[MUSIC PLAYING]
EMILY GRASLIE: This is Carl Cotton.
It's 1953, a time when it's surprising to see
an African-American man working on exhibits in a museum.
I'd always been intrigued by him.
And so was Reda Brooks, who works in exhibitions today.
She saw this photo when searching for inspiration
for Black History Month and put a call out
to other staff members in the museum
to find out more about him.
Together, they dug deeper, reading work logs
and scouring the archives.
But to do Carl's legacy justice,
they needed to look beyond his records and photos.
So in late 2019, we took to social media
to find Carl's friends and family,
who responded with remembrances, photos,
and tons of fun stories.
During this exchange, it became clear
that he was a true Renaissance man
who influenced almost every department
at the Field Museum and beyond.
Carl's childhood friend, noted historian Timuel Black,
says Carl taught himself taxidermy at a young age,
starting by artistically mounting the small animals
he found dead in his Southside Chicago community
and memorializing the departed pets
of his neighbors and friends.
At 22, Carl sent his first letter to the Field Museum,
expressing interest in taxidermy and reptiles,
noting that he had kept a "collection of 30 venomous
and non-venomous live snakes" himself.
They turned him down.
But Carl didn't give up.
After serving in Hawaii during World War II,
Carl sent another letter, asking for a volunteer position,
which seemed to do the trick.
Just over a month later, Carl had shown himself
to be satisfactory in every way,
and he was hired to work full time in the now bygone
Division of Anatomy.
Carl Cotton worked at the museum from 1947
until his death in 1971.
Carl did fulfill his dreams of working with reptiles.
His alligator snapping turtle, still on display,
shows his attention to detail, artistry,
and that his experience
working and living with reptiles paid off.
It was created using a technique called the Walter's method,
where an animal's posed and made into a mold, which was painted
with a mixture of celluloid and early plastic and pigment
to create something between hyper-realistic sculpture
and taxidermy.
While it was invented by his mentor, Leon Walters,
Carl is recognized for perfecting the technique,
going on to train other taxidermists in this method.
Soon after Carl was hired, he was transferred
to the Division of Birds,
where he taxidermied much of the birds
you can still see on display today.
One of his most stunning pieces was the 16-foot tall sculpture
called Colorful Birds he created
with museum staff artist E. John Pfiffner,
which included 56 birds.
This display broke away
from traditional zoology exhibit design.
The specimens are artfully displayed
on seemingly improvised curves.
It could have been inspired by jazz culture,
with the feeling of spontaneity in the poses
and dramatic colors of the birds.
It looks like music, beautiful and accessible.
Austin Rand, the chief curator of zoology at the time,
said, "The openness, the airiness, and the liveliness
"of the twisting and turning strands of metal
"as they swirl upward make the wire structure
"a particularly appropriate place for birds to perch
"and accentuate the beauty and grace
"of these creatures of the air.
"As the elephants in Stanley Field Hall
"have become a sort of symbol or trademark of the museum,
"so it may be that this arrangement of gay birds
will become the trademark of our Bird Halls."
Unfortunately it was not to be, as the piece
was dismantled in 1990.
Even so, many of Carl's birds are still on display,
like this bird of paradise and macaw.
You can identify which birds were a part of his sculpture
because they're still perched on the metal form
Carl mounted them to more than 60 years ago.
We can't know for sure how many of the birds currently
on display in exhibits around the museum
were created by Carl,
but it's doubtful you can visit the museum today
and not encounter some of his work.
In fact, even staff here at the Field
are constantly uncovering work he contributed to.
The seasonal plumage of the Willow Ptarmigan Diorama
had fallen out of common knowledge in the museum
until it came time to move the striped hyenas
for Project Hyena Diorama
and this gem was rediscovered behind their case.
At first, you can see Carl's ptarmigan
in its snowy plumage set in a scene
of a frigid Alaskan winter painted by Madie Weavy.
Then with a click, the bird and the scene are the same,
but you have been transported in time to midsummer.
This illusion is achieved by the creation of a matching pair
of dioramas, one set straight on from the viewer's perspective,
and the other on the ceiling.
A two-way mirror was placed at a 45-degree angle to the viewer.
So when light is shown through it, we see the winter scene.
And when the light is reflected off the mirror,
we see the summer scene.
