Constructing Nature is ongoing exploration into the History of Natural History as well as a subjective relationship to its address. It takes the form here of a couple exhibition proposals to the Field Museum in Chicago working largely with their own archive and includes a series of correspondence to the Field that contextualize and elaborate the project. A friend suggest a make a New Yorker style piece about the experience which is included as well.

This proposal was the 5th iteration, with earlier versions similar in scale and differing in scope. Below is a proposal for a contemporary and modern art series for the Field Museum called interpositions

I thought it might be interesting to exhibit the proposal itself, along with the correspondence that gave some more context. This part of the process seems rather artful and usually invisible. I sent a note to some friends in Mexico City to see if they might help.

Hola Marco and Alma! 

Konnichiwa from Japón, where I’ve been doing a couple month long research trip, following an itinerant 17th century artist monk through the mountains. It’s been a fascinating journey and new friendship with this wonderful artist. I’ve also been visiting the seasonal art and cultural festivals, and learning about the collections and institutions in the cities. I’m working on a book about my experience here… as usual with many images, essays, poetry, diaries and so on. I’ll make a companion film. 

I have a client in California, a friend, who is a commercial photographer in his seventies now and living between Columbia and California. I’ve been working with him remotely on his archive and developing a show about Neoliberal Realism. He started a stock photo agency and made incredible work, hundreds of thousands of slides that he was about to throw away that illustrate the so-called end of history period of rapid neoliberal expansion. The photos are a fascinating combination of capitalist sublime, Lynchian American unconscious, and surrealist stock agency b-roll, along with some early reportage and artistic experimentation. It’s compelling in its breadth and also provincializes and historicizes—maybe even de-naturalizes western neoliberalism and its peculiar visual culture. 

Speaking of de-naturalizing hegemonic cultures—and also the main reason I’m writing this morning, is that I have been in conversation with the Field Museum in Chicago (one of the big Natural History Museums in the world) for the last 6 months about a curatorial project looking at the history of natural history, and telling that story through their extensive archive. It’s a celebration of their museum staff artists, who are largely ignored by history, and also looks at themes of Christianity, Colonialism and Scientism as articulated in that mode of museography. I think the celebrating their staff part using their own archival holdings they like, and the other parts maybe less so. They’ve had me for a couple meetings and have been generally supportive if non-committal. I’ve been sending increasingly elaborate and frankly animistic proposals and they have been sending formal responses about their bureaucratic processes. They have an internal exhibitions staff of 60 people, rarely work with outside curators, don’t have any development funding, and have to submit my proposal to all sorts of protocols. The institutional politics are stunning and I can’t imagine this exhibition will be realized at a fraction of its scope. 

It occurred to me though, it might be fascinating to exhibit the proposal process, as well as the archival images and some of the correspondence that frames it. I’ve realized that so much of what constitutes art in the contemporary, is the invisibilized and highly aestheticized application process, the epistolary form, and what we could call a kind of relational aesthetics with institutional administrators. What people end up seeing is usually the bureaucratic Frankenstein that results. I like the idea of exhibiting the process and also reversing the usual hierarchies of power and narrative control. This is particularly fitting for a show deconstructing Nature and Natural History by using artists excluded from the historical record. 

And I thought to myself, what would be a better venue than Guadalajara 90210? I love your spirit and approach to exhibition-making, and it feels in line with the objectives of the project. 

Maybe we could talk about some more? I’ll share the proposal and a few related things, including a contemporary art series and public program. I included Chavis Mármol in the proposal along with a symposium on Automobillism. I want to put his Olmec Tesla piece in the middle of their great hall. Here are the links for the proposals and an example of some of the correspondence between me and them. I like the idea of using correspondence as wall texts for the work. And as you’ll see in the main proposal for Constructing Nature, the images are totally incredible and tell a lot of the story on their own. 

Ah, this may be the most important detail… The whole project came about because, I believe, a landscape painter who worked at the Field Museum a hundred years ago called Charles Corwin, contacted me from beyond his mortal life, speaking to me through cicadas who were having a very rare ‘superevent’ with the overlapping of several broods in their 17 year life cycles coinciding in a way that made them extremely prolific in Chicago during my time there. They were a very present and compelling force while I was there and led me unknowingly to Corwins grave and to the Field Museum.

Have you experienced cicadas before? They change the whole environment when they emerge from their 17-year brooding period and make this incredible droning sound. It actually reminds me of the rattles use​d in Mexico when they do a ‘limpia.’ In ancient Chinese thought cicadas were very significant messengers and guides to the afterworld. I can share more about this. A similar thing is happening with this 17th century itinerant artist. It might sound a bit strange to post-enlightenment ears, but it's actually quite consistent with many animistic cosmologies.  

Big Abrazos, 

Perry

Here’s an abbreviated collection of some of my correspondence with the Field​, which I think tells an interesting story itself… and then I’ll include their last message at the end. What this does, I think, is frame the exhibition, exhibit a subject position, and show what usually gets omitted from the exhibition process. The show may or may not happen but this kind of enormous body of work rarely gets shown, even though it's full of interesting aesthetics. 

 

Dear S, 

This is such an exciting project, and it feels in some ways like it chose me. It's also a fitting culmination of my graduate work with the inaugural Art & Ecology program at Goldsmiths, University of London. 

I’m taken with Corwin as a brilliant and overlooked artist. He was such a preeminent practitioner of a truly enchanting and collaborative form of world-building. His practice—and the practice of diorama-making more generally—I find extremely generative for entering into the Anthropocene discourse, as well as Western conceptions of Nature.

I’m captivated by the visual archive (at least that which has already been digitized and made accessible) that exists at the Field in relation to Corwin’s work. I find the photographic documentation—particularly the processual documentation—potently allegorizes the constructedness of Nature, and at the same time its fleetingness, openness, and contingency. It gives a sense that it can be made otherwise, which seems to be of existential importance in an era of ecocide. 

I’ve reached out to the University of Minnesota to see about visiting their Corwin collection, as well as the Academy of Sciences in San Francisco, where I’ll be the first week of September. I've been collecting these wonderful details about his life and also putting together a reading list, in addition to my foundational ecology and science studies texts. I was at the Flaxman Library yesterday researching Corwin and there really seems to be a poverty of scholarship on him, though I did find some interesting texts on the history of dioramas, panoramas, etc. 

