Every day is Halloween, isn’t it?
I'm Kika — the quiet, introverted gremlin behind all of this.
I live with a whole familiar-sized bunch of animals — including my dog Grima and my chaos-powered Bruja.
I'm an eclectic witch who, a few years ago, accidentally turned a passion into something more. I started collecting oddities… and then it spiraled — in the best possible way.
Now I get to surround myself with bones, curiosities, creepy pretties, and all the small, strange things that often go unnoticed — and call it my work.
Honestly, I adore it.
I promise I'm not as creepy as I look.
…or am I?
If you'd like to know more about my process or the things I create — or if you're looking for something made just for you — feel free to reach out. My messages are always open.
Follow me on Instagram for pictures and videos of my creative process, behind-the-scenes stories, little anecdotes from my life — and customer reviews from people who adopted my creatures :).
And, most importantly, welcome to Morbid Oddities — a place where handcrafted taxidermy art, gothic home décor, cabinet of curiosities, shadow boxes, insect art, preserved specimens, bones and witch-inspired creations come together. Every piece in my shop is entirely handcrafted by me, from start to finish. Every design is completely original, built entirely from scratch, and created to tell a story through curiosity, nature, folklore and the beauty of the unusual.
Curiosity - the Heart of Morbid Oddities
I've always been drawn to things that refuse to reveal all of their secrets.
Since I was a child, I've been fascinated by forgotten buildings, ancient architecture, history, psychology, crime, anatomy, pathology, forensic science, death and decay. They fascinated me because they always left room for imagination.
I've never enjoyed being handed every answer. I've always preferred wondering who once stood in an empty room, what memories an old house might still hold, or what stories had quietly disappeared long before anyone thought to remember them.
I've never really understood the idea of conventional beauty. It's never been the way my mind works. Beauty has never been a perfect face or something that simply looks pleasing. I've always found it in atmosphere. In melancholy. In fleeting moments. In the way light catches someone's face for just a heartbeat. In a forgotten place that still feels as though it remembers everyone who once walked through it.
I've always found beauty where most people see only discomfort. It has never been a conscious choice. It's simply how I'm built. To me, beauty has never ended with what I can see. It begins where certainty ends.
Death leaves behind an infinite melancholy of unanswered questions, from which entire universes emerge. When I look at a skull or a skeleton, I don't find myself wondering who that particular person once was. My imagination works differently. I see colours. Landscapes. Emotions. Entire worlds. One unanswered question has the ability to become countless different stories, each one existing only because no single answer can ever replace imagination.
I've always surrounded everything with pathos. Not because I want to make things darker than they are, but because that's genuinely how I've always experienced the world. Everything feels deeper than it first appears. The less something reveals, the more my imagination wants to uncover. I don't need every question to have an answer. In fact, I hope some never do. Because that's where art begins.
Where It Begins
Every piece I create begins with a story.
Sometimes that story already exists in my mind for weeks before I begin making anything. Sometimes it starts with pages of notes, sometimes with a single paragraph, and sometimes with nothing more than a feeling that refuses to leave me alone.
Ideas rarely arrive while I’m sitting at my workbench trying to invent
something. They appear unexpectedly—sometimes while I’m walking, sometimes in the middle of the night, and sometimes they find their way into my dreams.
I keep pages and pages of notes because I simply can’t create them as quickly as they arrive. I have far more ideas than I have time to make. I’ve never known what it’s like to sit in front of an empty table waiting for inspiration.
Quite the opposite.
I’m constantly trying to catch up with my own imagination.
Once an idea takes hold, everything else follows. The specimens, the frame, the plants, the colours and the textures already belong to that world. I begin with the story, because without it everything else would simply be decoration. I don’t want to decorate objects.
I want to create worlds that feel as though they have existed long before I
began making them. That’s why I do almost everything myself. Not because it’s easier—it isn’t. I do it because it’s the only way I know how to create the
work I imagine.
Making
People often ask why I make my own frames instead of buying them. The answer has always been simple. I don’t see the frame as packaging for my work. To me, it is part of the artwork itself.
I want every piece to feel genuinely handmade from the very beginning.
For me, the artwork doesn’t begin when I arrange the composition—it begins with the frame itself. A single wooden frame can take many hours to make before I even begin creating the artwork it will eventually hold.
Every frame starts as raw timber. I calculate every measurement and every angle before cutting a single piece of wood. Then comes sanding, joining, filling, sanding again, staining, oiling or varnishing, and finishing every surface by hand. Only then is the frame ready to become part of the story.
The same is true for my domes. I never treat them as ready-made display cases. Each wooden base is stained to the exact colour I have in mind, then either varnished, finished with a matte seal or aged by hand, depending on the
atmosphere I want the piece to evoke. I often add engraved nameplates,
sometimes displaying nothing more than the species name, and other times a fragment of poetry, a Latin phrase or words of my own that belong to the story behind the piece. Many are finished with ornamental feet and other small details that most people might never consciously notice, but that make the final composition feel complete.
