spots of their hides, nose to small nose in an ur-cartoonish
realism … viewers’ eyes trick them into believing the fawns are breathing. the
tragedy of beauty is its transience.
The twins live forever in their own demise. they are sleeping beauties. they
have been muses since i first saw them.
We dress death in lilies and bronze the names of our dead sons on walls. we erect
altars of toys and hold candlelight vigils to express hope. my twin fawns sleep
endlessly on their baby blue block in my studio. the twins never opened their
eyes yet their wondrous fatality evokes an acceptable alternative to death.