Can I come back and visit you and talk more about this project together? Maybe this coming week? I would also like to visit Gretchen at the library, and anyone else you might think of who's been there a long time and has the good stories.

I have so many ideas for how this could be realized, and I feel like I'm just getting started. I made a quick visual exploration / proposal since we met on wednesday just to get down a few interests. It's rough, but I wanted to give a sense of some of the directions I'd like to develop, hopefully in close conversation with you.

To the best of my knowledge there hasn’t been a book on Corwin and I'd like to amend this significant omission—both in the history of American art and its surrounding ecological discourse.  I could very much imagine a book developing out of this exhibition project, which I could also imagine travelling and finding audiences beyond the Field.

I think this project could work at a range of scales, and I hope we can explore the possibilities together. The Brooker Gallery truly is a jewel box and I imagine it could serve as the ‘brain’ of an exhibition that moves through the collection and building, reanimating it in an unusual way. 

Thank you again for your kindness and encouragement. It was really something amazing the way we met.

Wishing you a beautiful and restful weekend.

Warmly, 

Perry

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Hi S,

Here is a link for an updated exploration document:

It's a little over 25mb, so I added it to my google drive and you can download it from there.

I’ve become so animated with this project and the possibilities. Since we spoke I’ve been working on it every day. I think the big development of thought for me is that in looking at Corwin and his fascinating relationship to a very situated conception of Nature, one immediately wonders about other cosmological representations of humans' place in the world. I’ve been grouping this exploration under the banner of cosmopoetics—a combination of cosmology and poetics. I think this is a useful way to invite a greater contextual engagement with art, and in some ways also a response to a recent influential text called Cosmotechnics by the philosopher Yuk Hui. 

It's been a pleasure to consider works that share similar impulses to Corwin's. It's quite a range of cultures and expanse of time that humans have been exploring and aestheticizing these recurring themes. It occurred to me that moving through the Nature Walk and the Messages from Nature halls at the Field Museum is not that dissimilar in spirit from walking through the Lascaux caves.

It also strikes me that the Field Museum is one of a few institutions in the world which operates at such an expansive scale; a deep time repository of different cultures and knowledge, and as such, a fitting venue for this kind of comparative cosmological composition, which of course is already happening in many ways. 

I imagine this exhibition experimenting with a variety of different formats. Perhaps the cosmopoetics section could simply be a one-channel video installation offering these art historical correlates for consideration. This would be an easy way to collect a broad range of visual artifacts and it travels easily. I imagine there is a lot to work with in the FM collection and archives, and I’m interested in drawing connections between the conventional bracketing of histories and cultures. I’m also interested in sharing this kind of archival work and research. Perhaps this could look like reproducing the feeling and materials of working in the archive and library. I’d like to see some of the artful documentation of Corwin’s work printed at a larger scale, maybe on wall vinyls, aluminum prints, and so on. A performance program and a symposium is interesting to me as well, and I included some possibilities to consider in the updated document. 

I also don’t mean to get carried away! This is all really provisional—kind of thinking out loud… and I actually feel a bit vulnerable in sharing it at this stage. In some ways I feel like I’m following intuitions and then trying to make sense of what’s developing. This experience so far has become a container for some of the most meaningful artists and artifacts to me, and also a rich learning opportunity. I'm so curious to be in dialogue with you and J, and learn your insights and ideas, and I would be so happy to work together collaboratively on any aspect of this, to whatever extent is desirable. 

Looking forward to seeing you on Thursday.

Kind regards, 

Perry

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Good morning S! 

I hope you had a restful long weekend. Since our meeting last Thursday I’ve been continuing this work on Charles and the theme of constructing nature. I was at the Newberry looking through a visual collection on world expositions that I think are a big part of the story, particularly the World Columbian Exposition of 1893. I  had some lovely conversations with the staff and researchers—all of whom, invariably, were thrilled about this project and excited to share resources and ideas.

One librarian recommended a lecture she saw at the Peabody that's very illuminating and relates to the project: https://peabody.harvard.edu/video-all-world-here-anthropology-display-1893-chicago-world%E2%80%99s-fair She also shared this wonderful anecdote about a friend who worked at the FM and mentioned that some of taxidermied animals are actually in state of microbially-encouraged decomposition—so much so she claimed you could hear this slow metabolization in certain dioramas(!) like the polar bears apparently. 

The following day I was at an event at Chicago Filmmakers watching beautifully restored and scored home movies from the Filipino Chicagoan diaspora made in between the wars and I met a colleague of yours from the Field who shared some delightful stories about ‘easter eggs’ in the dioramas, like hidden creatures and portraits of the artists clandestinely worked into the rock faces(!). These details are so good... And I’m really curious to learn more about Corwin and company’s proto bohemian lifestyles that J alluded to. It's such a terrific project and the subject opens up into so many fascinating related themes and conversations, as well as exciting possibilities for how to share them. I’m thrilled to do interviews with FM staff and get deeper into the archive. I think it's also such a cool way to examine and celebrate local history and reflect back on what really is likely the end of the age of real animal dioramas. And as suggested, I can see it producing a lot of positive sentiment and support for the museum, and specifically for fundraising to upkeep the dioramas.  

I think this time together working on the exhibition would also be a good way to bring me on board for a defined period and project, but also give me the opportunity to learn the collection towards the other projects, like the ones I began outlining in the document I shared. I think there is great potential to integrate more contemporary artists working at the intersection of science and ecology, which is my field of expertise and a lot of preliminary ideas are included in that last version of the document. I imagine more contemporary art could work its way into the program through the conventional avenues, but we could also move more quickly and lightly, integrating works into the collection galleries and liminal spaces, complexifying narratives, and responding timely to significant events.

I'm really in awe by the way this has been coming together and I keep feeling all of this encouragement as we go further down this path.

Wishing you a beautiful week and looking forward to continuing the conversation.

