Not your average taxidermist: One Yellowknife woman finds 'beauty in death'

For Jessie Olson, it all started with an old stuffed wolverine.

As a kid growing up in Yellowknife, she would visit the Northern Frontiers Heritage Centre, sit beside the long-dead creature and stare at it in awe.

"I remember just being so excited," Olson said, sitting in the Kam Lake trailer-turned-workshop where she works. 

"That feeling, that excitement feeling is the same feeling that I have now when I do them. I got to do my own wolverine piece here and it was kind of like a full circle moment."

But for the last seven years, Olson's career has revolved around live animals. She worked as a veterinarian technician at Yellowknife's Great Slave Animal Hospital and at the NWT SPCA's shelter. She even travelled to Ecuador to do work with domesticated animals in the Galapagos. 

But earlier this year, Olson says she needed a break. 

"My friend suggested taxidermy and I was like 'it's perfect!' It's art. It's hands-on. It's biology."

Olson says she repeatedly phoned one of the two taxidermists in Yellowknife, Greg Robertson, but he never returned her calls. She then started emailing him. Those too went unanswered. 

"I just kept bugging him. It was like a bug in my head. I needed to do this," Olson says.

"Finally he answered me. We got along really well and he just started showing me the ropes. He helps me work on my own pieces or help I him with his pieces. "

Walking around the shop, Olson points out the handful of pieces she's put together. An arctic fox lounging in some antlers. A mount of a black bear head. A tiny martin clutching the side of a cabin. 

Olson's work seems to show her unwavering respect for the creatures she transforms. She gently strokes their fur, pats their heads when she walks by the animals that have been restored — or just about — to their former glory. 

"I think there's a lot of beauty in death and I think it's important to recognize that. We live in a death-phobic culture where things that are dead are sad or scary or shouldn't be talked about," Olson said, as she tweezes a mounted grouse's plumage into place.

"I like exploring it because it's inevitable and it's happening. There's beauty in that."

While mentoring under Robertson, Olson is also working on finishing her biology degree but she dreams of one day turning her training into a career.

But she knows, as a 28-year old woman, she's not your average taxidermist. 

"I don't know what the taxidermy world is like outside of the Yellowknife bubble but from what I hear, it's very male-dominated."

But according to a 2015 New York Times article, the "traditionally white, male and rural" demographic of the taxidermy world is slowly changing.

Women and people of colour are joining the industry more than ever before.  

"I'm actually kind of excited that I started this path not knowing that there's a bunch of other women around the world doing it too."

"There's these traditional mounts but it's now taking on more of an art-scape, a more artsy feel and I think a lot of the women are actually bringing that in. A whole new look."

Olson says she still gets some mixed reactions when people ask her what she does in her spare time. 

"I get a lot of just 'huh'. People don't really know what to say," Olson said.

"I don't think a lot of people really understand what taxidermy really is. I think my most common question is, 'is it a skeleton, are there bones in there'. There's no bones, really, in taxidermy at all except maybe antlers and bird skulls."

A lot of foam 

When starting a piece, Olson will also design the mount — the habitat the animal will be placed in.

She then sets up the skinned animal carcass in the position she wants. Next, she'll place the carcass in what's known as the "sand box", literally a box of sand used to make a mold of the body. Olson will then fill the sand mold with a foam liquid that hardens into a cast. 

Olson will spend hours sculpting the cast to make it perfect before placing the hide or fur around it and sewing it in place. Then, the finishing touches and decorative pieces are added.

It's not a job you can rush, Olson says. The whole process can take up to a month.

But there is someone who has taken issue with Olson's new line of work.

Her dog, Bojack.

As he gently walks around the large stuffed pieces laid out around the workshop, it's clear he's on edge.

"He's scared of the bears, he's scared of the wolves. They must still have quite a bit of smell to them. He knows what's a threat to him and what isn't even though they're all dead and not a threat," she says looking over at Bojack lying quietly beside her.

"He's just waiting for them all to make the next move but they never do."