Lebanon - Joe Itani - The Art Of Stuffing Animals
Nishee
The art of stuffing animals
Sandra Simpson talks to taxidermist Joe Itani
Walking into Joe Itani’s African Safari 1 shop in Hamra is a bit like
walking into an exotic aviary here a peacock, there a pheasant but
most of the birds are still-life testaments to his art as a taxidermist.
Itani started in taxidermy 18 years ago, putting his life-long love of
birds and animals to use in an unusual way. He recalls being told
hunting stories by his grandfather, who died aged more than 100 years
old, of an Arabia rich with birds, deer and other “sport” animals. Now,
Lebanon’s hunting ban means Itani has moved into a sideline of selling
birds, cats and dogs as pets.
“Since the ban started, the taxidermy work has slowed down,” Itani
admits. But there is still a steady-enough stream of birds to be stuffed
and mounted. Some, such as pheasants, are imported from Europe, released
on farms and shot by people who pay for the privilege. Proud hunters
bring the skin to Itani for a two-week procedure which will see the
birds prepared for either a wall mount or free-standing mount, often
with their wings spread, an effect which can take a week in itself to
achieve. The skins are stuffed with straw treated, as the feathers are
later, to stay pest-free. Itani recommends spraying the mounted birds
annually to keep pests at bay.
And it doesn’t matter if the bird has been badly damaged by the hunter,
Itani prides himself on his skills at rebuilding bodies and, especially,
heads torn apart by a bullet or cartridge shot.
Not all his customers bring birds or animals who have been shot and
killed he also deals with animals who have died of natural causes. “If
you have a beautiful bird and it dies, you don’t have to throw it in the
garbage, you can keep it like this,” Itani says, gesturing to the
peacock on its pedestal, tail a waterfall of blue and green.
He has also mounted a fawn which died a few days after birth and
suggests that well-loved pets could also be honored this way.
But he acknowledges that taxidermy isn’t for everyone. “Most Muslims
don’t like it,” he says. “Most of my customers are from other faiths.
Sometimes people can be quite narrow-minded here.”
A Muslim himself, Itani quickly adds that he never kills animals brought
to him. “Some people brought a deer here once which wasn’t quite dead. I
told them to take it away, kill it properly and then bring it back. I
can’t kill them.”
Itani trained with a “master,” now aged 65, who himself trained in the
Netherlands. He believes they are the only two taxidermists in Lebanon
who practice European-standard methods. “The others use the old ways,
which are not clean. They leave meat on, the feathers start to fall out,
things like that.”
His ambition to set up his own business led to a cooling of relations
between the two men, but was also rooted in personal tragedy for Itani.
Among the framed photographs of animals on the walls of the Snoubra
Street shop is one of his infant son, his only child, who was killed
when the boy and his mother were hit by a car while out walking. His
wife suffered permanent injuries and now lives with her parents in the
United States. “I have to live,” he says simply. “And to live I must
work.”
He understands too, the motivations of the “poor African men” who bring
him animal skins for sale. Besides a zebra skin in the window, the shop
has a collection of skins from the large cats of Africa. Itani is aware
of the ban on trade in such skins, but believes that if the sellers can
get them out of Africa and into Lebanon, it is not his place to question
them.
And he has customers who will happily pay $1,500 for such skins made
into life-like rugs or free-standing animals, complete with a snarling
resin head from the United States and glass eyes from Germany for
their salons. A big skin, such as a lion, will take about five days to
prepare, while a leopard will take about two days. Filling for big
animals is also imported from the U.S.
Itani also undertakes osteology putting together skeletons or, “for
the rich only,” mounting elephant tusks.
But however good his work, however lifelike the end product, Itani feels
unappreciated in Lebanon. “People here don’t understand that this is
art,” he says. “But I can make something beautiful for you and it will
last forever.”