Perry

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Good morning S, 

Apologies for my hasty email yesterday, I was travelling back to California for a short trip to visit my daughter. Do you have someone in mind from collections that you think would be a good match for me and our project? I'm also happy to approach people on my own. B stood out to me, in part because I see this curatorial approach to be in a similar spirit to his research on pollinators; moving through different disciplines and departments to instigate a flourishing of new knowledge, connections, and beauty. I would also like to arrange a meeting with archives for next friday and wondered if you would like to join or meet up at some point while I'm at the museum. I was planning to frame my request as follows:

I'm working with S on an exhibition about Charles Abel Corwin, a diorama painter at the Field Museum in the early 20th century. Through the work of this unsung artist the exhibition will explore themes of how Nature is constructed in Western thought and museography. The show will also explore the vibrant and social milieu of creatives at the Field Museum, their collaborative work, and sometimes eccentric personalities. I would like to visit the archives and have some informational conversations with the archivists. Would Friday September 13th work for a visit? If not perhaps sometime early the following week.

Kind thanks, 

Perry

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Thank you so much, S. I think anthro makes the most sense. It’s kind of a sociology of science thing. I’ll spend some more time on the site too and keep in touch. Wishing you a peaceful weekend. 

Perry 

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C, it was so nice to hear your voice last night. Thank you so much for your warmth and kindness and offer to help though this moment of transition. I feel a strange connection to Chicago and I feel like there is something important for me here to learn or do. I arrived in the middle of this massive cicada event, and they have been such a striking feature. I learned in ancient China they would bury the dead with carved jade cicadas in their mouths. A kind of reincarnation spirit or guide. I’ve come to love them quickly, I feel a sense of calm and almost affirmation in their overwhelming sounds. It also helps that they like beautiful green places like myself. I saw a beautiful show at the Depaul museum from an artist called Selva Aparicio who wove together hundreds of found cicada wings into a mourning veil with hair from three generations of women in her family.

Thank you for your invitation to share what I’m working on. It's good to put it down somewhere.

The main thing perhaps I’ve been working on, and in a much more focused way after grad school in London (art & ecology at Goldsmiths), is a documentary film about plantation agriculture. Looking at the social and spatial relationships that were developed on the sugar plantations in the early European colonial period in the Americas and how much they determine the way labor and land gets organized through the industrial age to the present. I’ve been interviewing scholars, filming and doing archival work around the world. Orlando Patterson at Harvard, James Walvin at York, Robert Proctor at Stanford, Jason Moore, Silvia Federici, and many others. There’s an excerpt I made for a post production grant, it’s not color corrected but gives an idea... The music is also a placeholder. I’ve done everything myself so far and put together a good team to finish it, all friends, a cinematographer called Dustin Lynn who went to Harvard and made films for Gabriel Orozco, Peter Beard, Marina Abromovic, Bromberg and Chanarin. He’s also a great musician and puts out his music with RVNG INTL. Another friend Sebastian Alvarez offered to produce it, he’s wonderful and his last film about Brasilia premiered at Visions du Réel in Switzerland. He actually went to and taught at SAIC. My friend Skooby Laposky (yes, really) offered to help with the music. He's done a lot of film work PBS, Arte, MoMA, NYT’s, and he did that Bill Cuningham doc, and also does this really interesting biodata sonification where he composes with plants and does cool events at MIT. And then I asked another friend, an anthropologist filmmaker and professor at Berkeley called Thor Anderson to help as well. I’m waiting to hear back from ITVS about our grant application, it's quite competitive apparently, I don't think I can finish it on my own. I thought I'd maybe do a podcast version at least and plan to make an open-access online research portal as well.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1kkq2dvzTz8ybTCBiYufFq5K0W6yyfw9w/view  

The project I proposed to the Field Museum is about an unsung diorama painter, his collaborative ecology, and the construction of Nature in Western thought and museology. I met with the two main directors of exhibitions and they seemed interested and encouraged me to continue developing the idea for a possible show in 2026. I got really carried away with the proposal and included a public program, symposium, publication and so on. I suppose that looking at how particular a becoming-secular dualist conception of enduringly-Christian Nature is also begs the question of how other cosmologies render their lifeworlds. This opened up into a comparative cosmopoetics as I’ve called it and likely has a good foundation for a book. It occurred to me during this process too that the FM is almost willfully disengaged from the very active contemporary art milieu that’s taken science and natural history as its primary material or departure point. I suggested that some large scale thematic shows of contemporary artists could be introduced into their slower programming and more responsive interventions could be lightly and timely integrated into their collection galleries. Here’s the proposal:

I also have an exhibition I’m developing about post-Pasteurian diasporic microbiopoetics, in which I’d like to look at the syncretic fermentation practices that emerge in diverse and diasporic settings. I thought it might be nice for the watershed art & ecology space in Pilsen. I also applied with it recently for a curator position at a new arts organization in Los Angeles called Active Cultures. I imagine it would be a beautiful way to look at different food cultures and socialities, and I would like to accompany it with a public program, maybe an end of the season pickling party :) And I imagine a book with recipes, immigrant stories and lots of beautiful pictures. 

I also have a number of writing projects I would like to finish. I’ve kept online writing and image sharing practice going for over a decade now and it’s really starting to pile up. I would like to collect some of these writings and images for publication. In part because I’m scared of digital entropy and also because I think it's a particularly contemporary form of art that is undervalued. A recent example is ritualsintime.space ,a kind of blog (I don’t love this term) with many, many images, essay films and kinds of writing; journals, criticism, poetry, parataxis, autofiction, theory, commentary and so on. I was thinking I’d like to start making postcard versions of some of the images and bits of text that relate, as a way to make them feel more real and tactile. 

I’ve been collecting anonymous twentieth century vernacular photographs from around the world and I have enough for a museum by now. I think they are so beautiful and mysterious. They make the canon look so overly-affected by comparison. And they can take on such amazing patinas and marks of time. I would like to expand the repertoire of museology and the ways art spaces are conceived and used. I have a few models, Toledo’s Institute of Graphic Arts in Oaxaca, a gorgeous art reference library beside a bougainvillea-covered courtyard, galleries and an atelier for making art books. I love idiosyncratic house museums like the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles, and Pamuk’s Museum of Innocence in Istanbul. I did my graduate school thesis on -ennials (biennials, quinquennials, etc) as promising sites of knowledge production and cultural exchange commensurate with planetarity and interdependence. My final project was an art library in an old church called the Sianne Ngai Becoming-ergon of the Parergonal Discourse of Evaluation Library and Tea Room somewhat tongue in cheek. It’s a reference to a great scholar at University of Chicago, Sianne Ngai, who has written several fascinating texts, the most recent of which Theory of Gimmick I found particularly useful for drawing the connections between post industrial financialization and contemporary art. 

