A shark’s tale

Following the completion of our Life, As We Know It redisplay project earlier this year, we are taking a look at some of the exceptionally skilled people who helped to bring it all together. In this article, model maker Jeremy Hunt and our Vertebrate Palaeontology Collections Manager Emma Nicholls take a deep dive into what we believe is the world’s first 3D reconstruction of the extinct shark Ptychodus as an open water predator…

In six of our newest displays, fossil material found in and around Oxfordshire is used to reconstruct ecosystems from slices of geological time. One of these recreates a marine environment of the Cretaceous Period, between 94 and 84 million years ago, when most of northern Europe was submerged under a warm shallow sea. In these seas swam a formidable 8-metre long shark called Ptychodus.

Until recently, Ptychodus remained something of a mystery: teeth and vertebrae were the only remains scientists could use to work out what it looked like. Its robust, low-domed teeth are covered in deep ridges of enamel that created a mosaic in each jaw. They were capable of crushing shelled prey like a giant nutcracker. Similar teeth in modern sharks are found only in slow-moving species that prowl the seabed, so it was presumed that Ptychodus behaved in the same way.

Fossils of Ptychodus teeth in the new display

But then in 2024 an incredible fossil with much of the animal’s soft tissue preserved was published by Dr Romain Vullo and co-authors. This new fossil revealed clues to the shapes of the fins and their position on the body. The study concluded that Ptychodus was in fact not a bottom-dwelling animal at all, but much more likely to be a fast, agile predator living higher in the water column, and perhaps related to the Great White Shark.

Armed with this recent discovery, we decided to create a three-dimensional model of the reimagined Ptychodus for our Cretaceous display. It had to be a quarter of life-size to fit it in the showcase, but would still be a huge two metres long.

Digital 3D model of a shark, shown in grey, without any skin colouring or texture. The mouth is open and inside is an ammonite being crushed by the shark's plate-like teeth.
An early computer model of the shark and ammonite

“In discussion with Dr Vullo and others we began to decipher the shark’s possible appearance,” says Emma.  “Aspects to sink our teeth into included the skull shape, how it would have fed on hard-shelled free-swimming prey such as ammonites, how the mosaic of teeth sat in the mouth, as well as where and what shape the fins would have been.”

The next stage was to turn these ideas into a realistic model, and for this we turned to specialist model maker Jeremy Hunt. “When I was asked to make the reconstruction of Ptychodus I thought it was a great opportunity to incorporate modern digital techniques and processes that would give great accuracy, but also and flexibility so that adjustments could be made at later stages. This would be really difficult using a traditional clay sculpting approach,” he explains.

Together, Emma and Jeremy began to translate the shark fossil research into draft models on the computer, digitally sculpting versions on-screen. As well as being scaled down to quarter size, the position and pose of the model also needed to work inside the showcase structure and the designs of the rest of the display. Combining computer models helped us to make sure that Ptychodus would fit perfectly and that its method of support could be worked out well ahead of installation.

To give us a sense of how the final model would actually look, Jeremy 3D-printed little maquettes just a few centimetres long. On these we could check that the anatomy and pose were just what we needed. The maquettes also showed how the shark would be suspended in a diving angle, chomping down on an ammonite which Jeremy was modelling separately, in collaboration with Ricardo Pérez-de la Fuente, a researcher here at the Museum.

A hand holds out a wooden plinth, painted blue, onto which a 3D printed shark model is mounted on a vertical metal rod. The 3D print is also blue and is approximately 15cm  long.
3D-printed maquettes of the model helped us to check its form and pose

Once ready, the model was 3D-printed at its display size of two metres long, allowing Jeremy to create a silicone rubber mould to produce a fibreglass cast of the final structure. Fibreglass is both strong and light, perfect for the display. But the model really came to life when Jeremy hand-painted and airbrushed its colourings and markings based on a research by Emma and a concept drawing by palaeo-artist Julius Csotonyi.

Once Ptychodus and the rest of the display were installed, the ammonite was placed in the mouth. It is held safely there by hidden strong magnets, caught permanently between those crushing plates, about to become shark food.

