The Melancholy of Being Frozen in Time

Very close to the chimney, there is a fawn, it always sleeps and sits on a bed of gravel, its big eyes open but dead, its fur soft yet cold. This is a memory of my childhood and bambi is still in my parents home, frozen in time and waiting there with its sad eyes whenever I come to visit. My father told me that he found it lying dead in the forest when he was a kid, and the gamekeeper had it stuffed for him. Since I was very young, I was fascinated by this creature, because it was my first and only very close encounter with a fawn.

For all beauty inhabited by this creature, there is a lot of melancholy in seeing it stuffed: Aren’t they made for running through the forest and snack on field flowers?

Therefore, my Bambi is no taxidermy, but a cute fascinator, the bed of gravel has been replaced with a bed of flowers and living Bambi can run freely in the forest. No animals harmed in the name of fashion here (even my shoes are plastic, you see).

Still, the memory of its stuffed version I hold very dear because it is strongly connected to something very precious: My parents, my childhood and the first place I ever thought of as home.

My Outfit: