Preface 07 Post-mortem photography | The coffin as a box of tricks 09
Taxidermy | Untamed passion for the perished
How an innocent boy was infected by a dead fox 13
Victorian taxidermy | Eternal love for dead corpses 17
Freaks of nature | Stuffed animals freaking out 19
Taxidermy today | Taxidermy not doomed to die after all 23
Our crib de curiosités | Living in a morgue 25
Voracious vermin | Assassins with excess hair and carcasses picked bare 27
The vermin battle | Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth 31
Billy the goat | Vermin under the skin 35
Emergency cases | Le cabinet de toxicités | A severe case of alopecia 39
Masks | Life is a masquerade
The face of a split personality 43
Mothmeister behind the mask | Our claustrophobic comfort zone 45
History of masks | The metamorphosis of masks 49
Mask phobia | Fear has many faces 51
Clown masks | How laughter gradually stiffened and turned into pure panic 55
Death masks | Face to face with death 65
Capirote masks | From cloak of charity to spiteful costume 69
Pest masks | How the beaked doctors of death became the cat’s lunch 73
Roadshows & collaborations | Inspiring encounters along the way
Roadshow | If we were meant to stay in one place, we would have roots instead of feet 81
Roadshow | Epecuén, the salted paradise 85 Collaboration | Mating animals 97
Collaboration | Adele Morse, mother of the stoned fox 99
Roadshow | In an overstimulated world, nothingness is bliss 109
Roadshow | Goli Otok, the Hell of the Adriatic Sea 115
Collaboration | Annie Montgomerie, doll artist 121
Roadshow | La Femme Fatale, aka Mother Nature 131
Roadshow | Iceland, the goddess of mood swings 135
Collaboration | Candice Angelini, headpiece designer 153
Roadshow | Urwald Sababurg, an enchanted fairy forest with evil roots 167
Collaboration | Erik Bergrin, fiber artist 175
Roadshow | On the hunt for mystery guests in the Wild West 177
Collaboration | Louis Fleischauer, body-artist and sculptor 189
Roadshow | Mongolia, where the horizon keeps you on a string 195
Roadshow | Irbene, a rusty steel Soviet espionage station 215
Collaboration | Bob Basset, leather mask designer 227
Roadshow | Naissaar, the island with a short fuse 235
Roadshow | The concrete stomach ulcer of the Albanian people 257
Preface 07 Post-mortem photography | The coffin as a box of tricks 09
Taxidermy | Untamed passion for the perished
How an innocent boy was infected by a dead fox 13
Victorian taxidermy | Eternal love for dead corpses 17
Freaks of nature | Stuffed animals freaking out 19
Taxidermy today | Taxidermy not doomed to die after all 23
Our crib de curiosités | Living in a morgue 25
Voracious vermin | Assassins with excess hair and carcasses picked bare 27
The vermin battle | Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth 31
Billy the goat | Vermin under the skin 35
Emergency cases | Le cabinet de toxicités | A severe case of alopecia 39
Masks | Life is a masquerade
The face of a split personality 43
Mothmeister behind the mask | Our claustrophobic comfort zone 45
History of masks | The metamorphosis of masks 49
Mask phobia | Fear has many faces 51
Clown masks | How laughter gradually stiffened and turned into pure panic 55
Death masks | Face to face with death 65
Capirote masks | From cloak of charity to spiteful costume 69
Pest masks | How the beaked doctors of death became the cat’s lunch 73
Roadshows & collaborations | Inspiring encounters along the way
Roadshow | If we were meant to stay in one place, we would have roots instead of feet 81
Roadshow | Epecuén, the salted paradise 85 Collaboration | Mating animals 97
Collaboration | Adele Morse, mother of the stoned fox 99
Roadshow | In an overstimulated world, nothingness is bliss 109
Roadshow | Goli Otok, the Hell of the Adriatic Sea 115
Collaboration | Annie Montgomerie, doll artist 121
Roadshow | La Femme Fatale, aka Mother Nature 131
Roadshow | Iceland, the goddess of mood swings 135
Collaboration | Candice Angelini, headpiece designer 153
Roadshow | Urwald Sababurg, an enchanted fairy forest with evil roots 167
Collaboration | Erik Bergrin, fiber artist 175
Roadshow | On the hunt for mystery guests in the Wild West 177
Collaboration | Louis Fleischauer, body-artist and sculptor 189
Roadshow | Mongolia, where the horizon keeps you on a string 195
Roadshow | Irbene, a rusty steel Soviet espionage station 215
Collaboration | Bob Basset, leather mask designer 227
