Scrimshaw: The Controversial Whale-Ivory Art Fighting to Survive

Scrimshaw is a traditional form of engraving and carving associated with the sailors and whalers of the 18th and 19th centuries. Artists, often working during long periods at sea, carved detailed images into sperm whale teeth, whale bones and other marine ivory.

The designs frequently depicted the world around them: ships sailing through rough seas, whales being hunted, sailors at work and scenes representing life back home.

Unlike many formal art traditions, scrimshaw developed largely outside conventional studios and academies. It was closely connected to the everyday lives of sailors.

The result was an unusual form of maritime folk art, created from materials that were readily available aboard whaling ships.

The word is now closely associated with the engraved whale teeth and bones themselves, while artists who practice the craft are commonly called scrimshanders.

Whale teeth and bones were available as byproducts of the whaling industry. Sperm whale teeth, in particular, provided a smooth surface that could be carefully engraved.

Early sailors could use simple sharp instruments to scratch images into the ivory. Pigments such as soot or other readily available substances could then be rubbed into the engraved lines, making the designs more visible.

Over time, some scrimshaw pieces became remarkably detailed records of maritime life.

The history of scrimshaw cannot be separated from the history of commercial whaling.

During the 19th century, American whaling expanded dramatically. Ports such as New Bedford and Nantucket became major centres of the industry.

New Bedford, Massachusetts, became particularly prosperous during the height of American whaling. According to the BBC feature, more than 10,000 men worked aboard New Bedford whaleships in 1857, representing around half of the city's population at the time.

Scrimshaw offers a very personal record of this period.

Some engravings show whales being pursued by small boats, while others depict ships, sailors and distant families. The artwork therefore documents not only the whaling industry but also the emotional world of the people who participated in it.

Yet the same images that make scrimshaw historically valuable can appear disturbing to modern audiences.

Scenes of harpooning and whale hunting are reminders of an industry that contributed to enormous pressure on whale populations.

American commercial whaling began declining during the second half of the 19th century.

One important factor was the emergence of petroleum-based fuels. After petroleum discoveries in Pennsylvania in the late 1850s, kerosene became an increasingly affordable alternative to whale oil for lighting.

By the beginning of the 20th century, American commercial whaling had largely collapsed.

Interestingly, scrimshaw survived even after the industry that produced its raw material declined.

Large quantities of whale teeth and bones had already accumulated in warehouses, homes and coastal communities. For decades, these materials could still be obtained relatively easily.

That changed dramatically with modern wildlife protection laws.

One of the biggest turning points came with the US Endangered Species Act of 1973, alongside other marine-mammal and international ivory protections.

These laws placed major restrictions on the trade and commercial use of whale ivory.

The result was a fundamental change for scrimshanders.

Artists could no longer simply acquire freshly obtained whale teeth and continue the historic practice. Instead, those working legally with whale ivory generally depend on pre-existing historical material whose provenance and legal status can be established.

The supply is therefore finite.

As old collections are used or transferred into museums and private collections, the pool of legally usable historical whale ivory becomes increasingly limited.

For contemporary artists, a single whale tooth can now be extremely valuable.

Although commercial whaling declined, scrimshaw experienced another period of popularity during the 1960s folk-craft revival.

The craft attracted collectors and artists, while interest in American maritime heritage helped bring historical scrimshaw back into public attention.

The BBC feature highlights Nantucket artist Michael Vienneau, who began working with whale teeth as a teenager and remembers a time when the material was relatively inexpensive and accessible. He now represents a much smaller community of practicing scrimshanders.

This transformation illustrates how dramatically the status of whale ivory has changed.

What was once an abundant industrial byproduct has become a tightly regulated historical material.

This is perhaps the biggest question facing the craft today.

Some contemporary artists have experimented with cow bone, deer antler and other materials. These alternatives allow artists to continue developing engraving techniques without using whale ivory.

But there is disagreement over whether these works should technically be called scrimshaw.

Traditionalists argue that authentic scrimshaw is inseparable from the historical materials and maritime culture that created it. From this perspective, replacing whale teeth with another material produces a related form of bone or ivory carving rather than traditional scrimshaw.

Others see adaptation as a way for the artistic techniques and cultural history to continue without creating demand for whale products.

This debate gives scrimshaw its unusual modern dilemma: preserving the craft may require changing the material that defines it.

The most complicated part of scrimshaw's modern story is its relationship with whales.

Historical scrimshaw is valuable because it provides an intimate window into the lives of whalers. Yet the objects themselves were produced from animals that were hunted.

For modern conservation-minded audiences, that creates an obvious ethical tension.

The BBC feature describes artist Jade Gotauco's personal connection to this contradiction. Her family history is intertwined with maritime communities and inherited whale teeth and bones, while she also expresses reverence for whales and concern about the violence associated with commercial whaling.

For artists like her, working with historical ivory can therefore become less about continuing the exploitation of whales and more about preserving evidence of a vanished historical era.

That distinction is central to the future of the craft.

Beyond its artistic value, scrimshaw can be viewed as a form of visual maritime history.

The engravings reveal:

Museums have consequently become important guardians of scrimshaw collections.

The New Bedford Whaling Museum, for example, holds what the BBC describes as the world's largest scrimshaw collection. The Nantucket Whaling Museum also preserves significant examples connected to the island's whaling history.

These collections allow visitors to study the artwork without creating a new demand for whale ivory.

The irony of scrimshaw's future is difficult to ignore.

The craft was born because whale products were abundant.

Today, whale conservation and ivory restrictions mean those same materials are scarce and heavily regulated.

That leaves contemporary scrimshanders with a limited supply of historical ivory. Once existing legal stocks disappear, artists will have to decide whether to stop working in the traditional medium or move toward alternative materials.

For some practitioners, the disappearance of the original material may effectively mark the end of authentic scrimshaw.

Yet the knowledge surrounding the craft — engraving techniques, historical designs, museum collections and family traditions — could continue.

In that sense, scrimshaw may disappear as a living craft while surviving as cultural heritage.

Scrimshaw tells a complicated story.

It is simultaneously an example of American folk art, maritime history, sailor culture and the environmental consequences of commercial whaling.

Its intricate designs can be admired for their craftsmanship while also forcing viewers to confront the history behind the material.

That contradiction is precisely what makes scrimshaw relevant today.

As whale populations receive greater protection and historical ivory becomes increasingly scarce, the future of scrimshaw may not depend on finding more whale teeth. Instead, it may depend on how museums, artists and historians preserve the stories, techniques and cultural memories attached to the objects already in existence.

The end of whale-ivory scrimshaw would therefore not necessarily mean the end of its history.

It could mark the transition of scrimshaw from a working craft into a preserved record of a very different era of human-ocean relations.

Source: BBC Travel's feature on scrimshaw and its declining practice, published 16 September 2026.