35mm slides in the process of being decomposed by fungus. The emulsion layers have been acted upon by the fungus at different rates, creating new combinations and colours that were never part of the original photo. The hyphae from the fungus give texture to the clouds of dye.
Since I was young I’ve been collecting insect specimens. Part of preparing the specimens for display involves spreading them out in the desired position, held in place with pins, until they dry/set in that position. Once they are set, they can be transferred to display/storage cases which are tightly sealed and contain camphor (a strong-smelling insect repellant) which helps keep them safe and in good condition.
Whilst going through a box of old things in the attic, I found a cigar box in which I used to set specimens. However in the years since I had opened the box, all the specimens had disappeared. They had been eaten by dermestid beetles, a common pest in insect collections. The box is now filled with the beetles’ exuviae and droppings, while the pinned insects are now just dust.
Pinning insects is an attempt to press the Pause button right after death, to stave off decay and freeze an object in time. In this case nature has secretly pressed the Play button while I wasn’t looking.
Praying mantids (like all insects) grow by periodically shedding their “skin”, which is actually their skeleton. It cracks open and they slowly slide out of it, leaving the old skeleton (exuviae) behind. This is a period of transition, when they are at their most vulnerable and unable to defend themselves. They emerge soft and weak, barely able to walk and unable to catch food.
I’m interested in the way these structures remain as reminders of what used to be, a record of every bump and groove of its body. They are almost ghostly and ethereal, like an echo or shadow made flesh. Remains, not as a reminder of death but as evidence of growth, and continued life.