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Artists: Bryndis Snaebjornsdottir and Mark Wilson
Exhibitions:Spike Island, Bristol, February-March 2004 Oxford
Natural History Museum, August-October 2004 Wollaton Hall, Natural
History Museum Nottingham, U.K. 2006 Horniman Museum, London,
U.K. December 2006-February 2007
Publication:Published by Spike Island and Black Dog to
be launched in spring 2005
Website www.valand.gu.se/bryndis
Part of the story laid out in 'nanoq' should be the unpacking
of what it is to exoticise something - to dwell on its difference
as something opaque and impenetrable - that asks no questions
and seeks only to confirm the stereotype that we know.
Much has been written on the hollowness of souvenirs, their intrinsic
sadness and the ultimate futility of collecting things by which
we seek to remember places and events. Perhaps none is more poignant
than that which is plucked from 'nature', that thing that once
was living and now is dead or redundant - a shadow of what it
once was in life - dead flowers, a piece of coral, a stone, a
shell - 'nothing looks so dead as a shell in suburbia'.
If we handle or knock expectantly on the surface of something
stolen long ago, we can expect to hear one of two things - the
dull thud of its disembodiment, its unmediated physicality, in
short, what it is - not what it was or what we think or thought
it was.
Or, if we listen more closely we may hear the ring and echo of
a much larger set of truths, only one of which will be indicative
of its current condition and only one of which will be, or correspond
in part with what we thought its significance to be. A multitude
of narratives and interlocking fragments, redolent not only of
what has transpired, its dislocation, journey and its second life,
but inevitably, if only by implication, of what else might have
been.
This project is, as the subtitle implies, a survey of taxidermic
polar bears existing in the United Kingdom today. In its methodology
it actively sets out to track down these specimens. We have done
everything within our power to locate every last specimen that
exists as a whole mount, but also acknowledge that this may be
an impossible task. We have reason to believe that some remain
tucked away in private collections. We advertised our intentions
and generally made our mission known but there are no doubt more
'out there'. The project is designed to generate a discourse in
which the audience is invited to consider their relationship not
only to the 'polar bears' themselves, but to the history of their
collection, presentation and preservation.
After 3 years of research we have found 34 stuffed polar bears
in the U.K. We have tracked them down, visited them on site, photographed
and gathered documents about their history and provenance.
We have also lost a few bears; the one that was observed standing
outside a demolition ground in Glasgow. When we went to photograph
it, the demolition company had suddenly gone into receivership
and we were unable to establish what became of the bear. There
was also a polar bears in Potter's Museum of Curiosities which
was sold by Bonham's in 2003 as lot no. 616 - (asking price £5,000-£7,000).
It went to an anonymous bidder for £3,290. Then there was the
polar bear we heard of in Alderman Richard Hallam School, in Leicester
with glowing red lights instead of eyes. Although we contacted
the school we were unable to speak to anyone who was prepared
to confirm it having been there.
Museums have, almost without exception, been of great assistance
to us during the research stages of this project. They have demonstrated
a great deal of interest in helping us find polar bears because
although there is, or rather was no data base on the subject,
each keeper or curator knew of two or perhaps three in other collections.
There were even times when we were able to assist the museums
themselves in identifying specimens within their own collections.
In the Eureka Museum of Childhood in Halifax there was, we were
told a polar bear that had come from Dundee. We received this
information from the keeper of the natural history collection
at Sheffield Museum and Art Gallery who showed us a photograph
a nd a 'skeletal' provenance of the specimen as proof. When we
made a phone call to Eureka we were asked if this was April Fool's
day - in short, they didn't have a polar bear. After further investigation
the director (who may have been newly in post) called us back
to confirm the existence of their bear).
For the installation in Spike Island, a large converted warehouse
gallery space in Bristol we negotiated with collectors, both public
and private, to borrow 10 polar bears. There we displayed them
in specially designed glass cases, the plinth they arrived on,
being the only visible trace of their museum environment. By removing
the bears from the ambience of the museum dioramas and indicative
environments, viewers were forced to look at/observe them whilst
relying solely on their own knowledge. This duly focused the thoughts
just as much on the audience as on the object on display. We say
object on display here, because although many were killed
for what was called scientific purposes in order for the
public to be able to get an idea of what this animal looked like
in real life, Michelle Henning a senior lecturer in Cultural Studies
at Bristol University has pointed out that they are not polar
bears - they are of polar bears just as a photograph is of a subject.
