This is What Four Decades of Taxidermy Collecting Looks Like
A piece of taxidermy on the wall can be one of the most visually arresting ways to add character to a room; whereas 350 pieces can actually stop your guests at the door, mouth agape and eyebrows at their hairline. And here, in the doorway of Skip and Ricardo's olive green house in San Francisco's Portola neighborhood, I – camera and notebook in hand – was expecting it. But I can only imagine the reaction of some unprepared Comcast service guy happening upon this exclamation point of a house on a routine Tuesday.
Skip and Ricardo have been collecting taxidermy for more than four decades. My first question when I heard about the couple’s massive collection, “Does it smell?” was answered upon entering their home; no, it doesn't smell at all. I spent a while just scanning the place, my wide eyes practically petting their collection. Hundreds of busts and bodies are mounted in careful patterns across the walls, up into skylights, the stairwell, on every bench, shelf, and corner; everywhere but the kitchen, which is instead wallpapered with little copper cups in the same patterned arrangement.
Skip mentioned hunting deer with his father growing up in Pennsylvania, and he and Ricardo both had collected a bit before meeting each other, but otherwise their explanation for this collection crescendo was more of a playful shrug. "It just kind of happened," they told me so casually that it warranted a side eye from every glass one in the room. It took decades to build this furry empire, but they haven’t added a new piece in the last five or six years because they've run out of available wall. About twice a year they dust every one and Windex the 600+ eyes, and at Christmas they spend a day and a half putting a red bow tie on every single one. (Deck the halls, indeed.)
I’m not sure photos really do their collection justice. It’s incredible and saturates the space in such an intense, stationary way. They tell me that when guests visit they’ll often drift out of the conversation and find themselves counting the menagerie – from hyena to hummingbirds – that surround them.
My favorite piece was this adorable little puff of a beige sparrow; wings spread and hanging by a string from the skylight. They walked me through the house, explaining each of their favorites with this wonderful mix of pride, endearment, and fascination. For me, the strangest part was petting the two stiff little house cats, likely stuffed out of fierce sentimentality instead of the trophy or hobby feeling that seems to be behind the rest. It's a little crazy, though, to spend an hour in a room and finally notice that there are penguins in the corner.
For a hobby that could so easily slide head-first into Hoarders territory, the collection is impeccably designed and organized. Most of the collection itself was built around fulfilling patterns and symmetry. The dining room is the designated “Africa Room,” with zebras, bobcats, and a monkey happily riding a goat. Fish swim around the ceiling of both bathrooms and a highlight of the living room is the “Snarly Wall,” where every bust is frozen in a moment of serious attitude. The “Black Forest” wall is one of Skip and Ricardo's favorite mini-collections, and they pulled down an antler mount to show me the cut out in the back of the wood where the animal’s teeth are preserved. Different details are evidence of the decade, and you can tell which pieces are from the turn of the century because they’re significantly heavier. Taxidermy kind of dropped off in the ’50s, so they really consider it more of an antique collection (neither Skip or Ricardo stuffed or commissioned any of the pieces) and think of each piece as a little natural sculpture.
As a renter, the house struck me as a future spackling nightmare. Fortunately the couple own their 1926 custom-built house. But, they've have to move the collection from their last home, and have taken it all down to repaint more than a few times, employing a sketch, number, and post-it system to put the pieces all back in the right place. Only one piece has ever fallen, but they all stood strong through the ’89 earthquake.
Portola hardware stores may want to stock up on wall putty though, because after 40 years, Skip and Ricardo have decided it's time to let the pack migrate to other walls.
"It's just time," they told me, as casually as explaining how the collection started. I admire the balance of cavalier sentimentality they maintain for such a huge, defining part of their home (and life). They’ll be selling almost all of their collection via consignment at Paxton Gate, which has already started moving pieces into its store on Valencia Street.
If you're in the market for a dozen or two animal heads, or just want to sneak a quick pet, you can stop by tomorrow (Friday) for Paxton Gate’s End-of-Summer Cocktail Party, from 6-9 p.m., where there will be as much of the collection on display as the lucky walls allow.
All photos by Jessica Saia
