Where do you source your materials and art supplies?
Most of my pieces come from animals that died naturally — road-found, naturally passed, or discovered while already part of the cycle of decay. I work with what nature offers, rather than taking anything from it.
I also source a lot through breeders and FTT. I have a network of people who responsibly raise animals for food sources, trades, and other practical purposes. Some materials come from pest control or predator culling situations, where the animals would be removed regardless, and I simply make sure nothing goes to waste.
On top of that, I receive remains from pet stores and local shelters when animals pass away unexpectedly. Instead of being discarded, they’re honored and transformed into pieces that continue their story.
In every case, I prioritize ethical sourcing and full use—giving a respectful second life to what would otherwise be lost or forgotten.
Tell me about the first piece you ever made. How about your favorite piece?
The very first piece I ever made goes all the way back to when I was about seven. I found a raccoon skull in the woods—sun-bleached, half-hidden in leaves, and absolutely magical to my little kid brain. That one skull opened the door for me. I’ve been collecting, creating, and curating ever since, chasing that same spark of curiosity and reverence for the natural world.
The first full animal I ever processed was an otter that had been hit right in front of my vehicle. It felt meaningful in a strange way, like I was meant to be the one to give it that second life as a study piece. I wasn’t prepared, though, for what I found inside—worms. So many worms. At the time it shocked me, but now I know it’s practically a signature of otters. They’re almost always riddled with them. It was a messy baptism into real taxidermy work, but one that taught me a lot and didn’t scare me off.
As for my favorite pieces? Honestly, the beaver front paws. They’re tiny, expressive, and weirdly human-like. When they’re preserved more flat, people always think they’re monkey paws. I get asked about them constantly—‘Where did you get the monkey paws?’—and it never stops being funny. There’s something whimsical and uncanny about them that makes them stand out, like a little artifact from a folklore tale.
Does this art form mean anything to you spiritually or religiously? How so?
I use many of my pieces in the divinatory practice of osteomancy, so yes—this art form holds spiritual weight for me. Bone-casting isn’t just about tossing objects and reading where they land; it requires a real bond with the pieces. Each bone has its own personality, its own history, and over time you come to understand how it ‘speaks’ in a reading. That relationship is essential for accuracy. It’s almost like forming a tiny council of voices, each offering its own perspective when consulted.
There’s also an ancestral thread woven through it. Working with bones connects me to a lineage of people who used the natural world—remains, omens, signs—to understand life’s deeper patterns. It feels like stepping into an old, quiet tradition and adding my own chapter to it.
And when I prepare animals or materials, I try to be mindful and reverent. These were once little beings navigating their own lives and doing their best to survive. Treating their remains with care is my way of honoring that. In a way, it becomes a kind of stewardship—transforming what’s left behind into something meaningful, respectful, and capable of helping people seek guidance.
What impact do you hope to make with your artwork?
I hope my pieces bring genuine joy to the people who welcome them into their lives. Whether someone displays them as art, carries them as a talisman, or uses them in their daily practices, I want each piece to feel like a small spark of wonder—something that speaks to them personally. And for those who use my work in divination, I hope the bones and curios serve dutifully: offering clarity, guidance, and a steady presence in ritual. Ultimately, I want my artwork to feel purposeful, comforting, and alive with meaning, long after it leaves my hands.
Do you do this art as hobby, job or spiritual practice?
All three, really. It’s a hobby, a job, and a spiritual practice woven together.
If I weren’t doing it professionally, I’d still be doing it—just on a much smaller scale—because the work itself calls to me. The collecting, the cleaning, the arranging… it’s something I’m genuinely drawn to.
As a job, it lets me share that fascination with others and keep the practice alive in a sustainable way. As a hobby, it’s something I’d do even if no one ever saw the pieces but me. And spiritually, there’s a grounding, meditative quality in working with natural materials and honoring what remains.
How do people typically react to your artwork?
It depends on the person. Some absolutely love it— they see the beauty in bones, the craftsmanship in preservation, and the connection to nature that comes with holding something real and once-living. They appreciate the artistry, the oddity, the sense of mystery, and the way each piece seems to carry its own quiet story.
And then there are people who really don’t like it. Some are uncomfortable with the idea of death, or they assume taxidermy is harmful even when the materials are ethically sourced. Others find bones or preserved remains unsettling simply because it isn’t something they interact with in everyday life. To them, it can feel eerie or strange.
It tends to split people right down the middle—those drawn to the unusual find it fascinating, and those who prefer things a bit more conventional often shy away from it.
What started your fascination with this art form?
My interest started long before I even realized what it would become. I’ve always been drawn to the things most people overlook—bones in the woods, feathers caught in branches, the quiet evidence of life after life. While others saw something strange, I saw structure, story, and a kind of natural poetry.
It grew from simple curiosity into respect: a desire to understand how creatures are put together, how nature preserves and transforms, and how something once living can still hold meaning long after it's not. Turning remains into art became a way for me to honor that cycle instead of shying away from it. Over time, it stopped feeling like collecting and started feeling like preserving little fragments of the world and giving them a chance to be seen, appreciated, and remembered.
Who inspires your artwork? Do you look up to anyone in this community?
Honestly, I don’t really look up to anyone specific in the community—not because I’m not inspired, but because I simply don’t know many people. I came into this art form on my own, learning through curiosity, experimentation, and what nature put in front of me. Instead of being shaped by particular artists, my work is more inspired by the materials themselves—bones, textures, strange little remains, the quiet stories they carry. I’m influenced by the natural world far more than by any individual creator. While there are incredible people in this community, and maybe one day I’ll find artists whose paths align with mine, my inspiration comes from discovery, instinct, and the creatures themselves rather than from a single mentor or figure to look up to.