Artistic License

Our bathroom, small as it is, has a moth and butterfly theme. It is my partner’s doing, with her selection of the shower curtain, and arrangement of the poster and pictures I brought to the party when we moved in together. It makes for colorful accents to the white tiles, countertop, and light gray paint job, done rather hastily by the last owner it would appear. What I find most fascinating are the flaws in the art, done with intention.

The shower curtain is a subdued, matte, silvery gray nylon, with eleven different moths, and one butterfly, printed repeatedly. The renderings are surprisingly accurate, representing actual, existing species. They are oriented in different directions and arranged such that the repeating pattern is disguised. You have to exit the room and stand a bit out in the short hallway to get the full picture.

The moths and butterfly on the curtain are to scale, as near as I can tell. All are perfect except for the Luna Moth, the largest one, which has prominent nicks and tears in its pale green wings with a streaming, creased and curled tail on each hind wing. This is a frequent condition of older, living Luna Moths, so it heightens the realism.

Opposite the sink, the mirror and rail of lights above it, and the commode, hangs a vertical, framed poster of colorful butterflies, with a few moths thrown in, on a pure white background. They are arranged in a radiating pattern, oriented north, northeast, or northwest. In contrast to the shower curtain, this is a photo, or photos, of real insects, preserved in the classic wings-open-at-ninety-degrees pose. They are not to scale, which suggests that the entire poster is a mosaic of individual photos.

Flanking the poster are smaller, framed pictures I cut from old magazines. They represent the paintings of the late John Cody, descendant of Buffalo Bill. He specialized in painting giant silkmoths, mostly tropical moths with broad wings, and sometimes long, flowing tails. The Luna Moth is one example of that group, collectively known as Saturniidae.

Giant silkmoths live short adult lives. Days, maybe a couple of weeks at most. They do not even feed, lacking the proboscis that most moths and butterflies possess, coiled beneath their chins when not in use to sip nectar. The silkmoths burn fat reserves they accrued in the caterpillar stage. Cody reared most of his moth models, from cocoons he imported. It was the only way to guarantee perfect specimens with pristine, vibrant colors.

Staring at the poster while on the throne one day, I noticed something I had been oblivious to previously: Every single specimen is missing its antennae. The abdomens were missing from the gaudy, metallic blue Morpho butterflies, but it is standard practice to remove that body part from specimens. As Morphos decompose, the oily fats in the abdomen ooze onto the wings, staining them and masking the famous metallic sheen that makes those butterflies so coveted by collectors. I have only seen intact Morphos as living individuals flying through indoor butterfly exhibits at zoos.

The antennae of butterflies poses no such problem in compromising the color of the specimen. Why remove them, then, from either the insect or the photo of it? Did the artist think the slender filaments were somehow too distracting, and in the interest of cosmetics needed pruning? There are not even tweezers in our medicine cabinet for eyebrow plucking.

I find it difficult to enjoy the poster now, with that bit of tragic information now indelibly etched in my mind. It seems a little faded, or dull, and imparts a tinge of sadness that the maker felt another creature needs to be “improved” by his hand. The title of the poster is “Flights of Fancy,” but the fancy seems tarnished now. I increasingly find myself studying Cody’s paintings instead, where all is well, and he has even put them in a more natural setting, on foliage with a black or colored background. Their wings droop, as they do in life, and the magnificent, feathery antennae are still there.

Death Into Art

There are countless artists who render insects and other animals with traditional media like pen, ink, pencil, paints, clay, wood, and other materials, creating a realistic representation of the organism itself or, alternatively, a whimsical or inspired interpretation thereof. What, then, do we make of art that uses deceased life forms as the medium?

Detail of Jennifer Angus' In the Midnight Garden, 2015© Smithsonian Magazine

Your appreciation, or disapproval, may hinge on one or more facets of personal taste or ethics. Have we given collective thought to the implications of such works? Maybe we should. People tend to place animals into one or more general categories. One category is reserved for other species that benefit people directly, and usually economically, though often framed as pets or companions for which we like to think there is no "price" we could assign to those individual animals.

