Canadian artist Kelly McCallum is used to provoking a reaction, not just because of her dark Gothic looks and colourful tattoos, but because of her use of stuffed animals and embalmed insects in her art. Yet she has never courted controversy, in the way of some young artists.

“I am not actually a taxidermist,” she says, sitting in the comfortable surroundings of her East London warehouse home against the backdrop of a splendid peacock. “I buy already preserved animals through dealers, at auctions and on eBay. I repair and restore them, and then use them in my art.

“Often the damage or scars they have incurred inspire what I do to them. For example the fox in the piece Do You Hear What I Hear? [to be shown at a forthcoming exhibition at the V&A] had damaged ear tips, so I stopped the fraying and decorated them with golden maggots.”

Released from their Victorian glass domes or removed from plinths and plaques, the creatures are often embellished with gilded and silvered decorations. “I love the idea that a creature that has been dead for more than 100 years is on show in a contemporary gallery,” she says.

“I also like to imagine the animal’s previous life. Some were pets, preserved and adored long after their deaths. Others come with snippets of history, such as the inscription on the plaque under a mounted ferret, ‘Shot Feb 1913 Liddons’.”

McCallum’s interest in animals goes back to her childhood and a neighbour who invited groups of schoolchildren to see memorabilia brought back from his adventures in the Amazon. “It was the highlight of our year. He had a real snake and ferrets that he would let us touch. His house was like a museum. Sadly he died ten years ago, and when his estate was auctioned I bought some pieces.”

Before studying art and jewellery, McCallum began medical training with a view to becoming a surgeon. “But I decided it wasn’t for me. Then I tried working in a veterinary practice, before settling on art. The dexterity involved in jewellery and surgery is similar,” she says.

As McCallum shows me around her home, her trio of French bulldogs scamper around our legs. The cat comes down from her “second-storey life” on bookshelves and window sills – safely out of reach of the dogs – and snuggles down on a leather sofa in one of two seating areas in the open-plan main room. This large space features a kitchen set across the corner, with a big American fridge which McCallum says “reminds me of home”. A wall of sliding bookcases conceals the TV and a pivoting “villain’s chair”. The dining area, diagonally opposite the kitchen, has a concrete-topped table that runs parallel to a series of tall windows.

Passing under Ron Gilad’s spider-like Dear Ingo light by the front door, McCallum heads to the back of the apartment and into her bedroom where the original heavy metal warehouse door has been painted a fire-engine red. The bed, a four-poster from Heal’s, is silhouetted against the white walls and the windows, which are framed by vivid pink and red curtains made in fabric by the Glasgow-based design team Timorous Beasties.

The bedside lights are gilded imitation revolvers designed by Philippe Starck. Under a painting of a bearded lady by the Dutch tattoo artist Angelique Houtkamp is an instrument trolley that doubles as a dressing table.

“I was looking for somewhere with history and an industrial edge,” says McCallum of her home. “This building had been a factory and has cement floors and pillars; I restored some of the organic feeling by uncovering the columns and taking out a decorative glass brick wall the previous owner had installed.” Against this utilitarian background she has put her collection of metal and steel furniture, some from offices, others pieces from hospitals.

As she pulls back a blind, McCallum’s sleeve slides up and exposes her intricate tattoos. “It took me a long time to convince the Japanese artist Horiyoshi to do this. I went to see him in Japan six times over two years and stayed for a month at a time. You have to prove your patience and endurance. It is about commitment to the art and the process,” she says. A commitment that her apartment clearly reflects, too.

Telling Tales: Fantasy and Fear in Contemporary Design is at the V&A from Tuesday (020-7942 2000; www.vam.ac.uk)

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