The Illusion of Preservation

© Isabelle Mitchell - The pond water just inside the front gates of the Birmingham zoo, acting as an early sign of neglect.

© Isabelle Mitchell - A closed exhibit marked by ladders and a temporary sign, with no clear timeline for reopening.

Dates

2025 - 2025
Author

Isabelle Mitchell
Topics Documentary, Editorial, Nature & Environment

This series captures Birmingham Zoo’s decline, from lively community space to neglect. Nostalgic, overgrown exhibits reflect a shift from care to commerce, quietly reminding us how shared memory and nostalgia fade when profit comes first.

Through images of aging enclosures, broken attractions, and absent animals, I highlight the disconnect between the zoo’s marketed image and its lived reality. My focus centers on the primate, predator, and reptile exhibits; spaces once rich with emotional memory, now overlooked. By drawing attention to out-of-service activities and overgrown surroundings, the work invites reflection on how communal memory is lost when care is replaced by commercial intent.

The pond water just inside the front gates of the Birmingham zoo, acting as an early sign of neglect.

A small lizard clings to a fabricated wall inside its tiny enclosure in the reptile house, blending into a habitat that hasn’t been updated in years.

A closed exhibit marked by ladders and a temporary sign, with no clear timeline for reopening.

This is one of the four Pallas cats as it sits barely visible behind a rock in a dim enclosure, surrounded by painted foliage and fake branches.

Two turtles shoved deep into a cramped hide, like they’re trying to vanish.

An old carousel stripped of its animals and fenced off, once a communal joy. It’s been in this state since June of 2025.

A monkey crouches low on a branch in a cluttered primate exhibit, its tail visibly injured.

A Komodo dragon sits motionless in an aging enclosure with deteriorating walls as it sits at the door for food or enrichment, its presence feels more like a leftover than a feature.

The sea lion stadium sits empty, with a sign announcing their move and weeds growing through the fence, nostalgia sits heavy here.

A skull with antlers placed on the forest floor near the new Alabama Wilds exhibit, whether intentional or not, it reads as a quiet memorial to what’s been lost.

He stares through the glass, still and alert. The water’s murky, the space is tight, and there’s nowhere to go.

A monkey hangs from ropes in a cramped indoor exhibit; its agility reduced to repetitive motion as it looks up toward freedom.

You walk out past the new gates, knowing more will come; ready to point, take pictures, and miss what’s fraying at the edges.