Museum exhibit showing a 2 metre long shark model against a backdrop artwork of an ocean containing drawings of other sharks, fish, ammonites and belemnites in the sea, along with corals, shellfish and lobsters on and burrowing into the seabed. Below this scene are a selection of chalk fossils. On the left the title panel is printed on blue acrylic and shows the display's name as 'In the shadow of a shark'.
The Ptychodus model in the final display at the Museum

“This was a great project to be involved with, and I hope the new displays will be enjoyed by all who visit the Museum,” says Jeremy.

Jeremy Hunt, model-maker

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See more of Jeremy’s work at: www.instagram.com/memsculpt

From Fossil To Flesh: Reconstructing a Phascolotherium

Following the completion of our Life, As We Know It redisplay project earlier this year, we are taking a look at some of the exceptionally skilled people who helped to bring it all together. In this article, taxidermist Alexandra Rose Cherrett tells us about the ‘unusual proposal’ that she received one day…

I was sitting at my studio desk ready to start the day with some admin. I often receive emails enquiring about commissions ranging from peoples’ pets to wild animals that have been found by the public, asking for them to be preserved after death through taxidermy. At the top of my inbox was an email with an “unusual proposal” from the Museum of Natural History in Oxford.

As a taxidermist I have been lucky enough to work on a wide range of animals over my short career, from kingfishers to vultures, hedgehogs to lemurs and many more in-between. Safe to say I was not expecting the request to taxidermy an animal that hasn’t walked the earth for 165 million years.

I was then introduced to Phascolotherium; a small, furry mammal that lived in the Mid Jurassic alongside Megalosaurus, the first dinosaur ever named and discovered, right here in Oxford, UK. A proverbial stone’s throw from the museum itself.

Now, I have always been rather obsessed with dinosaurs. My obsession and adoration for dinosaurs and wildlife has been evenly matched for as long as I can remember. Suddenly I found my Jurassic Park dreams were coming to life. An impossible task? I thought, “Life, uh…finds a way”.

The first challenge was that only the jawbone and teeth of Phascolotherium had ever been discovered. I was given a reference image by Paleo artist, Julius Csotonyi, from which I primarily  worked.

It was rodent-like in nature, with an elongated head, a lithe body and a long, plumed tail. My first thought was to use a squirrel as the base as the limb structure and body shape were so similar. I knew I had a pair of juvenile grey squirrels in my freezer that could be the perfect size, one was donated as a cat kill and the other perished at a wildlife rescue.

The most obvious visual changes were the colouration. The artworks showed a body of a dark reddish hue, with patches of white on the face, stomach and tip of the tail and stripes stemming down the spine. My next step of course, was Boots. A few boxes of Garnier hair dyes and peroxide bleach later and I had a completely different animal skin laid out on my desk.

My next process was to create the body form over which the skin would be fitted. For mammal taxidermy, I usually carve or cast a head out of balsa wood or PU foam and make a bind up copy of the body and limb shape from woodwool.

With the head essentially being a non-existent shape, I copied the paleo-art and carved a small balsa block to a similar shape as a large shrew. The body was very similar to the young squirrel already so that was a simple workaround.

With the nature of its surroundings and the looming Megalosaurus, I imagined this creature was indeed, always on the run. So, an action pose was created, mid run, which highlighted its slight build and balancing tail very nicely.

When dressing the skin, the biggest alteration was the eye and ear placement. The young squirrel had eyes around 8mm, whereas Phascolotherium measured in at 4mm. Not to mention they were set further back and lower, as were the ears at two thirds their original size and shape. I made an incision across the eyelid and manipulated the skin to fit its new size and position, copying the same methodology for the ears. Almost instantly, a face that hadn’t been seen for 165 million years was right there looking back at me.

Me with the completed Phascolotherium

I have been fortunate enough to work with the Museum of Natural History on a few projects now and it’s safe to say this project has been one of my biggest challenges and greatest pleasures to date.

www.alexandrarosetaxidermy.co.uk

Instagram: @alexandrarosetaxidermy

Facebook: @alexandrarosetaxidermy

A Botanical Journey In Time

Following the completion of our Life, As We Know It redisplay project earlier this year, we are taking a look at some of the exceptionally skilled people who helped to bring it all together. In this article, model maker Inese Veismane recalls some of the weird and wonderful extinct plants that we needed for our new displays…

I remember the exact moment I saw the message from the Museum of Natural History. I had just returned home from a trip, switched my phone back on after the flight, and there it was – waiting for me to jump into the unknown. It came at a time when my personal life was shifting in a difficult direction, and in an unexpected way, this project became something that held me steady.

