I came upon twin fawns in the display case of a mom and pop toy and science 
store in Kansas City, Missouri. It took me two years to win the trust of the shop owner and 
save the money to buy them. A taxidermist spotted a dead deer by the side of the road. 
He stopped to properly dispose of the body and realized she was pregnant. He opened 
her and found near full-term twin fawns, he removed and preserved them.
Deer rarely have twins and the taxidermist retained the uterine gesture of their bodies. 
I built them a vitrine with a light blue base. Their prematurity exaggerates the delicacy of 
an incredibly sweet thing. The points of their hooves, the length of their lashes, the spots of their 
hides, nose to small nose in an ur-cartoonish realism … Viewers’ eyes trick them into believing the 
fawns are breathing. The tragedy of beauty is its transience.
The twins live forever in their own demise. They are sleeping beauties.They have been 
muses since I first saw them … We dress death in lilies and bronze the names of our dead sons on 
walls. We erect altars of toys and hold candlelight vigils to express hope. My twin fawns sleep 
endlessly on their baby blue block in my studio. The twins never opened their eyes yet their 
wondrous fatality evokes an acceptable alternative to death.
— Peregrine Honig