Roadshow | Naissaar, the island with a short fuse 235
Roadshow | The concrete stomach ulcer of the Albanian people 257
| 14
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| 15
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| 62
| 76
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November 14, 2013 We travel about 600 km southwest from Buenos Aires. Dark clouds swarm together above Epecuén when we arrive there with our rickety rental car, having driven through peaceful farmlands. The clock is ticking as the sun is going down. Just passed the last inhabited town, Carhué, we come across something that looks like a desperate attempt to create a new beach, with parasols deeply anchored in brown mud. Even a stray dog is unimpressed and continues to wag its tail along the eroded skeletons of dead, petrified trees. On the right side of the road lies the former Trocadero slaughterhouse. It seems as though someone slashed at the building with a blunt axe. The facade is moaning but holding strong. We imagine we are on a film set, but we ain’t seen nothing yet. A bit further up from the Trocadero, the situation goes from bad to worse. It looks like a warzone. One big pile of garbage. The swing in the playground caved in, doomed to paddle in the water, while the swimming pool seems to have overflowed from intense sadness. In the distance, some locals are scavenging in the debris, looking for useful stuff. Evening is falling. Our first dip is done for the day. With a dry throat, salty mouth and burning eyes from salt lashing we head back to our hotel. Our plan of floating around in the wellness spa soon turns into torture. The green water of the slippery pool is so salty that it burns our skin pores. Day two in Atlantis The wind gives the salty air an extra boost, and its thickness is hardly bearable. Suddenly, a huge, good-natured dog strolls our way, followed by an old, wrinkled man on a broken-down, rusty bike. Just like everything in the surrounding streets, his teeth are crooked and rotting. The ravages of time. His name is Novak, the only inhabitant of Epecuén. Mumbling, he proudly shows us some scarce remains of his ghost town. Later, he invites us for lunch in his completely ruined house. But our time is up and so is our appetite for a bowl of salted fish. Adiós, Novak. All the best to you.
| 90
Roadshow | Argentina
| 91
November 14, 2013 We travel about 600 km southwest from Buenos Aires. Dark clouds swarm together above Epecuén when we arrive there with our rickety rental car, having driven through peaceful farmlands. The clock is ticking as the sun is going down. Just passed the last inhabited town, Carhué, we come across something that looks like a desperate attempt to create a new beach, with parasols deeply anchored in brown mud. Even a stray dog is unimpressed and continues to wag its tail along the eroded skeletons of dead, petrified trees. On the right side of the road lies the former Trocadero slaughterhouse. It seems as though someone slashed at the building with a blunt axe. The facade is moaning but holding strong. We imagine we are on a film set, but we ain’t seen nothing yet. A bit further up from the Trocadero, the situation goes from bad to worse. It looks like a warzone. One big pile of garbage. The swing in the playground caved in, doomed to paddle in the water, while the swimming pool seems to have overflowed from intense sadness. In the distance, some locals are scavenging in the debris, looking for useful stuff. Evening is falling. Our first dip is done for the day. With a dry throat, salty mouth and burning eyes from salt lashing we head back to our hotel. Our plan of floating around in the wellness spa soon turns into torture. The green water of the slippery pool is so salty that it burns our skin pores. Day two in Atlantis The wind gives the salty air an extra boost, and its thickness is hardly bearable. Suddenly, a huge, good-natured dog strolls our way, followed by an old, wrinkled man on a broken-down, rusty bike. Just like everything in the surrounding streets, his teeth are crooked and rotting. The ravages of time. His name is Novak, the only inhabitant of Epecuén. Mumbling, he proudly shows us some scarce remains of his ghost town. Later, he invites us for lunch in his completely ruined house. But our time is up and so is our appetite for a bowl of salted fish. Adiós, Novak. All the best to you.