Another group we call "pests," or vermin, enemy species that cost us economically in terms of damage to property, pets, livestock, or livelihoods. They may even cost us our lives if they are species that can prey upon us. Those are the two major categories, though most species fall through the chasm between the two, ignored or unknown to most members of Homo sapiens

Ideally, when it comes to animals, art is a way to enhance the appreciation of other species, encourage us to think differently about them, inform us as to their unique behaviors and place in the bigger picture (outside the frame, if you will), and inspire us to learn more once we leave the gallery. I personally know dozens of artists who share that intent, and who execute amazing works. I also know artists for whom I assume that is the foundation of their works, but who use insects themselves as raw material for their works. This begins to make me feel uncomfortable.

© Christopher Marley

The overwhelming message I receive from artwork composed of dead insects or their body parts is that the creature itself is not a complete expression of beauty unless it is modified by human hands into something "greater." I am quite certain this thought never crosses the mind of the artist, and that is understandable. I might even go so far as to say it is human nature to have the desire to "improve" other objects, other species. Look at every domesticated animal, every plant cultivar.

The second ethical aspect of turning deceased animals into art has to do with sourcing. Where did the specimens come from? The acclaimed artist Damien Hirst is currently creating art from dead butterflies, carefully removing the wings and applying them to boards in colorful patterns. He obtains specimens by purchasing old collections. Re-using and repurposing, so what is so bad about that? Nothing, if the collections have no scientific value, but a travesty if the specimens had location data with them. They belong in museums in that event. Other artists use "farmed" specimens bred in captivity so there is no detriment to wild populations.

An absolute purist would argue that even the best sourcing of specimens is still taking away from the carbon and nutrient cycles that other organisms benefit from. Hirst and other artists might consider simply putting out dead insects and letting carpet beetles and booklice reduce them to powder that can then be used to create more art. What an installation that would be, to bring awareness to the natural process of decay.

Dermestid beetle damage© deanslab.org

The final insult, and I would welcome a better word, is that the artist employing organisms or their parts makes money from the exploitation of nature's works. Artists might consider donating at least a percentage of income to wildlife conservation organizations for the protection of the living versions of the dead ones they use in their works. Maybe, like Christopher Marley, they do and it is simply not widespread public knowledge.

Artists have the power to change our minds, our attitudes, and our behaviors, but it would be nice to see more respectful methods in the madness. More murals. Huge insect images like the ones rendered by Portugese artist Sergio Odeith. Spectacular glassworks like those of Rafael Glass. The real creative challenge, then, is finding new ways to exhalt nature without exploiting her. It can be done. I have faith that way.

So You Know "They Exist"

Were you to ask me why I do what I do, why I constantly talk and write about insects, why I share images of them, I would have had trouble articulating an answer....until now. I just finished watching a 60 Minutes segment about the French artist JR. His shift from a youthful desire to assert "I exist" to a more altruistic mission of showing "they exist," meaning the everyday person we overlook and neglect, resonated with me immediately. It was an epiphany that brought me to tears. That is exactly why I do what I do. Just substitute "insects" for people.

The shy smile of a dragonfly

There is great power in art, especially at the scale that JR works at. His greatly enlarged images of people, even just their eyes, does more than impact the viewer. It empowers the subjects. Literally depicted larger than life, they suddenly realize they have been important all along. They may live in a slum in Rio, but circumstance, or habitat, if you will, does not diminish their identity. They are human, too, deserving of respect and even celebration.

Collectively, it is easy for us to ignore the struggle, the toil, the daily lives of others who we view as different from us, or even beneath us in some way, be it economically or politically or in lifestyle, or merely because they live on the other side of the globe (or border). Art can be the great equalizer by transcending those artificial, segregating concepts. We are united in our common anatomy, self-expression, dignity. Art in fact recognizes only those similarities, if it is done in the way it should be.

Now look at insects. What other members of the kingdom Animalia could look so radically different from us? The union of art and science can inform us here. Portraits of insects can reveal hidden personalities and expressions startlingly akin to our own, even if we interpret them only as caricatures of humanity. There is still a common thread that cannot be ignored. Videography reveals behaviors that reflect instincts and lifestyles utterly aligned with our own lives as parents, providers, and contributors to society.