This, on closer inspection, became quite clear at Spike Island.
Amongst other things, the bears represented a history of taxidermy
dating from the early 19th century to the late 20th, our growing
awareness and knowledge about this animal, its anatomy/physiology
and our shifting attitudes towards it and what it might mean to
us, psychologically and culturally. The bears mounted in the late
19th century or early 20th are portrayed as vicious, scary, fearsome
and designed to reflect their danger and the implicit courage
of the hunter. The polar bear in Kendal Museum in Cumbria and
the two at Somerleyton Hall in Norfolk are prime examples.
The polar bear in Kendal recorded in our photograph on the project
website, stands in a classic, aggressive pose set in front of
a painted arctic landscape. The romantic scene features a rosy
midnight glow. The polar bear is standing elevated on a plinth
on top of which is another pedestal, made to look like a small
ice floe. This added height reinforces the aggressive and overpowering
effect as the bear is not standing properly on his back legs but
instead gives the impression of being just about to strike or
jump. The visitor has to negotiate a narrow space between the
bear and the opposite display. This awkwardness is further reinforced
by the fact that the bear is not cased. The display is part of
an arctic corner in which we see a painted autumn tundra behind
a cased musk ox and snowy owls amongst other specimens. It is
a somehow awkward, fragmented display in that it doesn't sit convincingly
as a diorama and relies heavily on token arctic references. Above
it all sits the trophy head and a security camera possibly directed
at our encounter with the bear. The bear itself is a trophy as
is suggested on the label behind it, claiming that it was shot
by the local Lord Lonsdale in the year 1888/9 during an arctic
expedition. Further investigations revealed that the expedition
took him across northern Canada, Alaska and eventually to Kodiak
Island. When we approached the current Lord Lonsdale for more
information about this polar bear he made it abundantly clear
that he did not want to know. Further research revealed that the
motives of the Earl were far from heroic, as he was sent to the
arctic by Queen Victoria in order to divert attention from an
affair he was conducting with a well known actress.
The Somerleyton polar bears, (one of which we borrowed for the
show in Spike Island) normally stand in a symmetrical arrangement
in the vestibule on either side of the grand entrance to Somerleyton
Hall. We understand that they have stood in this way, guarding
the stately home since they were brought back from Spitzbergen
in 1897 by the 1st Lord Somerleyton. Out of shot in our photograph,
in the centre of the entrance hall is a marble bust of the first
Lord Somerleyton as a young boy. As a young man in 1897 it was
he who travelled to Spitzbergen as a paying, working crew member
and it was he who took part in the shooting and capture of a recorded
total of 55 polar bears - two of which now stand behind his likeness.
It would seem to be a classic tableau - evoking an archetype of
British aristocratic adventuring with the relics and trophies
of colonial enterprise. When we first visited Lord Somerleyton
he showed us some glass slides which his grandfather took on the
expedition. These images have never before been published (www.valand.gu.se/bryndis)
and they constitute a treasure in themselves. They document quite
unselfconsciously the progress of the crew around the shores of
Svalbard and particularly the capture , the 'exercising' and the
consequences of the shooting of bears. The titles of the glass
slides which we have kept and which you can see when navigating
the site, are simple, graphic descriptions of the images; bear
walking on board (climbing ladder), two cubs eat mother, bear
roped on deck etc. Incidentally it was whilst photographing
the polar bear in the Castle Museum in Norfolk which was also
shot by the 1st Lord Somerleyton, that we heard about the two/three
at Somerleyton Hall (one exists as a skin only).
Today there are only 3 polar bears alive in the U.K. One is in
Edinburgh Zoo. Called Mercedes, she has been 23 years in
captivity. When we visited the zoo a few years ago she was in
a temporary enclosure as the staff were installing a 'toy' designed
to attempt to stimulate her and help her to reconnect with some
natural behaviour patterns. This was a platform in her enclosure
which would throw a fish into the air when she punched on it with
her front paws. We were told that Mercedes came originally from
Churchill in Canada and wandered into town in search of food.
This is not a unusual to thing to happen in Churchill and when
it does the polar bears are sometimes put to sleep with sedatives
shot into them from a distance and airlifted in a basket back
into the nature reserve. Mercedes on the other hand did this repeatedly
and as a consequence she was sold to Edinburgh Zoo.