The same philosophy applies to my cast frames. They aren’t bought as decorative mouldings. In most cases, I create the silicone moulds myself using antique or vintage frames that I’ve collected over the years. Those moulds become part of my own visual library, allowing me to cast frames that fit a particular concept
rather than forcing an idea to fit whatever happens to be available. Every cast is then sanded, painted, aged or finished by hand before it becomes part of the final artwork. The same attention to detail continues long after the frame is finished.
I pin every specimen myself because I rarely want them to remain in a standard
display position. I want a moth to look as though it has just landed. A
tarantula to appear as though it’s still moving. A scorpion to feel as though
you’ve interrupted it for only a moment. I want every composition to feel
alive—as though you’ve stepped into a story rather than looked at a preserved
specimen. I don’t see specimens as objects to be displayed. They are characters within a world that already exists in my imagination, and every position, every angle and every small adjustment helps tell that story.
Sometimes I sculpt details from clay because I can’t find exactly what I’m
looking for. Sometimes I make silicone moulds and cast my own decorative elements. Sometimes I work with resin, paint, pyrography or preserved plants.
I’m not choosing materials for a project.
I’m creating materials for a project.
Everything exists to serve the idea, never the other way around.
Learning New Techniques for Handmade Art
When an idea appears, I don’t ask myself whether I already know the technique.
I learn it if that’s what the piece requires.
I’ve never liked limiting an idea because of my current skills. If I don’t know how to make something, I learn. If the technique doesn’t exist in the way I need it, I experiment until I find my own solution. More than once I’ve spent days developing a process from scratch, only to discover later that someone else had already reached a similar conclusion. That has never mattered to me. The satisfaction has always come from the process of discovering it myself.
I don’t think of learning as something separate from creating. For me, they’re the same process.
Every new skill opens the door to ideas that previously existed only in my imagination.
Time Behind Every Handcrafted Oddity
Some pieces take days to complete. Others take weeks or even months. Not because I’m working on a single piece every day, but because many of its elements are created independently over long periods of time before they finally come together.
A finished composition may contain a frame made weeks earlier, flowers
preserved months before, sculpted details, cast ornaments, hand-painted
elements and specimens that have all been waiting for the right story to bring
them together.
Some elements wait for weeks.
Others for months.
Sometimes more than a year passes before a frame, a cast ornament, a preserved flower or a sculpted detail finally becomes part of the piece it was always meant to belong to.
I’ve never thrown a project away.
Never.
Some pieces refuse to become what I imagined the first time. Others change
completely while I’m making them. But abandoning them has never been part of my process. If something doesn’t work, I rebuild it. I change it. I experiment. I start again if I have to.
Sometimes a piece becomes something entirely different from what I first
imagined, but I never stop working on it until it finally feels complete.
I don’t believe that a difficult project is a failed project.
Sometimes it simply hasn’t found its final form yet.
Finding My Way Back
Around three years ago, none of this existed. I wasn’t an artist. I was working as a cosmetologist and trichologist, helping other people feel more confident while quietly setting my own creative ambitions aside.
Art had always been part of my life, but somewhere along the way I convinced myself that it belonged to my past rather than my future.
After more than fifteen years away from creating, I finally stopped ignoring that part of myself. I don’t remember making a detailed plan or deciding to start a business. I simply reached a point where not creating felt far more difficult than starting again. Looking back now, I don’t think I returned because I simply missed making art.
I returned because I felt torn.
I felt as though I was moving through life like an empty shell, quietly ignoring a part of myself that had always been there. Creating again didn’t feel like starting something new. It felt like becoming myself again.
Everything I create today has been self-taught. I never went to art school. No one taught me how to build frames, prepare specimens, sculpt, cast, work with resin, preserve plants, paint or use pyrography. I learned because each new idea demanded a skill I didn’t yet have.
What started with learning one skill gradually became learning dozens of them, because every part of the process gave me another opportunity to make each piece feel more personal and more complete.
Beyond the Artwork - Running an independent Art Business
Today, creating the artwork itself is only part of what I do.
People often see the finished piece and naturally assume that’s where the work
ends. In reality, that’s only the part they can see.
Every artwork also means planning collections, sourcing materials,
photographing finished pieces, editing photographs, writing descriptions,
building and maintaining my website, answering emails and messages, carefully packing every order, managing social media and everything else that comes with running an independent business.
I don’t separate creating from everything that surrounds it. To me, it’s all part of the same process. Every photograph and every carefully wrapped parcel is another extension of the work itself.
Morbid Oddities
One of the questions I’m asked most often is whether I create custom commissions.
The answer isn’t a simple yes or no.
I do accept them from time to time, but they’ve never been the way I enjoy
creating most. Every commission begins with long conversations. I want to understand the person behind it, what they love, what they imagine and what emotions they want the finished piece to evoke.
Even then, I never see myself as someone simply making an object to match a description. I still need to feel inspired by the idea myself. I’ve never been able to create something simply because I think it will sell.
In fact, some of the pieces I’ve made with that mindset have become my least favourite. They were technically well made, but they never felt completely mine. The work I’m proudest of has always come from curiosity rather than strategy. I don’t sit down asking myself what people might want to buy next. I ask myself what I can’t stop thinking about. That’s where every collection
begins.
