A glittering purple bronchial tree hangs in the corner of Deborah Simon’s cramped Brooklyn studio, suspended from the ceiling like an anatomical specimen from the Body Worlds exposition. But instead of human lungs, these are tiger pipes. And instead of cartilage, spongey tissue, and mucus membranes, this bronchial tree is crafted from hundreds of tiny amethyst stones.
“I’m working on a life-sized Siberian tiger, which is a big jump in scale and ambition for me,” says Deborah, a mixed-media sculptor whose work typically centers on smaller animals like rabbits, bats, coyotes, and even polar bears. Her studio is a menagerie of blood-red body parts, embroidered bear organs, flayed rabbit maquettes, and preparatory sketches, all tacked to the walls or lining narrow, overstuffed shelves. Next to the tiger, a colony of squirrels and mice congregate on the antlers of a decapitated stag’s head. It’s all a bit cheeky and macabre—and so realistic that many onlookers mistake Deborah’s finished sculptures for taxidermy.
“I don't use any animal parts at all in my work,” Deborah clarifies, noting that polar bears are protected under U.S. law. But she understands why viewers make that assumption. “We've all seen taxidermy bears, especially if you’re traveling out West. Brown bears, black bears, and rabbits—those are the animals you often see in Natural History Museums. We all grew up with teddy bears or the Velveteen Rabbit,” she adds, emphasizing how easily these cuddly characters become entangled with formative childhood memories.
“I liked the idea that both [bears and rabbits] are also childhood toys. One thing that appealed to me about bears as a subject was the whole play on stuffed animals. It always struck me as kind of crazy that the Victorians took a bear, an animal that is dangerous, and made it a childhood best friend.”
Deborah's exploration of the complex relationship between childhood innocence and our romanticization of nature encourages a deeper understanding of how we perceive both human and animal experiences. Her work revolves around the idea of umwelt, a German term describing the subjective perspective of an organism shaped by its unique environment and senses. “When I look at animals, I’m trying to imagine what they are thinking and feeling,” she explains. “What is their self-awareness? How are they experiencing the world? There's a moment when you encounter a wild animal and feel a jolt of electricity when your eyes meet. That brief connection is incredibly special."
Scroll through to read our interview with Deborah Simon, then head to our April 2025 exhibition, Creatures: Mythical to Mundane, to see her submission.
In Today’s Q+Art Interview…
Deborah Simon discusses the sci-fi audiobooks playing in her studio, how she received 40 rejections before landing her first “yes,” and why networking still feels like a nightmare.
What's playing in your studio right now? Make us a mini playlist.
Deborah Simon: I listen primarily to audiobooks, which vary depending on what kind of work I’m doing, how monotonous it is, or how much concentration it demands from me. It will range from sci-fi to spy thrillers to history and science. This is what I’ve just finished:
Embers of the Hands, Eleanor Barraclough; Blackout and All Clear, Connie Willis; Night of the Assassins, Howard Blum; The Ministry of Time, Kaliane Bradley; Invention of Prehistory, Stefanos Geroulanos.
What is the best advice you've ever received? What's the worst?
DS: That I would get 50 rejections before my first yes. When I graduated from undergrad, my painting teacher told me that, and it was some of the best advice I’ve ever received. I was probably in the 40 rejection range when I got my first yes, and it helped to expect that.
What's your biggest barrier to being an artist?
DS: Myself. I always feel that my lack of confidence in my work and in promoting myself is one of my biggest impediments. I’m happiest in the studio working and am terrible at reaching out to people about my work and inviting people into the studio. The whole networking and building relationships end of being an artist is such a struggle.
Cats or dogs?
DS: Rabbits! I have two bunnies. But as to the binary choice, dogs.
What do you wish you had learned in art school but weren't taught?
DS: That I could end up having enough success with my art to keep me going, but not enough that all I do is my art with no need for a day job. We were all going to be art stars or change careers in our mid-thirties when it became obvious the whole art dream was going nowhere. My backup was paleontology (I didn’t realize then that I’d be just as broke in that field) or veterinary school. Everything was very black and white, which, as a student, is normal, but I wish someone had talked about what if you end up in the middle somewhere. About art sustainably being part of your life despite not earning a living from it.
The closest we got was an art critic who pointed out that our undergrad class had 100-odd students, of which 30-ish would go on to grad school, and of the 30 in his class, three were still in the arts. But it was still an in-or-out example with no middle ground. It was also a fairly accurate assessment of the attrition rate.
How do you deal with the ups and downs of the market?
DS: I generally don’t, since my work is shown, written about, and featured but very rarely sold. The upside is that I don’t generally have to worry about how the art market is doing.
What's your relationship with money?
DS: Tenuous.
If you had to pick one, would you rather be a historically significant or commercially successful artist? Why?
DS: I’d like to be both! And in my lifetime. If I had to choose, I’d pick historically significant. I would prefer my work to have a lasting influence and impact on the conversation about what art is and how animals are considered.
Deborah Simon: Website | Instagram
This interview has been edited for length and clarity. All images published with permission of Deborah Simon. Featured images: “Ursus americanus” and “Ursus maritimus.”