The temperas include "The Tenant's House," with its dead deer hanging from a tree; the inexplicably barren "Above the Narrows," which features a young boy in shorts and shirt and no other signs of summer, and the dilapidated house and hardscrabble yard of "Oliver's Cap."

Directly in front of her, not five meters away, the deer hung on a fence alive again with killing electricity.

His art is no less eccentric: recent works feature cutup taxidermy casts of coyote and deer brutally reassembled and hanging from rotating carousels, and videotapes of bellowing clowns, murderous couples and a rat in a Plexiglas maze enduring ordeal by teen-age boy on drums.

The deer hung stiff and heavy and empty. . . . It was a cold fall and the wind came down from the mountains.

Two tiny deer heads flank a large mirror hung on the wall near the communal table in the middle of the room.

They walked over towards the tree where the mule deer was hanging.

The deer hung stiff and heavy and empty, and small birds blew in the wind and the wind turned their feathers.

Those deer aren't hanging about in a petting zoo.

Unafraid of humans or, apparently, of flying golf balls, the deer hang out near the woods between the range and the waters of the Arthur Kill.

The fires still smoked on the shore, the half-gutted deer hung from the frame.