- Ross Hall, 65, from Northcote, NZ, launched his business Dying Art two decades ago
- He creates quirky bespoke coffins – from rose-themed caskets to beach-inspired ones
- He even had his own picked out for when he passes one day!
Here he shares his story in his own words.
‘We’re close to the countdown!’ I called out to the sea of party guests.
It was New Year’s Eve 1999, and there was a mix of nerves and excitement for the new millennium.
There were rumours the internet would crash when midnight ticked over, a potential glitch which had been dubbed the Y2K or millennium bug.
Or maybe the world will end! I thought.
My wife, Jayne, had helped me transform our home into a fun house filled with arcade entertainment and flowing bubbly.
Our boys, Dexter, then seven, and Beni, five, played basketball and racing car games with the other kids.
‘Happy New Year!’ we cheered in unison as the clock struck midnight.
Of course, the world didn’t end, and the party went on.
Although it was fun to have a laugh at the hysteria of Y2K, I had an epiphany.
If I was to die, how would I want to be remembered? I wondered.
Aged 43, I decided to write up my will.
I want to be carried out by my sons in a red coffin with printed flames, I scribbled.
‘I’m not at all shocked,’ Jayne chuckled, as I showed her what I’d written.
The director of a signage company, my life was busy.
However, a year on, the thought of my imagined casket still circled my mind.
‘There must be others out there like me who want to go out with a bang,’ I pondered aloud.
At work the following Monday, I asked my team of 17 to help me come up with 20 designs for a coffin.
They looked puzzled.
‘Trust me,’ I laughed and we got straight to work.
Within four months, we’d launched our customisable coffin business, Dying Art.
Some coffins were beach or rainbow themed, while others were covered in clouds.
‘These caskets are a celebration of life rather than a depiction of mourning a death,’ I’d pitch to funeral directors.
Although they seemed intrigued, I could sense their hesitation.
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Every few months, I’d ring up to check in and build a relationship.
Determined, I began ordering in basic caskets to my workplace.
Three years later, aged 48, my marriage broke down around the same time my mum, Joy, passed away.
Jayne and I stayed friends, but it was a hard time.
What would Mum want her send off to be? I wondered.
So I looked back at memories of my mother, who always dressed to the nines, even for the shops.
My team and I created our first casket – a creamy white coffin covered with beautiful red roses.
With our latex printer, we digitally printed the film onto the casket.
It’s perfect, I teared up, thinking of how this represented Mum perfectly.
Over the next few years, we created about five test coffins.
‘We also design customisable coffins here,’ I’d say to wideeyed newbies joining the company.
By 2007, we finally had funeral directors on board!
And we created all sorts of coffins for people’s loved ones.
Our best sellers were the Rambling Rose designed for Mum, and East Coast Beaches – a white sandy beach with beautiful blue ocean.
Some people requested a personalised coffin, too.
‘Dad loved the outdoors,’ a grieving son told me.
Soon after, I brought him a coffin with prints of his dad’s boat and palm trees.
‘This is what my dad was all about,’ he smiled.
I’d meet many beautiful families and hear about their treasured memories of the person they lost.
I feel like I know them so well by the time we’re done, I’d think.
In 2013, my dad, Tom, sadly passed away aged 90.
It was difficult, but I threw myself into designing a casket covered with pics of him and horses, to honour Dad’s love of horseracing.
Deciding to have Dad’s funeral near the countryside, as he was brought down the aisle in the chapel, retired racehorses in a paddock could be seen through the window.
He would have loved this, I smiled.
Over the next few years, clients began requesting quirkier caskets celebrating sport and music culture, including pianos, motocross and snowboarding.
‘We’d love a tiger print coffin,’ one client said.
By then, I was in a relationship with my head designer, Alissa.
Creating multiple mock-ups each time, she puts her heart and soul into every design.
As more years rolled on, more crazy caskets were ordered.
From fire trucks to Lego, the sky was the limit!
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In 2021, my heart broke when my cousin Phil passed away, aged 68, from cancer.
‘I’ve got a task for you,’ he’d said, a month before.
A connoisseur of creamy doughnuts with a wicked sense of humour, he was carried down the aisle in a doughnut-design coffin.
There were gasps followed by a wave of laughter.
You got the last laugh, Phil, I chuckled, tears rolling down my cheeks.
With Dying Art still growing, I make around 150 coffins a year.
I think the funeral industry is changing as more people realise a funeral should be the biggest celebration of someone’s life.
I’ve now updated my will, declaring my sons, now 27 and 29, get me a sexy leopard G-string for when I lie on a sheepskin rug in my clear, perspex coffin!
‘This’ll be better than the red flame coffin,’ I chuckled.
‘We’re not coming!’ they joked, in stitches.
With Dying Art, I hope to continue to bring some light in the darkest of times.
Even after life, the party doesn’t have to end!
This story was published in 2023.
