Last year, I chased a prominent taxidermy dealer in Bangkok for weeks. He finally agreed to meet me in a nondescript cafe for fifteen minutes. In that moment, I chose to ask just one question: ‘How did you decide to be a taxidermy dealer?’ He replied, ‘The first time I saw taxidermy was in a glossy magazine. An Indian Maharaja’s royal palace had a trophy specimen of a Cheetah – and I was really inspired! I thought to myself, I really want that! Cheetahs are extinct in India, right?’   There are many a curious nuances between the act of hunting wildlife and the turning of that into a viable commodity. Often, we are only invited to experience this as a performative piece from two vantage points: the hunter as an entity in a hostile land; or wildlife as centerpiece – in a mansion or study. The portrayal and participation of wildlife in the East, and the way that it is imagined does not follow this linear pattern. Hence, expecting a simplistic answer to the complex question of illegal wildlife trade in times of unabashed ecological damage is an exercise in total futility. * My own interests lie in the avian world – birds of all manner, terrain, and genus. This is something I have picked up from my grandmother, who used to feed birds every morning on her terrace. I realise that I am perhaps still out on that terrace, finding a particular kind of joy in just watching birds fly in and out. In 2014, after almost a decade of watching David Attenborough’s BBC series, Attenborough in Paradise (1996), I set out to see a rare bird species, only found in the rainforests of New Guinea - Birds of Paradise, revered for their extraordinary plumage and unique mating dances. There, in the rainforest, I was guided by a former hunter who hunted these birds for money. Some of Asia’s largest illegal wildlife markets thrive in nearby cities like Jakarta and Surabaya. In these markets, everything from endangered Orangutans to Ivory is sold for a price, in a uniquely nonchalant manner. But the connection of this Eastern island and its birds to the notorious illegal wildlife trade put me on a journey I had not expected out of that modest birding trip. Soon enough, this gentle pursuit had become a personal vortex.   Since then, I have found myself in these rainforests and oceanic trade routes many a time. From the Arfak mountain ranges in the west; to former Hollandia (Jayapura), a thriving erstwhile Dutch trade center for Birds of Paradise; to German New Guinea in the east where Birds of Paradise were the biggest revenue-earning commodity till the 1920s. In its historical port cities and dense rainforests, I have deliberated about the presence of wildlife trade on this island, again and again for over 5,000 years. In what has been formally archived, the first wave brings in the expansionist sentiments of early 16th-17th c., when these species find themselves in high demand, both in auction houses and ‘wunderkammer' or 'rariteitenkabinet' (Cabinets of Curiosity). The second wave of interest in the birds once again ravaged these same rainforests, extracting every mature male bird for its plume, this time for making haute couture fashion hats for markets across America and Europe.  And while the West looked at these species as exotic items, a hunter from West Papua who killed many Birds of Paradise up until 1970’s told me ‘And he [an explorer] said to me, good forest, oh very beautiful forest, beautiful birds! And I say, no! Paradise bird is for eat, not beautiful. If people in Papua, men, women; them beautiful. If something like a bird, is no beautiful,’ further providing evidence that these archives and their authority on ideas of desirable aesthetics are at best, incomplete and of a binary nature. In today’s context, tens of thousands of birds are sold locally in markets across Indonesia, Malaysia and the Philippines every year. There are no official estimates because the trade is illegal and performed without documentation. A WhatsApp forward advertisement, which the BKSDA [Nature Conservation Agency of Indonesia] issued recently, reads, ‘…menyelenggarakan acara diskusi pemeliharaan seputar burung eksotik (BKSDA is holding a discussion about maintenance of exotic birds)’. ‘Exotic’ holds etymological roots in the early 16th c. Latin word exoticus, which means ‘foreign or from the outside’, but its usage referred to ‘strange and unusual – to the Western world’. For Southeast Asia, many of these bird species are endemic. The word eksotik, in this case is a misplaced post-colonial response, threatening large-scale wildlife erasure. The ebb and flow of the plume trade in these waters is indicative of a deep-time relationship that people have continued to have with a certain wild species: both as a commodity and as muse. Certainly, then the ephemeral characteristic of these birds is far surpassed by the memory of a mere encounter in the wild or these many bazaars. Many in the neighbouring islands still discuss a creature they now have not seen in decades or ever. A celebrated creature-commodity that used to pass their lands rather frequently is now a contraband that must be spoken of in hushed tones. Sometimes the only way to know that it still passes them by silently is to find photos in daily newspapers of government officials catching hundreds of carcasses at various different ports. Wildlife marketers, in cities like Bangkok and Jakarta, have taken a liking to the anonymity offered by digital platforms such as Facebook and Instagram to sell wildlife – further making the archive a difficult one to find. The ports, however, boast large shipments arriving as recently as 12 March, 2018 – where 312 endemic birds were reportedly confiscated in Manila. About a 100 years ago, the West called for policies and referendums, seeking prohibition of trade in endangered species– at home and in their colonies. Extensively drawing appendix and charts– turning the formerly celebrated exotic into contraband. While what was left behind in the East was a half-fought battle for independence and an alien imagination for their own ecology. Imaginations and anxieties of culture are neither formed nor can they be dismantled on a whim. Such endeavors require formation of new, informed narratives. My role, and that of this ongoing project, is to aid the collection of these fragments of the archive that can bring forth a better understanding of this large-scale wildlife conflict. A simple want of seeing Birds of Paradise brought me to the island of New Guinea in 2014. But what continues to draw me closer each day to this layered conflict is this ocean of free-floating, unallied narratives. It is the collective potential of these fragments for rebuilding a more nuanced story that continues to fascinate me.  It is within these autonomous, unclaimed pieces that I have nested my practice for over three years now and continue to do so.