You mentioned your parents are reading a lot of Badiou right now. That sounds right on, and I would like to read him more. I know we’re politically aligned though I’m likely less excited about math and universalism—though some degree of that is certainly necessary to correct for the excesses of post-structuralism, its embrace by the right, and an era of compounding post-truth relativism and AI hallucinations. I wonder if they’ve heard of Kohei Saito, his Slow Down text, a kind of ecosocial primer, and a wonderful surprise bestseller in Japan during the pandemic. It really neatly consolidates a somewhat fractured left into a very coherent degrowth position. 

I’ve been totally obsessed with a Korean-German philosopher called Byung-Chul Han who prolifically puts out these incredibly lucid texts on everything that seems to be of the utmost significance in our troubling times. He became well known with two texts called The Burnout Society and The Transparency Society that look at the neoliberal achievement subject with its attendant psychological maladies and the silicon valley doctrine of transparency respectively. He’s written beautiful texts on the disappearance of rituals, the crisis of narration, the virtualization of objects (non-things), and a string of texts filtering western thought through far eastern buddhism, culminating in a text called Absence that I really love. There’s also a wonderful early text called Shanzhai that looks at how that term came to be used pejoratively about Chinese counterfeit goods and what kind of underlying assumptions presuppose that. 

I’ve actually been reading quite a bit of sinological comparative aesthetics, notably Yuk Hui (cosmotechnics and his new work on post european thought) and Francois Julien. Also another Han text called Good Entertainment: Deconstructing the Western Passion Narrative. I’ve been enjoying a series of texts from Minnesota called Forerunners, I just finished one called No Fossils by Dominic Boyer I found very cogent. I also discovered James Elkin’s work, on the shelf at the Harold Washington Library, and have taken out a dozen of his texts from over the years. He’s amazingly fluent in western art historiography and has been doing some interesting collaborative, experimental scholarship, particularly around pedagogy, visual cultures and looking beyond eurocentric art histories. He has a winning disposition too, very good humored. Other things too, I rarely miss an opportunity to recommend David Graeber and David Wengrows The Dawn of Everything, such an important project and contribution to anthropology. 

Outside of that I would like to do a couple more films. One about automobilism/ public transportation / pedestrianized spaces and another about animal rights. I think that’s about as much time as I have left in life.  I’d like to teach as well. And I’m open to helping with other projects. I think the main thing for me right now is getting some degree of stability and support for any of these projects. Or finding other supported projects with common goals to participate in. I’ve been doing all this without any institutional support, just with modest and sporadic freelance work and student loans. I’m really feeling exhausted, under-resourced, tired of substandard living, perpetual precarity, deferred health maintenance, and so on.

I'm happy to see you and meet J, and catch up properly. I hope this is somewhat coherent for a late night catch-up email. It's nice for me to organize my thoughts, I'm missing things...

Here's last sunday with Agnes https://drive.google.com/file/d/1PPrDLUnQB1kqQe8j_t0ZBTBofV2rFM-k/view?usp=drive_link it moves so quick it hurts 

Abrazos, 

p

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Hi M! Hi S! 

I'm going through your writing on Akeley, M, and I just got to a passage on Haraway's Primate Visions. I decided to reply with a short note before I go deeper. 

Here's the early proposal I shared with Susan:

Since that version, and our meeting, I've been working on a more developed and focused proposal and have been sectioning out some of the contemporary and modern examples from the Cosmopoetics segment into discrete exhibition ideas for a series tentatively called interpostions. I think there's a great opportunity to bridge the worlds between contemporary art and the Field Museum. 

I should have a revised proposal for Corwin & Constructing Nature as well as some ideas for the interpositions series to you both in the next few days. 

Also, per our conversation, Sophie Calle is my artist friend who works a lot with taxidermy, here's a nice piece on her in t magazine a few years back:  https://www.nytimes.com/2017/04/10/t-magazine/sophie-calle-artist-cat-pregnant.html 

Jonathan Crary is the scholar I recommended who has written a lot about visual culture. He also co-founded Zone press and his recent anti Silicon Valley polemic Scorched Earth is really excellent. 

Hiroshi Sugimoto is the photographer who worked extensively with dioramas, and there are others too, including some in the proposal I sent.  

Our meeting was so animating and exciting for me. Thank you both so much. I'm working to get it all down in a more focused way to share. 

I'm back in California now and planning to visit LA NHM to see their critical reflections on their history of diorama making https://nhm.org/pst-reframing-dioramas I just learned about this and it seems very relevant! 

More soon, 

Perry

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Hi S and M, 

Greetings from Los Angeles. I saw the Reframing Dioramas show yesterday at the NHMLA and met Tim Bovard and Matt Davis, the taxidermist and exhibition organizer. It was really well done with an excellent publication. I'm compiling some notes and images to share and making good progress on the Corwin proposal. Corwin did a few dioramas there—unfortunately mostly painted over, but Matt said he could help with some archival materials. Also really impressed with the scope of this edition of PST art and science collide. As well as the visual language for coordinating such an extensive city-wide production. I'll include some pictures in my review as well as highlights from the Lumen show at the Getty and color in pre columbian cosmology show at LACMA. More soon!

Perry


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Hi S and M! 

Greetings from Tokyo. I wanted to share an updated draft of Constructing Nature. There's so much I've left out and it's very provisional but it shows significant development of thought and structure, as well as the work I've been doing in the archive. Please excuse the rough edges. 

There are so many incredible images in here that I think stand up to some of the greatest canonical moments in twentieth century visual culture. 

I've also been working on a document about museographical practices of note and a series I'm calling interpositions, or contemporary art exhibitions and interventions for the Field. I will get these to you as soon as I can. 

Wishing you both a lovely weekend. 

Perry


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Dear S and M, 

Konnichiwa from Kyoto, where I've been staying in an artist residency doing research and generally marveling at this incredibly beautiful, kind and sophisticated country. 

I'm really pleased with the way the Constructing Nature and interpositions projects are coming along. Here is the proposal for the interpositions series. 

M, your thoughtful guidance towards the Blaschka glass found its way in. Wow, that work is so incredibly beautiful! 

I chose (and paired) most of the projects included here because I believe they would be feasible to realize, and I know some of the artists / galleries personally. I think the inclusion of contemporary art at the FM is a really exciting possibility. 

