Stowe, USA, 1975.

When I was three years old, a fox raided the chicken coop on my parent’s farm. The site of the massacre was strewn with evidence of its swift violence. One particular bird had only been partially consumed — almost perfectly bisected in such a way that its entire reproductive system was revealed. […] This visual experience represented a turning point in my relationship to the world. Life […] is a baroque, mysterious thing that hangs precariously on a framework of elegant reason.

(Elizabeth Neel)