Modern Bobcat, Ancient Nimravid

Wrapped up an illustration project a little while ago that involved a femur of an extinct "false saber-tooth cat"--Nimravids were carnivores that co-evolved to have the big long fangs that one sees in a Smilodon, but that aren't quite related to modern kitties as we know them.

However, the niches are close enough that I was able to make use of a modern bobcat femur to inform my work...

I was adapting the line drawings that the scientist had made from the original fossil, and creating a shaded version that leaned on the bobcat bone for its structural integrity.

Tonight I'm going to see if I can whack out a stippled chalicothere molar. Ha! Stippling is a notoriously slow way of doing illustrations, since it literally goes One. Dot. At. A. Time. But the results can be nice when you put in the time, and it does have a "timeless" look that comes across nicely in publications. Wish me luck!

Scribbles from the Past

We're doing some house-cleaning and rearranging of late, and as I go through notes from old illustration projects I'm finding some amusing memories in the mix. Scanning a handful to share here!

This was an illustration project for a paleontology exhibition at the San Bernardino County Museum. The early sketch here is just exploring the general look of brown with white highlights on parchment-toned paper. For some reason I'm totally charmed by this early doodle.

From the good old days when I was drawing a lot of fossilized rodent teeth under the microscope! I focused on projects like these for about two years as an undergraduate, and occasionally revisit that subject matter when researchers start knocking at the door. Something about the simplicity of this pencil sketch, with the grid marks helping me keep in all in scale and the light touch on the shading, makes me happy.

Another undergraduate doodle, again with the rodent teeth (this time it's the chewing surface of a tooth from a vole). Once the graphite draft gets all worked out, I'd do the final illustrations in ink on plastic film with a steel-nib pen dipped into a jar of ink, totally old-school. Each of the little wriggly lines on this scrap is me testing the pen after a fresh dip into the ink to make sure it's not going to leave a big ink blot . (I suspect that's why the partially finished drawing here was turned into a test-scrap--blob attack!)

None of these scraps of paper are terribly important, really; but it's sure fun to look back at them and remember the experience of building up to the final illustrations, scribble by scribble. 

The End of the World as We Know It

Tonight the Maya Long-Count calendar rolls 13.0.0.0.0. Happy new baktun! Excited by the idea of this ancient calendar rolling over all those zeros like an odometer, and also vaguely amused by the "end of the world" notion that popular culture has absurdly layered over this calendar event, I have stayed up kind of late to crank out an art project that's been brewing in my head for a while.

See, I was reading about the mechanics of vision at my museum job, and found myself very impressed by the complexity of the eye structures of trilobites. When I carved the linoleum block of this critter (very loosely modeled after the genus Dalmanites, but I totally didn't count the body segments so it's not accurate in the slightest), it was originally intended as a statement about vision: the role of vision in the creative process, and the importance of being able to communicate one's vision in order to nudge a project into motion. 

But of course, as I was printing this linoleum block and watching all the internet chitchat about the end of the world, I couldn't help thinking of trilobites in the context of their mass extinction, 250 million years ago. 96% of all marine species were wiped out, and 2/3 of all terrestrial vertebrates went extinct. That would surely qualify as a variant on the end of the world, no?

A note about my printmaking process: I'm not sure if it's some change in the printing ink I've been using, or a factor of the microclimate here in Portland, but my "legitimate" printmaking ink has been taking about 250 million years to dry of late. Nothing so frustrating as a perpetually sticky print! Tonight I experimented with using a paintbrush to apply dilute acrylic paint, and then fairly thick watercolor paint, to my blocks. I am totally digging the resulting effect (as well as the much more reasonable drying speed.)

I've also discovered that the risers of the stairs that lead in and out of our apartment are a great location for tucking small prints to dry. Which, of course, reminds my silly brain of the amazing hieroglypic-decorated stairways at the Maya ruins in Copan, Honduras. 

And yes, that's a younger incarnation of me, clambering up the side of an ancient temple in a balam-print dress. Has it really been 14 years since I visited Copan Ruinas? Time is a funny thing. In some ways, there's no reason to not call tonight the end of the world...Because really, isn't every single day the end of an era, and the start of a new one?

Happy 13.0.0.0.0, everyone. May we all breathe calmly as the new cycle rolls around.

National Musem of Natural History

On this recent visit to the Smithsonian Institute, most of my time at the Natural History museum was spent in the lectures about Mark Catesby. But we did get a chance to scamper through the fossil displays at the lunch break. * Cuando visité el museo de historia natural del instituto Smithsonian, pasé la mayoría de mi tiempo en el simposio sobre Mark Catesby. Pero sí logramos una visita muy rápida a los fósiles enormes, durante el almuerzo.

Fossils of a glyptodont, an ancient antelope, and a nautilus. White pencil on black paper, 2012. * Fosiles de un gliptodóntido, un antílope anciano, y un nautilino. Lapiz blanco en papel negro, 2012. 

Skull of Xiphiacetus, an ancient dolphin. White pencil on black paper, 2012. * Cráneo de Xiphiacetus, un delfín anciano. Lapiz blanco en papel negro, 2012.

 
In 2002, I spent part of the summer among these exhibits: the microscope I needed to draw tiny details of fossil leaves was located in the "Fossil Lab" exhibition space, so hordes of tourists watched me through a big glass wall as I worked! It was neat to relive all the memories of working in that museum. (Looks like the same microscope is still in the same place, too.) * En el año 2002, pasé la mitad del verano trabajando entre estos fosiles: el microscopio que usaba para dibujar hojas de arboles ancianos estaba en la exhibición del "Laboratorio de Fosiles." Así que miles de turistas me miraban mientras que estaba dibujando, tan fijamente como miraban a los restos de los animales extintos. Era lindo visitar mi microscopio otra vez--¡todavia esta en el mismo lugar! 

Sketch of my old NMNH staff ID card. Pen and colored pencil on blue paper, 2002. * Dibujo de mi tarjeta de identificación para el Museo Nacional de Historia Natural. Tinta negra y lapices de color en papel azul, 2002.

kitty

Recently wrapped up a commission to illustrate some fossilized jaws of Smilodon gracilis. Sample of a preliminary sketch above, and detail from one of the finished plates below.

The preliminary sketches were done on the computer, but I inked the final drawing by hand with a steel-nib dip pen. It feels much more satisfying, and (though it seems counter-intuitive) I also feel like I have much better control with a tangible pen.

I did use the computer to do the final edits and touch-ups after the scientists gave their feedback, so the final product really is a hybrid of digital and traditional work.




While I was doing the ink work, I actually experimented with filming the process if stippling. I'll warn you that it's a very slow and undramatic way to work...but if you're curious, here's about a minute of dots falling into place. (And this is part of the reason that I respect well-done stippling so much...it can be so beautiful in its own right, and it sure takes a lot of patience and commitment to make the work happen!)