While this may seem like a simple trick,
its creation was no small task.
Both Carl and Madie had to construct
pieces of art that were perfectly matching
in form and composition.
But because a mirror is used to create the illusion,
one diorama had to be a mirror image of the other.
In talking with Carl's family,
we learned about some of his work
that definitely wouldn't be in the museum archives.
In an apparent side hustle, Carl created and delivered
a bearskin rug to the Playboy Mansion, which was located here
in Chicago at the time.
But it wasn't all so glamorous.
According to Carl's wife, when a hippopotamus from the zoo died
and was too large to fit in the freight elevator,
Carl had to prepare it in the loading dock,
which took several days in the heat and humidity
of a Midwestern August.
Carl's wife mentioned another less than pleasant task--
replicating the same dinosaur vertebrae
out of plaster over and over
because visitors seeking a souvenir
couldn't help but snag the tip of Gorgeous George's tail,
which was just within reach when the specimen was on display
in Stanley Field Hall.
Who knows how many people have a plaster vertebrate handmade
by Carl Cotton stashed somewhere in their homes
by a slightly ashamed parent or grandparent.
Carl eventually branched out of taxidermy
to create insect display cases.
His experience as an urban taxidermist
is epitomizes in this tiny diorama of a mouse
being consumed by carrion beetles.
The slight bloating of the mouse and the interaction
between the beetles gives the feeling
of a very lively death scene.
But perhaps his astounding attention to detail
is shown nowhere better than in his masterpiece,
the Marsh Birds of the Upper Nile River Diorama,
which he constructed in 1953.
By then, Carl had demonstrated vast capabilities
in both his taxidermy of diverse animal groups,
as well as his mold-making and crafting abilities.
So when the museum announced the expedition to Uganda
with the goal of creating a new bird diorama,
Carl was ready for the opportunity.
He was involved with the display from its very inception,
including preparing and packing the supplies for the expedition
and unpacking the specimens once they returned to the museum.
He worked on all aspects of the diorama,
from building the habitat to sculpting and painting
the lily pads to the taxidermy of every one of the 31 birds.
It was a big responsibility and required
a tremendous amount of work.
But he was up to the task and devoted two years
to the project, from the beginning
of the expedition to the opening of the diorama in 1953.
In the footage from the Field Museum archive,
you can see the care and attention
he gave to every animal he mounted.
As you approach the diorama,
you're transported to a vast wetland on the edge
of Lake Kyoga in June of 1952.
The sky is nearly empty, despite the many birds on the ground,
signifying that these are native birds still here
after the migratory birds from Europe
have gone for their summer.
The entire scene is packed with life,
giving the impression of an abundant
and diverse environment.
Perhaps not representing a single moment in time,
but giving the impression of what someone sitting
in this spot might see over the course of a few days.
It's somehow a truer impression of the habitat
than a single instance could show.
You get the feeling that you--
and not the animals in the diorama--
are the center of attention.
It's as if you just stumbled out from behind the papyrus
and have caught the notice of each bird.
The shoebill stork, being the largest
and most fearsome predator in its own right,
is vigilant but unconcerned.
The smaller birds are more alert.
The quick and skittish painted snipe begins to take flight.
The great crested grebe and the long-toed plover
both have young to protect,
which is reflected in their anxious poses.
The openbill stork looks up from eating a snail,
the evidence of past meals scattered around it.
And the buff-backed heron is startled
in the middle of preening,
surrounded by lost white feathers.
The scene feels complete because of such small details,
like the different ages of the lily pads
and the bird droppings clinging to the papyrus.
You can almost feel the breeze coming from the right
and smell the damp earth and muck in the water.
And so the diorama accomplishes what any great work of art
sets out to do--
it moves the viewer outside of themselves.
For a moment, if you allow it,
you can become lost in another world,
in another moment in time.
You're lost in this masterful illusion of nature.
Carl Cotton's incredible artistry
wasn't only highly influential here at the Field Museum.
His expertise in taxidermy and exhibition methods
were sought out by popular and scientific institutions
around the globe.
But those he taught in turn pass on their knowledge,
so there's no real way to know the true extent of his impact.
But he continues to influence any visitor who
happens to stop and admire the hundreds of examples
of his artistry on display at the Field Museum,
from the subtle to the grand.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
It still has brains on it.