Ants with treehoppers

The average person either ignores most insects, or takes notice only of the mosquito biting them, or the hornworm eating "their" tomato plant. Insects are viewed as destructive to our economy, person, or personal property, or at best a nuisance. Science knows better, and in tandem with art can convert the most entomophobic of people to at least an arm's-length appreciation of these animals.

The flip side of our schizophrenic relationship to insects is our perception of them as potentially decorative. There are now many an insect-inspired motif for interior decor, and many preserved specimens are framed and sold as wall art. The reduction of insects to "product" is not art in the truest sense, but mere commercialization capitalizing on our personal desires for something unique. We put a premium on differences that way. It is an unbecoming tendency of our species.

Such things as this checkered beetle exist!

Ironically, my attraction to insects as a child had something to do with my inability to assert my own self-worth, much as the subjects of JR's photos. Insects became a surrogate that I could tout as "cool" because I could research interesting facts about them. I did not know any interesting facts about myself that seemed relevant to social interactions with my peers. The playground was a fearful place, so I went out on the fringes and looked for "bugs." As an only child, such on-my-own pursuits felt more comfortable anyway.

Eventually, a few of my peers became sufficiently intrigued as to join me now and then. As one boy put it after we uncovered a particularly large spider from under loose bark on a tree, "I always thought looking for bugs was sissy stuff, but that spider changed my mind!" Meanwhile, one of my most masculine, hockey-playing friends showed me his butterfly collection at home, though I was sworn to secrecy in the schoolyard.

Portrait of a horse fly: Mesmer-eyes-ing

Today, I am more comfortable with my own identity and can share what I know about entomology with less personal baggage. I care less about what others think of me than what they now think of insects, hopefully enlightened by whatever I have to say or show. The artist JR has shown me what is possible if I start to think bigger still.

Grand Larsony

Four years ago, almost to the day, I shared some of my cartoons on this blog. I promised I would share more, and apologize that it has taken so long to do so.

"I got you a gig at Al's Produce and a world tour with Union Carbide"

I freely admit that when Gary Larson debuted The Far Side, I finally felt that my own strange sense of humor had been validated. He inspired me to take up a pen and pencil myself and see what I could do.

Butterfly fun with "Crazy Proboscis"

There have been many other cartoonists who have capitalized on Larson’s style of single-panel cartoons, and that has eased the pain of Larson’s retirement from the funny papers. Should I ever get syndicated myself, and that would take a lot more work before that happened, I would name my strip “Grand Larsony” because while I haven’t stolen any ideas outright, Mr. Larson deserves full credit for getting me started.

"I swear it's just sex, sex, sex, especially in those pheromone ads!"

So far, I have been scanning old cartoons that I did from about 1987-1989, and touching them up a bit using Paint software on my PC. I welcome suggestions on how to grow beyond this primitive approach, and maybe even initiate new works on the computer instead of on paper.

"#@!$! termites!"

Were I to be doing something other than entomology and writing, this would probably be it. I do enjoy preaching the gospel of arthropod appreciation, but I love making people laugh, too. You can find these cartoons, and more, on my Facebook page under "Photos: Albums: Cartoons."

Meet Margarethe Brummermann

If there is one person in Tucson who has single-handedly made my life here a true joy, then it is Dr. Margarethe Brummermann. We met through that wonderful social network known as BugGuide, when she began posting insect images to that site. There is much more to Margarethe than just insects, though, and I have enjoyed learning about her former adventures while sharing in some of her new ones.

Margarethe actually lives just outside of Tucson, west and north of the city in Picture Rocks, on the other side of the Tucson Mountains. She lives in a very nice home with her husband, Randy, and a “pack” of five dogs: Montana (“Tana”), Cody, Leika, Frodo, and Bilbo (plus two cats, Boris and Natasha, named of course for the villainous duo in Rocky and Bullwinkle).