| 90
Roadshow | Argentina
| 91
| 102
| 102
Christmas Day 2014 A drizzly, cold winter’s day in the Reinhardswald. We leave our car somewhere at the edge of the dark forest and start our journey in search of a worn-out, gigantic oak tree that rises from the mossy ground like a dilapidated Druid temple. The wind is picking up. The last bit of daylight disappears. We soon have no idea where we are and find ourselves entangled in the cracking claws of snapped-off branches. Scary shadows of the trees dance like frantic witches before our eyes. The rustling in the bushes and the acute night-blindness causes our imagination to run wild. In the meantime, the bitter cold has put the battery of our mobile phone in a deep sleep while we walk in circles like two insane moles. Our hope of finding the civilized world shrinks by the minute. The blisters on our feet are getting bigger. Our stomachs begin complaining ... or was it the growling hungry wolf of Little Red Riding Hood? After hours of roaming around, drenched to the skin, we hear the roaring of modern-day monsters. We have finally found the road, but our car seems to have disappeared. We continue walking, without a clue where we are. The blinding trucks pass us at breakneck speed. We move to the bushy roadside for fear of ending up as roadkill. Slightly up the road we see a flashing light in the darkness. A white, illuminated cross on the roof of a monastery-like building lures us closer. Numb with cold, we ring the bell. Brown mud from the woods up to our knees, the camera tripod under one arm — in the dark it looks more like a Kalashnikov — and the mask of a crying baby under the other arm is not exactly an everyday scene. But, to our big surprise, it evokes pity.
Roadshow | Germany
| 169
Christmas Day 2014 A drizzly, cold winter’s day in the Reinhardswald. We leave our car somewhere at the edge of the dark forest and start our journey in search of a worn-out, gigantic oak tree that rises from the mossy ground like a dilapidated Druid temple. The wind is picking up. The last bit of daylight disappears. We soon have no idea where we are and find ourselves entangled in the cracking claws of snapped-off branches. Scary shadows of the trees dance like frantic witches before our eyes. The rustling in the bushes and the acute night-blindness causes our imagination to run wild. In the meantime, the bitter cold has put the battery of our mobile phone in a deep sleep while we walk in circles like two insane moles. Our hope of finding the civilized world shrinks by the minute. The blisters on our feet are getting bigger. Our stomachs begin complaining ... or was it the growling hungry wolf of Little Red Riding Hood? After hours of roaming around, drenched to the skin, we hear the roaring of modern-day monsters. We have finally found the road, but our car seems to have disappeared. We continue walking, without a clue where we are. The blinding trucks pass us at breakneck speed. We move to the bushy roadside for fear of ending up as roadkill. Slightly up the road we see a flashing light in the darkness. A white, illuminated cross on the roof of a monastery-like building lures us closer. Numb with cold, we ring the bell. Brown mud from the woods up to our knees, the camera tripod under one arm — in the dark it looks more like a Kalashnikov — and the mask of a crying baby under the other arm is not exactly an everyday scene. But, to our big surprise, it evokes pity.
Roadshow | Germany
| 169
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Roadshow | Mongolia
| 201
| 200
Roadshow | Mongolia
| 201
| 224
Roadshow | US
| 225
| 224
Roadshow | US
| 225
| 262
| 263
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| 263
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Authors Adele Morse, Annie Montgomerie, Bob Basset, Candice Angelini, Erik Bergrin, Louis Fleischauer, Mothmeister Translations Melanie Shapiro Editing Nathalie De Man Photography Mothmeister Graphic design Mothmeister
If you have any questions or comments about the material in this book, please do not hesitate to contact our editorial team: markedteam@lannoo.com Š Lannoo Publishers, 2018 D/2018/45/15 – NUR 652/655 ISBN: 978 94 014 4905 2 www.lannoo.com All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any other information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. #AREYOUMARKED