I would like to work on this initiative and imagine it could be done with the preexisting FM exhibitions community. This also opens up the Field museum to art world funding possibilities, which I have some ideas about as well. 

The Constructing Nature show that I put together—almost entirely from the Field Museums archives, I think is really, really strong. It would be a wonderful tribute to the legacy of the Field Museum as well as a significant contribution to the history of Natural History. It takes on some difficult legacies but in a way that's due and I think reckoning with them makes the museum stronger.  

My hope is that you can make a position for me to realize these projects over the coming years. My preference would be to work remotely for the most part, with periodic site visits as needed. 

As mentioned, I wanted to share a few images from PST: Art and Science Collide, particularly the diorama show at LHMLA, the Storm Cloud show at the Huntington, Lumen at the Getty, and the impressive graphic design throughout. I also included some images from the natural history museum in Tokyo—my goodness! and a show at 21_21 design site (Tadao Ando) about waste management. I truly could not have imagined a more elegant and spirited way to deal with this urgent subject matter.   

Ok, so to recap:

  1. Constructing Nature here

  2. interpostions here

  3. Field Notes here

Looking forward to your news.

All my best, 

Perry

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Greetings S and M,

I’ve had some time to reflect on this exciting project. It's been quite a rush since that fateful encounter with Corwin that put me into a fugue, spending hundreds of hours developing this exhibition and learning about the Field's history. I feel a new sense of clarity around this project and what a significant contribution it is. To the grand narratives, the particular protagonists at the FM, and also as a precedent for the reevaluation of overlooked artists working in the modern period.

I see this show as primarily dealing with the history of Natural History, and I’m amazed at how well the Field tells this story. It has all the key ingredients, including its connection to the World’s Columbian Exposition which is important for understanding the development of Natural History museums broadly. Constructing Nature also beautifully addresses the aforementioned problematic of how art was apprehended and evaluated during that period (and very much continuing into our own). I think the images I’ve curated from the archives are truly of world historical caliber and can take their place not just among the history of natural history, but modern art as well. I think this show and publication can really be a major contribution.

I think the show can be realized modestly in the Brooker at a scale commensurate with the photographic documentation, done with a gallery treatment. This also invites people to view them intimately, and there's a special wonder in viewing overlooked beautiful things at this scale. I would like to make reproductions on exposed aluminum—framed or not, but without glass— and offer a curated library and archive with some seating. I think the show could also easily be extended into one of the larger special exhibition galleries with a bit more scope and room to breathe. I've shared a number of ideas for an accompanying public program. 

On my end, I would like a more clear sense of your commitment and my compensation. I would also like support in retrieving the archival materials for reproductions and a copy editor. It will be easier to design the show when we determine the space and I have very particular and informed ideas for how to approach this. 

There is also the possibility of integrating more contemporary art into the exhibition schedule which I'm really happy to keep exploring together.  Actually there are a number of new developments and ideas from this Japan trip. I'm currently in Gifu, following an itinerant 17th century artist monk through his wanderings, taking in the changing seasons and mountain festivals.  

Sending you both kind and warm regards 

and looking forward to your response, 

Perry

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Dear S and M, 

I saw an unbelievably beautiful performance from a very significant Japanese dancer, Min Tanaka, in a forest in Gifu over the weekend. He was dancing a piece (and the place) in honor of the same itinerant artist monk I’m studying, Enku. The timing of these events must be beyond coincidence, or so I’m convinced, and much like Corwin and the cicadas, I feel as though I’m collaborating with the unnamed. In Shinto thought, I’m learning, there are 8 million Kami, or spirits, to consider. I believe this is part of what makes aspects of Japanese culture so mindful, respectful and aware. I’ve been marveling at what it would mean to live in such an enchanted and complex world. 

The reason I’m sharing this, is that I learned Tanaka calls his practice unnamable dance, after a passage in Roger Caillois’ writing. Earlier this year I encountered a stunning collection of photographs of Caillois’ rocks and stones published by a small Italian press and now I’ve been studying Caillois’ earlier work on poetic petrology and ludology. As soon as I saw the book I was convinced this would be a perfect show for the Field, but felt as though it needed something else. A pairing perhaps, like in the other proposals I’ve offered... 

I know now, it should be Tanaka dancing the unnamable dance at the Field Museum along with the beautiful photos of Roger’s collection and some choice passages of his brilliant writings. I think this would be a perfect scale for the Brooker gallery and Tanaka could do a series of dances around the museum. 

I imagine this exhibition and event would be very exciting to the supporters of the Field Museum and could be realized with relatively modest means. 

I’ve attached a brief proposal for your review addended to the earlier interpositions document. 

Wishing you both all the best. 

Kindly, 

Perry


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Hi Perry--

I appreciate your enthusiasm for this research and the many discoveries and connections you're making. 

As indicated previously, the FIeld Museum is not ready to commit to the exhibition you're envisioning, and we do not have funds to work with outside scholars on such a project. If support is required, we should probably pause the conversation. Either way, going forward, please direct exhibition-specific communications to me; Exhibitions will consult M and other FM staff as feedback is needed.

We anticipate conducting some exhibition topic testing soon. The topic list has not been finalized, meaning it's possible we could include Constructing Nature in the mix. Should you wish to provide a very brief write-up (under 200 words), we can see how it might fit into the larger testing goals. The paragraph(s) needn't be perfect; we'll pare it down further to align with the testing instrument. Please note that testing should not be interpreted as commitment.

I regret this is not the news you're looking for, but hope you will recognize our limitations and decision-making process.

Best wishes–

S

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Hi S, 

A brief write up on constructing nature:

Constructing Nature celebrates the unsung artists of the Field Museum and their major contributions to modern art and science. The exhibition draws from the Field Museum’s extensive archive and illustrates the historical development of the Natural History Museum.


A friend suggested I write an autofictional kind of magazine style version of the story, with more of myself in it. I stayed up that night and wrote this:

Constructing Nature
A History of Natural History

They met in the freebox. Took turns admiring a beautiful tweed coat, too warm and traditional for California but perhaps good for Chicago, where she had accepted a job running a daycare center. They expedited their courtship, a delirious couple of weeks and decided to embark on the cross country drive together, just to see what happens.