I believe people can feel the difference.
When a piece is created from genuine fascination rather than obligation, it carries something with it that can’t really be planned or manufactured. I’ve never wanted Morbid Oddities to become a catalogue of products. I wanted it to become a collection of worlds. Every piece belongs to one of those worlds. Some are quiet. Some melancholic. Some unsettling. Some feel like forgotten stories that no one has told for centuries.
Others begin with nothing more than a single image that refuses to leave my mind. They all have one thing in common.
I would have created them even if no one had ever seen them.
Final Thought
I’ve never created my work to shock people.I’ve never created it to persuade anyone to see beauty the way I do. Morbid Oddities is simply a reflection of how I’ve always experienced the world. A world where beauty isn’t always obvious. Where stories rarely have clear endings. Where melancholy and wonder often exist side by side.
If my work resonates with you, perhaps you’ve seen a glimpse of that world too.
And if it doesn’t, that’s perfectly alright.
Art has never been about convincing everyone to see the same thing.
The Creative Process
Shortened version:)
Every piece in my shop is entirely handcrafted by me — from start to finish. All designs being completely original, built entirely from scratch.
I build my own wooden and plaster frames, often create my own casts and molds, and hand-paint every single element. My shadowboxes are assembled by hand, I even cut the glass myself.
I also pin insects myself and assemble most of the skeletons by hand, I sculpt, carve, burn in wood and paint. I use a wide range of mixed media: resin, paints, clay, polymer clay, wood, pyrography, preserved flowers and plants - and bones, of course.
Many elements are gathered and preserved by me — plants, moss, and natural elements — which I incorporate into my work, including spell jars and woodland-inspired pieces. I also work with crystals and symbolism rooted in witchcraft and folklore.
I am especially proud of my handcrafted wooden coffin shadowboxes and triptychs, each one a unique expression of my artistic vision.
Frequently Asked Questions
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Every piece at Morbid Oddities is handcrafted individually after your order is placed. This means your item is made specifically for you — not mass-produced, not sitting in a warehouse. Production time varies by piece and is listed in each product description.
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Production time is listed in the product description. Once your item is ready, shipping is added on top. Ready-to-ship items are dispatched within 3–5 business days.
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We ship to the European Union, the United Kingdom, Canada, Switzerland, and the United States (see the USA shipping question below for details).
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Yes! We now ship to the United States via the United Kingdom (PL→UK→US) with full end-to-end tracking. Delivery time: 2–4 weeks Shipping costs are calculated by weight at checkout. This is not an ideal solution, but it's the best we can do at the moment due to de minimis changes from September 2025. Important: Import fees and customs duties are due on delivery and are the buyer's responsibility. By placing an order you acknowledge this. I ship carefully and with full tracking, but I cannot take responsibility for what happens in transit once the parcel leaves my hands. You order on this basis. Stay in the loop — I'm actively looking for a reliable direct shipping solution for the USA. Sign up for the newsletter and you'll be the first to know when it's available. Why is this so complicated? Recent changes to the US de minimis threshold have created serious disruption for small international sellers shipping from Europe. On top of that, courier rates from Poland to the USA for larger packages currently start at €250 — making standard shipping economically impossible for both of us. This is not a choice; it's the reality of the current situation.
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Estimated delivery times after dispatch: Poland: 1–3 business days. European Union: 5–10 business days. United Kingdom: 7–14 business days. United States: 2–4 weeks. Canada: 10–21 business days. Switzerland: 7–14 business days. These are estimates only — delays caused by postal services or customs are beyond our control.
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Orders shipped outside the EU may be subject to customs duties and import taxes. These are the responsibility of the buyer and are not included in the product price or shipping cost.
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Made-to-order and handcrafted items cannot be returned, as each piece is created individually for the buyer. Ready-to-ship items may be returned within 14 days of delivery in original, unused condition. For full details, see our Refund Policy.
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Yes. For custom orders, please contact us at niflhels@gmail.com or via chat before purchasing. Timelines and details are agreed upon directly with you.
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Contact us within 14 days of delivery at niflhels@gmail.com with clear photos of the damage and the packaging. Each case is assessed individually.
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Everything is sustainably sourced. I personally collect, clean, preserve and assemble many of the remains I work with by hand. Over the years, I've built trusted relationships with local people, collectors and suppliers who help me source pieces that would otherwise be discarded or forgotten. Some skulls come from old vintage collections, while others are sourced locally — sometimes from elderly farmers, small homesteads or trusted hunters I personally know. I carefully clean, restore and prepare each piece myself before transforming it into art. Rabbit feet, chicken remains and similar pieces usually come from people who already raise animals for food for themselves or for local sale. Nothing is bred or killed specifically for my work — I simply preserve and give new life to remains that already exist instead of letting them go to waste. My bats come from a trusted entomologist who works directly with local communities and small collectors in parts of Asia. The insects I use are sourced from ethical suppliers who work with local communities. Everything is handled with respect and care.