A Beautiful Carcass

Not so long ago, I found a dead raccoon.

This was in the dying part of town, where the city seems to unravel into a great expanse of abandoned spaces, strewn with trash, framed by ragged chainlink.

The raccoon had not been dead long when I found it. It was just off a major thoroughfare, in a vacant lot, partially concealed by a patch of tall grass and weeds that had, somehow, fought their way up through the crumbling concrete. It was not the most unusual find, to be sure; nevertheless, I was struck by the unlikely beauty of that carcass.

Over the coming weeks and months I found myself returning to that site many times, checking in to see what new surprises the process of decomposition had brought. I watched the blood drain from flesh to soil, bright crimson giving way to a shade of purple so saturated that it seemed otherworldly and artificial. And the blowflies: a veil of shimmering greens and blues that enveloped the carcass until, threatened by my encroaching shadow, they dissociated into a thousand specs, leaving only the punishing sun and the reek of decay in their wake.

In time, I scavenged that sorrowful creature’s mummified head. And, since then, this prop has been given a new life as the centrepiece of a series of baroque still life compositions. These images — like the 17th-century vanitas paintings that inspired them — are intended as a meditation on mortality and transience. At the same time, however, I find something hopeful here: a reminder that even in the midst of death and decay and ruin, there is still beauty to be found.