My work usually lives in the botanical world – delicate flowers, soft forms and colours, artsy details ­– so stepping into a space shaped by scientific accuracy and unfamiliar subjects felt like entering a new landscape. This time, I was asked to create not only plants but organisms like worms, including the intricate and challenging Christmas tree worms.

The commission began in 2023, and from the very start, it was clear that this would be a different kind of creative process. Instead of observing a living plant or working from my own references, I was guided by scientific material provided by the museum. There was a responsibility to honour not just the visual beauty of each subject but also its structure, proportions, dimensions, and defining characteristics.

I work with air-dry clay, building each form slowly by hand. My process is intuitive but also very attentive – I spend time studying botanical forms and shapes and then transforming that into something tangible. With these models, I had to balance that intuitive, artistic approach with careful observation. It became a dialogue between art and science.

Working on the early plants became one of the most interesting parts of the project. Recreating species like Asteroxylon mackiei, Rhynia, and Cooksonia felt like reaching into a distant past. These are plants that no longer exist, known only through scientific study and careful reconstruction. There was something deeply humbling in shaping them by hand – giving form to something that once lived hundreds of millions of years ago. It felt like a journey back in time. I had to rely entirely on references and guidance while still allowing the forms to come alive through my own interpretation.

One of the most meaningful parts of this creative process has been witnessing the transformation of each piece – from a simple beginning to something that holds presence and detail. I also find importance in sharing these stages on my social media. It creates a sense of continuity – an archive of the work that can be returned to over time.

Looking back, this experience has expanded the way I see my work. It reminded me that even when we step outside of what feels familiar, the essence of creating remains the same: to pay attention, to be patient, and to trust that something will slowly take shape.

There is also something special in knowing that these handmade models will live within the Museum and become a part of a much larger story – held in a space where art and science meet.

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See more of Inese’s work at: www.instagram.com/cooleblumen/

‘Deadly Six’ deinstall

Bethany Milne from the Museum’s Visitor Experience team has spent some time working alongside the Exhibitions team to deinstall a temporary art exhibition. She has reflected on the day – what she enjoyed and what she learnt along the way.

The deinstall of the Museum’s Deadly Six art installation is my first introduction into the world of exhibitions and an exciting one to start with. I have seen the display since it was first installed in September 2024 and I began working at the museum, watching it on my patrols of the court to make sure it stays intact and safe from all the little hands that pass through our doors every day. I didn’t imagine what it would be like to touch them myself until I found out I had the opportunity to join the team in taking them down.

On September 8th I came into the museum at 8:30am to shadow the exhibitions team as a development day. Most of the staff and contractors were already there and so I started by talking to the Head of Exhibitions, Rachel, about what needed to be done. She showed me her schedule of the day, starting at 8am, going through to 5pm, in which we would derig all the sculptures and get them set up safely out of the public areas and into storage. After, I helped set up hoarding to keep the aisle where the work was being done secluded, as the museum would be open to the public as usual around us. This aspect was an interesting learning opportunity for me as I have no earlier experience with the manual labour aspect of the work, but I enjoyed being hands-on.

As I was doing this, the team from Outback Rigging worked on carefully lowering the suspended works to the ground and to our surprise; the take down was ahead of schedule. Most of them were removed by the middle of the day and these ones were simple to move. This was interesting to me as they seem so delicate, being large structures made of woven willow, but they proved sturdier than I thought. However, some were more difficult to take down than others, including the COVID sculpture. This was the most difficult to get down to the storage space, due to its intricate structure and its large size. Too wide to take down the stairs we usually use, Rachel organized with the Pitt Rivers to take it through their door, along the road and back into the Museum of Natural History through another door! What made this procedure more complicated was the sculpture itself, as its round construction meant there were no handholds. Luckily, the artist Issy Wilkes created some by looping some zip ties through the metal frame and, learning from the setup of the exhibition, used foam sheets to wrap around these painful to hold ties, to make the journey even easier. I felt it was an extremely rewarding process when we were finally able to put it down, as it required a lot of teamwork and shimmying about corridors to make it – I was very relieved we were able to keep it in one piece.