Amongst the bears we borrowed for Spike Island, were two relatively
recent mounts i.e. from the late 1960s. One was from Sheffield
Museum the pride of its collection and the other from Edinburgh
Museum, both mounted in rather 'natural' looking, playful, friendly,
anthropomorphic poses. One stands on a stone with his hands down
by the side, the right hand paw slightly stretched out as if to
indicate ...'hey, it is my turn to have the ball now' and the
other sits back leaning on one arm as if having to momentarily
rest in the middle of play. These female bears although mounted
by two different taxidermists were actually living together at
Edinburgh Zoo. They had the names Janie and Jim although Jim on
his/her death in 1975 was registered as female. Both bears died
at the same time and both originated from Canada and had been
brought over to Scotland by Captain Koran on 25th of September
1947.
What we have noticed whilst visiting natural history collections
around the UK, Europe and the USA is that they are peppered with
individual animals with a popular history - that is, animals that
have been local or national favourites in zoo collections for
ten, twenty or more years prior to dying and being stuffed and
deposited in their local museum. Chi Chi, from London Zoo, Guy
the gorilla, Jumbo the elephant and many more, all public and
media favourites in their time, occupy a strange but distinctive
niche which cuts across the 'animal as representative of species'
odel, occupying more of a celebrity status befitting the former
star of an emporium of popular culture (specifically the zoo).
Here, where the normal course of events gives an ex-zoo animal
a new and more serious currency as it passes into 'the museum',
these individuals - coloured and even tainted by their unwitting
colonisation of the affections and imagination of countless human
admirers, are destined to remain forever in a kind of limbo -
neither returned to a representative role, nor ever again a subject
of delight or affection. On of the most bizarre incidences of
this kind for us were the two polar bears Misha and Nina at Bristol
Zoo. We actually didn't find them until the show at Spike Island
in Bristol was underway. First, we had not approached zoo's for
stuffed polar bears and as it happens, Misha and Nina were both
at Bristol Zoo. Misha came to the zoo in 1980 from a circus and
before that had been captured in the wild - where and when is
unknown. Nina was born in 1958 in Copenhagen Zoo and was sold
to Bristol in 1963 she was therefore 33 years old when she and
Misha were put down in 1992. Today the bears are a feature of
the education centre at Bristol zoo. The second reason for them
not becoming evident to us for so long is that there is some sensitivity
surrounding them as they, like so many others in captivity, became
mad and paced constantly up and down in their enclosure. As a
matter of fact Misha and Nina were the first animals in the U.K.
in which this behaviour, (stereotypic pacing and head-weaving)
was identified as syndromic. As a consequence of this, amidst
much unfavourable publicity the bears were destroyed.
It did not pass us unnoticed that in undertaking the tracking
down of bears, we were involved in a process that in some way
mirrored the original acts of hunting (if not killing). It was
a cultural hunt - unheroic perhaps and clearly not dangerous,
but nevertheless one where the unexpected could be expected to
happen. The collection of objects is a necessity for many, long
after the needs of subsistence are met, but it seems unlikely
that instincts driving the hunt to eat and clothe are entirely
divorced from those driving the hunt to collect. The impulses
which demanded that newly- built museums be stocked like Arks
with taxidermic representatives of every conceivable species were
fed and met by equally enthusiastic pioneers and explorers in
newly-discovered territories and landscapes which were inaccessible
to all but themselves. This was heroic and where the hunger for
trophies of heroism and machismo seemed not enough, it was heroism
underpinned by the worth of 'science' and 'education'.
In our search, our hunt, we maintained a modesty and focus. The
polar bear is a totemic, iconic creature. We have witnessed how
in living human memory, the image of the polar bear has been expropriated
and put to the most varied and unlikely purposes - selling dreams,
sweets, lifestyles, travel. In all cases except seemingly for
the most contemporary and chilling - its role as iconic representative
of the demise of its own environment - its appeal is dependent
on an almost inescapable anthropomorphism. The bear stands on
two legs. It plays and wrestles - it sits - it rests - all in
ways which are suggestively 'human'.
But we also know the polar bear to be a formidable predator at
the top of the food chain in the Arctic commanding the greatest
respect of all visitors to that environment. It is a catalogue
of parodoxes. It is a prism with the capacity to contain and refract
all manner of response in us: fear, horror, respect, pathos, affection,
humour. It is this capacity above all others which makes it such
a potent symbol and for us, in relation to this project, such
a powerful reality to seek to reappraise.
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