They have neighbors, but houses here are widely scattered by city standards, and there is lots of space around their residence. Plus, they are adjacent to state rangelands where cattle graze, coyotes roam, and rattlesnakes are common. It is an austere but scenic landscape, save for a vast mountain of rubble from the nearby quarry.

Indoors, Margarethe’s passions are evident in every room in the house. While she has degrees in zoology and vertebrate physiology, she is also an accomplished and popular artist. Working mostly in watercolor, she paints everything from pets to western life and landscapes. She erects a booth in several outdoor art shows and festivals each year, and her work also hangs in local galleries. She has also done commissioned work.

The last couple of years, Margarethe has created a new project for herself: documenting in digital images the many colorful and unique beetles of Arizona. She shoots images in the field, but also brings specimens home to photograph on a clean white background to bring out the finer details and truer colors of her subjects. Her intention is to publish a “coffee table book” with plates of her images and a brief explanatory text. She has already had interest from publishers; and her latest count is over 800 species of Coleoptera she has imaged.

German by birth, Margarethe has traveled the world and done field research on a wide array of animals. Her stories are vivid and entertaining, as well as educational, and she shares them freely when we take day trips together out of town. She is not above poking fun at me, too, but she’s endlessly patient with my quirks and tolerant and forgiving of my sometimes irresponsibly slower pace in the field.

One of the many joys we have is introducing each other to other entomologists, insect enthusiasts, and wildlife photographers here in Arizona. We often go together to gatherings like the annual “Beetle Bash” hosted by Fred and Carol Skillman at their home in the Dragoon Mountains; and Pat Sullivan and Lisa Lee in Sierra Vista who have recently started holding an annual “Infestation” of entomologists at their own residence.

I can honestly say that my life would be a great deal poorer for not knowing Margarethe and Randy, and certainly a lot duller without our regular excursions away from the city and into the lovely canyons and mountains. Scenic landscapes, incredible fauna and flora, and great company: Who could ask for more? Thank you, Margarethe!

NOTE: You will want to follow Margarethe’s adventures, observations, and passions for yourself at her new blog, Arizona: Beetles, Bugs, Birds and More.

Scientific Illustration

Another pursuit I wish I had a separate lifetime for is scientific illustration. I like the challenge of trying to render an organism realistically. Sure, it takes some talent to do that, but I owe a great deal of my success to teachers and mentors.

I met the late Elaine R. S. Hodges in 1986, while I was on contract at the National Museum of Natural History (Smithsonian) in Washington, DC. She was a staff artist in the entomology department, and took me under her wing. She was the “Founding Mother” of the Guild of Natural Science Illustrators, the gold standard for professional medical and biological illustrators. She was encouraging, but critical of my own work, and I took her words to heart.

I began doing illustrations to compliment articles I was writing as a volunteer for The Urban Naturalist, a quarterly publication of the Audubon Society of Portland (Oregon). I was further encouraged and inspired by the other volunteer artists on the “staff,” like Martha Gannett, Kris Elkin, and Elayne Barclay.

The Urban Naturalist ceased publication in the late 1990s, but by then had caught the attention of the Oregon Historical Society Press, which published a compilation of articles and essays in the book Wild in the City, edited by Michael C. Houck and M. J. Cody (2000).The above pen and ink illustration of a Snowberry Clearwing moth, Hemaris diffinis, is one of those featured in the book.

The adult “Ponderous Borer,” Ergates spiculatus, shown below, started as a sketch back in the early 1980s. The outline version appeared in the book Cascade-Olympic Natural History, by Daniel Mathews (Raven Editions, 1988). I had been asked by Dan to do the insect illustrations for his book, but did not follow through in a timely manner. He deemed the line drawings acceptable as is, but I was embarrassed.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Mathews got back to me in 2001 and asked if I would do illustrations for his book Rocky Mountain Natural History (Raven Editions, 2003). Dan had been impressed with my work in Wild in the City, and wanted that kind of quality for his own book. This time he had a budget to work with, and I had a much more professional attitude. The result was eighteen pen and ink illustrations for the book, including a finished Ponderous Borer.