As the day went on and the sculptures were down and put away safely, I began to do smaller, but equally important tasks. The works themselves weren’t the only part of the exhibition, so I aided in removing the signage that was in the aisle that explained the meaning of each part. We also moved these down to the storage room, out of the way of the surrounding visitors and I began the task of removing the labels from inside. Another small step was vacuuming the sculptures. Despite regular conservation cleaning, hanging up in the court for so long had meant they had accumulated a lot of dust, which had to be cleaned out before they moved to their next home. These tasks were ones I wouldn‘t have thought of before the experience, but I realise that the smaller aspects are just as important as the larger ones when it comes to taking care of the exhibitions. It is our job to not only display the works as best we can, honouring their artistic intent and presenting to the audience in a way they understand, but this experience showed me how important the after care is, ensuring that they are well maintained to carry on their purpose and that the museum is returned to its original state.

Who clothes there?

LEARNING ABOUT ANCIENT FASHION FROM NATURAL HISTORY COLLECTIONS


By Ella McKelvey, Web Content and Communications Officer


Tucked in a display case in the southwest corner of the Museum is a sculpture of an unidentified female figure, small enough to fit in your coat pocket. It is a replica of one of the most important examples of Palaeolithic artwork ever discovered; a 25,000-year-old carving known as the Venus of Willendorf. The Venus of Willendorf is one of several Palaeolithic statues found in Europe or Asia believed to depict female deities or fertility icons. Known collectively as the Venus Figurines, the carvings are similar in size and subject matter, but each has her own peculiarities. Many are naked, but some of the later examples are wearing distinctive garments, clothes we might describe today as ‘snoods’ or ‘bandeaux’. The Venus of Willendorf is easily distinguished by her statement headpiece; perhaps a spiralling hair-braid or ceremonial wig. But there is another, more exciting interpretation — this strange, thimble-like adornment might actually represent a woven fibre cap, making it the oldest ever depiction of human clothing.

The Venus Figurines are incredibly important to the study of human fashion because they significantly predate any direct archaeological evidence of ancient clothing. The oldest surviving garment dates back an astonishing 5,000 years; an exceptionally-preserved linen shirt discovered in an Egyptian tomb. But our species, Homo sapiens, has a much longer history, perhaps up to a quarter of a million years. How much of this time have we spent wearing clothing? And why did we even begin to dress ourselves in the first place?

By comparing human genes to those of our furrier primate relatives, researchers have been able to estimate that modern humans lost their body hair around 240,000 years ago. A mutation in a gene called KRTHAP1 likely led to a decrease in our production of the protein keratin, the building block of hair. The exact reason why this mutation spread through the population is still up for speculation. One commonly held theory is that, with less body hair, our ancestors could sweat and tolerate higher temperatures, allowing them to expand their habitats from sheltered forests into sun-drenched savannahs. But at some stage, our ancestors started covering their skin again — leaving us to wonder when nakedness became a nuisance.

An intriguing clue about the circumstances that led to the adoption of clothing has come from studying the DNA of our parasites — namely, clothing lice. In 2010, researchers used genetic sequencing to determine that clothing lice split from their ancestral group, head lice, between 170,000 and 83,000 years ago. When compared with genetic data from our own species, we can begin to weave a story about the origins of clothing that ties in with human migration. Gene sequencing has helped us work out that Homo sapiens originated in Africa but must have begun migrating towards Europe between 100,000 and 50,000 years ago, a window which overlaps neatly with the evolution of clothing lice. Is it possible that clothing lice are a consequence of the widespread adoption of clothing; a result of humans migrating into more northerly latitudes with cooler temperatures?

Curiously, there are indications in the archaeological record that human clothing could date to an even earlier stage in our species’ history than the expansion of humans into Europe. In 2021, researchers uncovered 120,000-year-old bones from a cave in Morocco believed to be used to process animal hides. There is a strong possibility that humans would have used these tools to make wearable items out of hunted animals, including blankets, cloaks, or perhaps more structured garments.

