An animal’s head – worn upon one’s own. Shaped, stuffed, mounted. Not as a trophy, not as a quotation. A fragment that remains. In the fur trade it is considered a leftover – too animal, too little usable. But what happens when it is further processed? When touch, form, and closeness establish a connection? The gaze of glass stones is without expression – and yet not empty. Something remains perceptible. A presence that does not dissolve. Who is carrying whom here? Who sees whom? And what exactly are we seeing?
photographer: Martin Say