In the quiet corridors of the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, a 72-year-old artisan is engaged in a meticulous dance between biology and art. Tim Bovard, who has worked at the institution since 1984, spends his days ensuring that the museum’s vast biological collection remains a vivid window into the natural world. Through his specialized skill set, this Los Angeles museum gives new life to dead animals, transforming static specimens into dynamic, educationally accurate dioramas.
Bovard occupies a vanishingly rare professional niche. he is currently the last full-time taxidermist employed by any museum in the United States. While many institutions have shifted toward outsourcing preservation work or relying on digital displays, Bovard remains an in-house fixture. His role extends far beyond the simple stuffing of skins; he is a curator of environment, a sculptor of anatomy, and a custodian of a collection that spans more than a century of natural history.
The work is as physically demanding as it is exacting. Bovard’s routine often begins at 4:30 a.m. In Claremont, California, before he commutes to the museum to maintain mounts and design new exhibits. For Bovard, the mission is not merely about aesthetics, but about scientific truth. Every fold of skin and every tilt of a head is designed to convey a specific biological behavior, ensuring that visitors see animals as they exist in the wild, rather than as frozen trophies.
The Architecture of a Lifelike World
Creating a museum-grade diorama requires an encyclopedic understanding of ecology. Bovard does not simply place an animal in a scene; he reconstructs an entire ecosystem. This includes the precise species of flora, the atmospheric conditions, and the social dynamics of the animals involved. To achieve this, he employs a combination of traditional taxidermy and modern industrial techniques.
One of the most surprising aspects of Bovard’s process is the creation of foliage. Rather than using synthetic plants, he utilizes a method called vacuum forming—a process where plastic is heated and suctioned around a mold. Bovard creates these molds from actual plant matter he harvests during research trips, allowing him to produce hundreds of thousands of leaves that are anatomically correct.
This commitment to detail extends to the animal’s posture. When designing a raptor, Bovard focuses on the specific “hooding” over the eyes and the exact way the bird would grip a branch. For a recent restaging of a lion family, he insisted on depicting two lionesses nuzzling foreheads—a standard social greeting among big cats—to capture their inherent sociality rather than presenting them as solitary predators.
The Evolution of Specimen Acquisition
The ethics of museum collections have shifted dramatically since the institution’s founding. In previous eras, museums frequently funded hunting expeditions to populate their halls with exotic species. Under Bovard’s tenure, the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County has moved away from this practice.
Today, Bovard works exclusively with animals sourced from donations by zoos, private collections, or opportunistic finds, such as roadkill. This shift reflects a broader movement in the scientific community toward ethical sourcing and the preservation of existing specimens rather than the pursuit of new ones.
The technical challenge varies by species. Bovard notes that mammal stitching must be incredibly tight, particularly for animals with short hair like zebras or lions, to ensure the seams remain invisible. Conversely, animals with long hair, such as bears, or birds with dense plumage, allow for more flexibility in the sewing process as the natural covering hides the structural work.
A Lifelong Obsession with the Natural World
Bovard’s path to becoming the nation’s last museum taxidermist began at age 11 with an unlucky skunk found on the side of the road. Using an instruction book, he attempted his first “reanimation,” a project that alarmed his peers’ parents but was encouraged by his own father and grandfather, both of whom were scientists and outdoorsmen.
By his teenage years, Bovard had fully immersed himself in the craft of wilderness survival and preservation. He learned to tan leather and famously spent backpacking trips in the Sierras wearing a full buckskin suit of his own making. This early passion led to an apprenticeship with a local taxidermist during high school, a role he maintained through his college years.
Despite his passion, Bovard recalls that his profession was not always viewed with prestige. During college, he often asked friends not to discuss his work at parties, noting that the idea of taxidermy gave some people “the creeps.” Today, however, he views his work as a joyful responsibility, often becoming so absorbed in a project that he sleeps in his office on a blanket between filing cabinets to monitor the setting of glues and the positioning of skin folds.
The Daily Maintenance of History
While the creation of new exhibits garners the most attention, a significant portion of Bovard’s time is dedicated to the mundane but essential maintenance of the museum’s 111-year-old collection. This preservation work is the only way to ensure that biological specimens survive for future generations of researchers and students.
His routine maintenance includes a variety of specialized tasks:
- Dusting: Carefully removing particulates from the museum’s pride of lions to prevent pelt degradation.
- Vacuuming: Using specialized tools to clean large surfaces, such as elephant ears, without damaging the skin.
- Polishing: Maintaining the clarity of glass eyes to preserve the “life” in the animal’s gaze.
- Archiving: Managing the extensive records that track every animal in the museum’s historical collection.
This blend of high-art sculpture and industrial cleaning is what Bovard describes as being “slightly different,” a trait he embraces with an energy that belies his age.
The Future of Museum Taxidermy
As museums worldwide move toward digital interfaces and augmented reality, the role of the physical taxidermist is increasingly rare. However, Bovard argues that the tactile, three-dimensional experience of a perfectly executed diorama provides a connection to nature that a screen cannot replicate. By directing the viewer’s eye through carefully placed prey—such as javelinas leaping away from jaguars in a Sonora box canyon scene—he creates a narrative of survival and movement.
Despite the physical toll of the job and his age, Bovard has no plans to retire. His current queue of work includes the mounting of an orangutan and the production of tens of thousands more vacuum-formed leaves to complete ongoing environmental scenes. His persistence ensures that the traditional skills of the trade are not lost, providing a bridge between the early days of natural history exploration and modern conservation science.
The next major milestone for the collection will be the integration of these traditional mounts into updated exhibit narratives that emphasize current climate challenges and habitat loss, ensuring the animals continue to tell a story relevant to the 21st century.
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