It seems likely that the first clothes humans made from hides were loose-fitting capes or shawls, which may have been more important for protection or camouflage than keeping warm. There are numerous reasons why other animals cover themselves with foreign objects besides thermoregulation. ‘Decorating’ behaviours occur in animals as diverse as crabs, birds, and insects, allowing them to disguise themselves from predators, or protect themselves from UV radiation. While early humans might have only needed simple clothing items to aid with disguise, as the climate began cooling 110,000 years ago, cloaks probably wouldn’t have cut it; our species must have learned how to make multi-layered and closer-fitting garments to maintain high enough body temperatures. Archaeology provides a similar estimate for the adoption of constructed garments, based on the discovery of 75,000-year-old stone awls — tools used for puncturing holes in hides to prepare them to be sewn together.

Homo sapiens‘ ability to make complex clothing items may have helped give our ancestors a competitive edge over the Neanderthals in Europe. Researchers have studied sub-fossil material in museum collections to learn about the changing distributions of European mammals throughout human history, allowing them to deduce that Neanderthals only had access to large animals like bison to make cape-like clothing from. But, in addition to bison, Homo sapiens lived alongside other, fluffier animals like wolverines during the last Ice Age, which could have been hunted to make warm trims for our clothing. Studies like these are highly speculative, but with such a threadbare archaeological record, they contribute valuable insight into the landscapes of ancient Europe.

The Neanderthals might have been less well-dressed than our Homo sapiens ancestors, but we can’t be certain that humans of our own species were the only prehistoric fashionistas. The oldest sewing needle to have ever been discovered dates to 50,000 years before present and was actually found in a cave associated with Denisovans — a group of extinct hominins we know little about. The Denisovans may be an extinct subspecies of Homo sapiens, but they might also have formed an entirely separate species altogether, perhaps learning how to sew independently of modern humans.

Following the invention of sewing was another crucial innovation in the history of human clothing — the ability to make textiles. In 2009, a group of researchers discovered 36,000-year-old evidence of textile-based clothing in the form of microscopic flax plant fibres that had been dyed and twisted together. There are many potential uses of twisted fibres such as these, but scientists have been able to study the organisms associated with the fibres, finding the remains of skin beetles, moth larvae, and fungal spores that are all commonly associated with modern clothing. Humans do not simply fashion clothes, we also fashion microhabitats, capable of supporting organisms as diverse as insects, fungi, and bacteria.

The discovery that humans have been making textiles into clothing for 36,000 years lends credence to the theory that the Venus of Willendorf is wearing a woven cap — but we might never be able to draw any certain conclusions about such an ancient artefact. Until just ninety years ago, humans could only make textiles from biodegradable materials, meaning that we have very little evidence about the clothing that our ancient ancestors wore. Thankfully, however, the story of human fashion is closely interwoven with the natural histories of hundreds of other species, allowing us to stitch together a patchwork history, utilising evidence from all corners of the kingdom of life.

The Geology of Oxford Gravestones

By Duncan Murdock, Earth Collections manager

A cemetery may seem like an unusual location for a geology fieldtrip, but for rock hounds from beginner to professor there’s a treasure trove of different rock types in gravestones. Whether it’s shells of oysters from the time of the dinosaurs, or beautiful feldspar crystals formed deep within the Earth’s crust, rocks are uniquely placed to tell the story of the history of our planet.

This incredible resource is elegantly celebrated in a new temporary exhibition in the Weston Library in Oxford. Compiled by two of the Museum’s Honorary Associates, Nina Morgan and Philip Powell, The Geology of Oxford Gravestones brings together the geological and human history of Oxford’s cemeteries.

The exhibition is illustrated with artefacts including undertakers’ trade cards and ‘rules of burial’, rock samples from the Museum’s collections, and photographs of headstones from Museum luminaries such as Henry John Stephen Smith, our second Keeper, and Henry Acland, one of our founders.

The Geology of Oxford Gravestones exhibition poster

Although compact, the exhibition is full of fascinating snippets for fans of geology and social history alike, even bringing the science right up to date with a study using lichen on gravestones to understand our changing environment. The text and objects on display are enhanced by rolling digital displays that give more insight and colour to the story.

As the exhibition says, “visit a cemetery with a hand lens and you’ll be amazed at what you can see, you’ll never look at cemeteries in the same way again”. Just make sure you visit the display in the Weston Library first!

The Geology of Oxford Gravestones, is in the Blackwell Hall foyer of the Weston Library in Broad Street, Oxford and runs from 17 July to 12 September 2021. You can also find out more about Gravestone Geology here and in our previous post Celebrate science in a cemetery.