He had commitments in California. A daughter, a dog, elderly friends, the ocean, the seasons of blooms and clouds and lights he’d come to love. He had disappointments in California. The bloody histories, the cost of living, the frantic financialization of what little remnants remained of sociality, the engulfing thrall of internet capitalism.   

She grew up in Tbilisi and the Urals. Radiant beauty with a gift for languages and a preternatural curiosity. Moscow for a spell, and then an elite business school in Chicago. Semesters abroad in Switzerland and a quarter million dollars in compounding student loans. She reversed course abruptly, traveling over land from the Caucasus to India for a rainbow gathering with a couple men she described as a fire spinner and an orphan. And then she began teaching children, studying montessori, yoga.  

He went to visit her in a shared Victorian bordering the park on a noisy thoroughfare that prowled a grassy rambla. Her roommate, in a bipolar episode that lasted over a month, tattooed read to me on their knuckles. That evening they went to a bonfire at an exposed stretch of dramatic coast and she burned a folio of papers. Pictures of the Dalai Lama, platitudes, dissolving in the fire. 

The next morning he drove her to school and picked her up for lunch. She took him to the Internet Archive, a grandiose project to document the Internet, conceived by a tech entrepreneur who bought a former church, filled it with servers and the terracotta likeness of his hundreds of his employees. They went to a small beach after and swam with their remaining time. 

She was a wonderful and engaged listener, punctuating conversations with exuberant warmth, thoughtful questions, and kind encouragements. Perhaps this social grace was cultivated out of necessity, a perennial outsider and self identified gypsy. Some Tatar, some Jew, Ossetian, Russian, Georgian, Turkic, Persian, Mongol and so on. She was treated as a second class Osset growing up in Tbilisi and her family was exiled to the Urals after the collapse, when ethnic tensions flared. She won a merit scholarship to study in the midwest and they rounded up all the bright children and gave them a lesson for their new lives in America. Imagine everyone is in a bubble, they said, and whatever you do—do not cross into someone else's bubble. 

They left California slowly, reveling in its ambivalent spring thralls. Blooms and fog. Sharp eucalyptus. Hot sun salted breeze. They stopped in a residential area on the 1 and accidently walked down the driveway of a retired microchip salesman. He welcomed them in and they sat on a magnificent deck beholding great gongshi stones in the tides. 

They continued, opening sensitive subjects, gently and kindly revisiting narratives, making new relationships with them. An episode with her mother. A breakdown at the end of business school. Marijuana abuse and unprescribed antidepressants. An unhinged social gathering. A feeling of solidarity with a rough sleeper. A distrust of her uncaring colleagues. An unwanted advance. She had shame and he found her episode beautiful in a way. A clearing of ideologies, a prevailing sense of justice.  

They stopped in a small town up the coast with a farm stand and a health food coop. She warmed to the immigrant cashier while he gathered healthy sundries. They were laughing like old friends when he returned to the counter. They shared a lentil soup and fresh sourdough, strawberries and raw turnips, from an honor system farm stand. 

They continued through redwood groves threaded with golden light. Spotty service on a call to a friend they would visit in Boise, craigslist kin from their time in grad school. Fog breathing in and out, moving deeper into traumas, exposing them to kindness. They drove until they were tired, pulled off the highway and found a motel across from the Dollar General. 

The keeper was chatty and marked up maps with things they wouldn’t do. They ate turmeric ginger jalapeno kraut out of the jar, more turnips, and took long hot showers. She said there was a Russian proverb about girls in the provinces who never tasted anything sweeter than a turnip. He laughed. But how perfect this turnip was! And how healthy were the people in those mountain villages. More kind words, kora music.

Her family WhatsApp lit up in a flurry of old pictures on her brother's birthday. He noted the lilting crane in her neck as she held him tenderly, herself just a child. Her father, shirtless and hirsute, with a pistol strapped to his waist, balancing the young boy, standing perfectly upright in his palm. Cousins and animals. Laughter. Posing together with cherries, a kind of Parajanov tableau in primary colors, early nineties streetwear. Shamelessness is second happiness she offered, an old Russian proverb.  

Founders Grove was a completely different feeling of time. Old Growth, healing and grounding, stoic and somber. He felt like a child barging into a room and interrupting a serious conversation. The grove expanded a sense of self and importance of things. Calming the usual restlessness. There's a word in Japanese, komorebi, for the particular way light falls through leaves. They got separated at one point, he felt lost, and when they found each other a kind man named Allan was trying to help her find him. May there always be a kind Allen, he said.

They swam bare in eel lake. Simple picnic in the redwoods. Salty kettle cooked peanuts, tart strawberries, rye, hummus, ferments. A beautiful older married couple with an art gallery, vegetarian and giggly. Highway 299 along the trinity, piano music. Deep sleep. Simple breakfast cooked in one pan. Turnips, their greens, thick wedges of sour bread fried in butter with soft eggs. 

They went to the Dollar General and lost each other in the aisles. He looked for her and when they saw each other, across the sad fluorescence, he felt as though they were reunited, the last time riding horses through the steppes along silk roads. Now they were here, in this ridiculous life, on the edge of this continent, in piles of carcinogenic plastic, bathed in this pallid pained light, interminable popular music. He joked about balancing old growth redwoods with the anthropology of capitalist ruins, and they left with some auxiliary cables. 

‘Bubba shrimp! I have a cinnamon latte ready for you at the back window’ came across the loudspeaker, interrupting a song about a rather unappealing sounding night of romance in a Christian rock register at the foot of a mountain the indigenous believed was the center of the universe. There was a complicated breakfast burrito culture. Yak shacks, pastrami mamis, an indigenous father and daughter, with MAGA hats on. 

Io, they learned from asking Siri. Resonances, a mythopoetic hallucination, a step outside time, or hosting times reverberations. Refracting times. Gadflies. A beautiful grey cow staring disapprovingly, much to resent. Greta said the tag on her ear. Calm and knowing lesbians deciphering cartography. Burning bushes, pooling light, small insects joining hugs. High desert anxiety, cosmogony, purpled dusky hills on a thin steady bend of the meandering river. A pair of migratory birds. Her sturdy silhouette in indigo glow, nauseous shine of windshield wash, tipped into toyota constellation. A Jain cataclysm in the light of day, the automatic car wash can’t absolve. 