I also submitted this illustration for the annual member exhibit of the Guild of Natural Science Illustrators in 2005, and it was accepted. It was displayed in the Jacobs Gallery at the Hult Center for the Performing Arts in Eugene, Oregon, for much of June, 2005, alongside the work of other GNSI members. My mentor Elaine Hodges complimented me on how far I had come as an artist, and that was even more of a personal honor. The framed picture now hangs in the office of Carl Olson, Associate Curator of Entomology at the University of Arizona. Carl is another mentor, and it was the least I can do to present that as a gift for all the favors he has done for me over the years.

While I am fairly proficient in pen and ink, and graphite pencil (see the pair of Nicrophorus sexton beetles below), I someday hope to learn to render animals in color, and maybe with digital software, too. The field of scientific illustration continues to change, but seems to remain in demand.

Sunday Funnies

When Gary Larson debuted “The Far Side,” I was thrilled to see that I was not the only person on the planet with a bent sense of humor. That someone could actually combine their knowledge of natural history with a cynical view of human nature was even more astounding. That is when I decided to try my own hand at cartooning.

Insects are obviously a great source of comedic fodder because of the crazy things they do, but I’ve done cartoons about other forms of wildlife, and people, too. I started making personalized greeting cards for Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Earth Day, and other occasions.

A handful of my creations actually made it into print. The American Entomologist, magazine of the Entomological Society of America, published this one along with the several other “Insectoons” by other entomologists/cartoonists in the spring, 1991 issue (volume 37, number 1):

I got solo appearances in the summer, 1991, winter, 1992, and spring, 1992 issues before the editor found other ways to fill space (advertisers, I presume).

This cartoon made it overseas into the publication Lucanus, a Swedish journal of entomology, in 2004. Funny to see the punchline in Swedish, of course.

Thanks to editor Bengt Andersson for making the effort to publish it.

I’d like to do more of this kind of thing, but I need to take a course or something to learn how to do it on the computer, or a combination of both freehand and digital renderings. Meanwhile, I’ll try and get my scanner up and running and share more of these. Don’t hold your breath, though.

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The Art of Insect Tracking

Last Saturday night, October 3, I joined friends from Athol, Massachusetts to travel to the town of Cummington for the opening reception of an art exhibit by Charley Eiseman and Noah Charney. The two friends collaborate to teach tracking workshops and other field courses, but have also worked to produce the forthcoming book Tracks and Sign of Insects and Other Invertebrates, published by Stackpole Books with an expected release date of March, 2010. The exhibit, which runs through the end of October at the Cummington Community House, 33 Main Street, features stunning images taken for the book.

Noach Charney has become so enthralled with the intricate designs produced by insects in the course of their life cycles that he intends to produce his own coffee table book that celebrates these signs and patterns as literal art. Noah has a real eye for this and is painstaking in his commitment to producing high quality images. He is not above fooling his audience, either, posing optical illusions while rendering portraits of what insects leave behind. This image of leafcutter bee “damage” is perhaps the representative picture for the entire project. Can you tell what is going on here (hint: this is not a studio shot, and only minor manipulation of the leaves was involved)?

Charley Eiseman (right) met Noah (left) years ago when they helped found the “Woodsy Club,” as Charley’s mom affectionately calls it. Together with other like-minded souls, they practiced tracking, outdoor survival skills, and other activities. The two might call themselves “slackers” and poke fun at each other’s shortcomings, but there is nothing about them that is unprofessional when it comes to scientific endeavors. Keen eyes and endless curiosity have helped them spot the most cryptic of arthropod-created objects and solve enduring mysteries of “what did that?”

Anyone who hangs out with Noah and Charley will learn what true friendship means, and will laugh a lot along the way. You can’t help but come away with an appreciation of all things insect- and spider-created, or learn the art of observation and patience, either.

This blog entry is not just to promote their book and photography skills. You have to read the wonderful story in the Boston Globe for that. I just like these guys and the fine qualities they exemplify. Do take in the exhibit if you find yourself in the vicinity of Cummington, and by all means visit their website, the Northern Naturalists to keep track of their latest activities (no pun intended).