Cups of warm is what she called them. Cups of warm water, sometimes with a squeeze of lemon. Her shape and smoothness. Cool hands and warmth. Strength. Her excitement, laughter. Hands. Her Russian accent, California inflections. Her strong features. Their choreographies. The fall of her wild cropped hair at the middle of her strong neck. Her collarbones. Strong fair arms. Strong dark freckles. Constellations. 

Yellowstone was a whole year in a day. Nearly every climate on earth. The tenderness of the friendly crows mouth. The tenderness of the geyser. The tenderness of the Amish. The tenderness of the Russian man looking at crows. The sad megafauna.

The badlands are unstable. An art shop filled with books and stories, curiosities. An erudite host, his geologist wife, and archaeologist daughter. A trip they did together to New York to eye-whistle on the Letterman show. They cut the bit, but enjoyed the trip. Found photos and Fargo recommendations, fried food. 

They aligned again, grounded, calmed, held, touched. Rose gardens, baby geese by the Boise river. Japanese grandma-style, floppy sun hat, wheat-toned dress, earthen shirt with an unruly collar, thrift store cashmere. Lying in her lap there was nowhere he’d rather belong. 

They ate well, big salads, sour bread and butter, cold radishes. She glowed with happiness and cheer. Sadness when they talk about families. Hers so far, and separated by ambitions. Her fathers ambition for closeness. Her brother, a Moscow doctor. She felt the loss in her Caucasian soul. The want for family and dependence. He’d think of this moment again in Chicago, when she collapsed in an Ikea showroom crying, and then again after an argument when he found her on the avenue in a paint store, so many fans of color swatches unspooling, a scary half-smile and middle-distance stare. 

They stayed with an old friend of hers, going through a difficult moment in her relationship. They tried to help mend, reflect the beauty in their hosts' lives, biked through blooming June fluff, smiles in the high altitude, family dinner and laughter. 

Boring art at the Walker. Lise’s BnB. Beautiful radiators, sturdy, warm. Lise mentioned how happy she was to have people in the house. Sitting alone at the mahjong table. Stained glass and beautiful wood columns. Her friends art on the walls. A small matrilineal shine. A kind of Western animism. 

Waterloo street, Wisconsin suburban. Cars racing on a nearby track. Diabetes and its management. Sugar in the baby formula. A portrait of Bill Murray as Napoleon over the mantle and a Miyazaki scene painted on the closet doors in the guest room. Little spirits pooling in a corner and painted on the portions of the doors revealed when you folded them open. Beautiful thrift store lamps from early last century with the goodwill stickers illuminated inside the shades. Young children and an old patient foster dog, wheezing contently with kind attention. 

She dressed him in her sweater and seemed pleased with the situation, taking pictures, and then burying her cool smooth face and wet hair into his warm thankful neck. A simple breakfast, pickles, sour bread, hard cooked eggs and raw cold green peppers—their tiny vesicles exploding in their mouths. They drank the brine and kissed, blushing a little, laughing. 

Pretty deer every few miles in Wisconsin. Stopped at a co-op beside an old book seller. Ramps and good conversations. A text called the Last Utopians. Broken Russian. Looking for In Praise of Shadows. Mapuche art, broken pottery, local diary. 

They stay the first night on the outskirts in a Korean strip mall spa. Soaked, washed, scrubbed, sweat, slept. They held each other's hands between the partitions in an extraoxygenated room, deep red light. Similar routine in the morning laying together on 350 million year old salt rocks. A Korean mother and her elderly daughter speaking tenderly to each other, warm, deep, less than words, more than words, they all drifted into a half sleep together, warm salt half light. 

Hinoki cedar, its sharp clean smell, an older man scrubbing himself beautifully, functionally, meditatively. A Russian couple whispering logistical things to each other, a kind of love language, reassurances. A pharaonic room, gold-plated, a bit out of place really. Charcoal patterns, lichen-like on their ends, beautiful joinery, the Han river. She gave him a strong massage, a feeling of reassurance, she fell asleep on his shoulder. 

They arrived in Chicago, saw a flat for rent, and went to the lake. The sky opened, deep blues and oranges braiding together, moving along the horizon, warm downpour. Under a tree an old Persian woman showed them a video of a family of five raccoons eating American snacks on the rocks along the water. They’re still there, she said. They ran back to the car and took off their sweaters, soaked, flushed, her dark hair against her face, lovely collarbones, beads on her neck, wet kisses, sliding along each other's faces, laughter. 

They found a flat in Boystown, close enough to the daycare and close enough to the lake, where he swam every morning and night. Diving into the variable waters off large brutal concrete blocks, bolstering a tangle of bird sanctuary humming with life. He would crest in a shimmering play of light and water, heliotrope, and swim towards the warmth. It was a special summer super cicada event, a double emergence. Two broods, endemic to North America, who burrow for 13 and 17 years retrospectively and emerge coterminously for a season of bacchanalian mating and drone music that made Boystown look quaint. 

After all the droning and mating, the new nymphs drop from the trees, burrow into the ground and repeat the process again 13 or 17 years on. That summer when the two broods emerged together the city felt prehistoric, these tiny roaring dinosaurs, oblivious to human follies, flying in swarms, drowning out the city sounds, people talk, car noise. The cicadas had excellent taste and soon he felt whenever he heard their calls he was in the right place, somewhere beautiful, worth paying attention to, somewhere sacred. 

She began work, and both loved the children and felt sad for the poorly paid immigrant women who tended them. The sad truth of corporations is that they always exploit the many and the marginal to do the most difficult labor for the most shareholder profit. This felt particularly sad in childcare, and from her position in middle management. He was looking for teaching jobs, writing, and took a part-time gig with an art appraiser. After a visit to the Field Museum he became taken with the paintings in the backgrounds of the dioramas. The idea of an unknown diorama painter began growing in his mind, an allegory for the givenness of Nature, the unexamined background in Western thought. 

Charles Abel Corwin was born at Newburgh-on-Hudson, New York, the son of a clergyman whose postings took the family to Honolulu, Hawaii, and Oakland, California. Corwin studied at the Cooper Union in New York, and then the Royal Academy in Munich. He was one of the “Duveneck Boys,” a group of young artists who followed the influential Kentucky-born Duveneck on the Grand Tour making drawings in the Bavarian countryside, Florence and Venice, where he met and studied Whistler. 

He returned to the US and began painting cycloramas, before finding his way to Chicago’s Field Museum of Natural History, where painted some eighty backgrounds for habitat displays and a series of large murals on exotic plants. He did similar work for the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco and for the University of Iowa, and by the time he died at age eighty-one, he was known as one of the nation’s foremost creators of illusionistic backgrounds for museum displays.

These large and received ideas of Nature are of course historical and constructed, developing with the European colonization of the Americas and providing a container for everything else that was not property-owning European men. The new world Nature was cataloged with an incredible passion in the name of Science but really amounted to a kind of accounting system. When its reserves were all but nearly exhausted, the same titans of industry and power decided to conserve what was left, and mainly as their own hunting and pleasure grounds.  Through an almost unbelievable contortion of language, spin, and tax evasion, they turned their hunting expeditions into conservation ecology. 

He was fascinated with this unfolding history of Natural History and Charles Corwin began popping up everywhere, scored by the haunting drone of the cicadas. First a Corwin came through the art appraiser's office and put him down a meandering google. Then on a purposeless bike ride he found himself in a beautiful cemetery, admiring the mausoleum lichen, and sitting, he would learn later, just a few meters away from where Corwin was resting. When he was there he felt overcome and sat on the grass resting his head on his hands, looking down at an exoskeleton of a translucent cicada.   

The more he learned about Corwin and his collaborators the more excited he became. The story of the history of Natural History yielded a wonderful cast of eccentric characters. He began returning to the Field to learn more and decided to approach them about an exhibition. He went to the information center and asked who he could speak to. The young cheerful docents scribbled an email address on a piece of scrap paper and he went out into the hall and sat on a bench watching a film about cicadas and that years event. 

Moments later a rush of what looked to him like museum employees on a tour. Without thinking he stopped a woman with a kind face and shared his modest proposal. 
- Excuse me, I've become fascinated with a diorama painter who worked here 100 years ago and I would like to talk to someone at the museum about his work and maybe doing an exhibition here about him. Do you know who I could speak with? 

She paused, looking into his eyes, smiling, cicadas droning on a screen nearby—me. Wait here, she continued, and returned 10 minutes later joining him on the bench. She was warm and encouraging and he left promising a proposal soon. He biked back along the brutal concrete blocks, stopping often, swimming, and resting in the cicada’s hum. 

The coming weeks overtook him in a fugue. He became completely obsessed with Corwin, following him into the fascinating annals of Natural History, its attendant museography. From its roots in the European wunderkammer, to the big world fairs, to the eccentric collections of big game-hunting industrial barons, and the teams of often bohemian and modestly paid artists who assembled—in a kind of Christian miniature, the natural world, leaf by leaf, bone by bone. He found in the museums online archives, a treasure trove of images that no one at the museum seemed particularly aware of.

They began to accumulate in the thousands on his desktop illustrating the most fascinating, almost cosmogonic, stories. He began making a modest proposal that then grew to over a hundred pages, and then another in similar size and differing scope. What began with Corwin, became the unsung collaborative ecologies of the proto-installation artists left out of the canon of art history, perhaps not enough in line with the great individual artist model so favored by the market. Even more than curating the archive against the grain, the images seem to almost over articulate themselves, illustrating the peculiar specificity of Natural History, baring nakedly its Christian and Colonial genealogies, and not without so much wonder, mystery and tragic beauty.  

He found particular protagonists; Charles Wilson Peale. Particular theories; David Summers’ planarity and the politics of the grid. Anna Tsing’s Plantationocene, and the social and spatial dynamics that proliferated. Particular events; The World’s Columbian Exposition, Chicago, 1893. And peppered it with quotes; Donna Haraway, the Book of Genesis. 

Once he felt he had adequately unsettled and denaturalized Nature, he began what he thought of as a longue durée comparative cosmopoetics, looking at the many conceptions of lifeworlds available in the material record. He installed himself in the Harold Washington Library, on the 9th floor in a grand, barren, glass-domed winter garden, guarded by giant patinated owls, where he went through the entire art section book by book collecting examples of evolving cosmological poetic articulations. Every day he would return and do this, swimming before and after and sharing meals and stories when they returned home. 

The work was bookended by Lascaux and the metaverse, immersive and dioramic world-building projects. In between, an incredible range of objects and spaces, articulating the speculative ways people understood their relation to their worlds. Neolithic rock engravings, Oxus seals and goddesses, Goryeo celadon, Egyptian ewers, Momoyama screens, Navajo sand paintings, Meiji cloisonne, panoramas, cycloramas, phénakisticopes, magic lanterns, Tibetan butter sculptures, aboriginal dreamtime dot paintings, speculative bestiariums, Persian miniatures, Nasca geoglyphs, nature's own dioramas; Pompeii, political dioramas; abandoned towns in Jericho, LIDAR-learned buried settlements and civilizations, metaversal immersive world building, and Elon Musk’s terrified Neurolink monkey test subjects.

How far would the Field be willing to go with this? They were polite as his presentations grew in scope and strangeness. His correspondence became increasingly unconventional, frankly animistic, talking about cicadas and collaborating with the undead. Near the gem hall in the Field, with its many asteroids and magnetisms, he found a small jade room, with carved cicadas he learned were put in the mouths of the buried dead in ancient China, a kind of conduit and protector between worlds. 

He made plans for a symposium, a web archive, a reading room, a concert series, an augmented reality app, a new program—interpositions—of contemporary and modern artists working with themes of natural history and science, who could be interspersed throughout the museum collections and special exhibitions. He found Natural History a fertile and capacious expanse to sow his curiosities, questions, concerns. 

The museum had him for meetings, sent short, pleasant, non-committal emails and invited him on a tour with one of the senior staff. He went behind the curtain, into the files and offices, libraries and archives. They made one stop on the tour that burned into his psyche. A room where they kept thousands of insects who would devour the rotting flesh on the bones of the recent animals they brought in for collection and taxidermy. The smell was horrific. He couldn’t last more than a minute, almost holding his breath. Outside a spritely young intern was gutting colorful birds, scalpel in her hand, welcoming the occasion to chat with visitors. 

Meanwhile at home, or the sad small flat in Boystown, their relationship was straining. Things were not working. They found some quiet respite watching a seven-part BBC series on the fall of the Soviet Union. The winter was coming. The cicadas were dying. Their eggs hatching and falling to the ground, the nymphs borrowing and brooding, for 17 or 13 years, until it began anew.