i (heart) odd-toed ungulates

Maggie

Meet beautiful Maggie - doesn't get much more classic yellow Lab than this... *More of my animal portrait work can be viewed here.

Behold, The Badgermin

In case you missed this little gem when it was set loose on the interwebs in January, behold - one of the most bizarre musical instruments ever fashioned: the Badgermin. Dreamed up and constructed by UK-based engineer/sculptor David Cranmer, the Badgermin is a magical, mythical, nightmarish hybrid of 2 cult favorites: a Theremin - that mysterious hands-free box of an electric instrument that gave eerie b-movie sci-fi soundtracks their unmistakable alien spook; and a Badger - portly, tunnel-digging member of the skunk family, known for his tenacity and penchant for grumpiness (and most recently, a flamboyantly badass cousin, of the Honey variety).

To hear the Badgermin in action, you can find video on Cranmer's website. A friend and I were in general agreement that the Theremin commands enough novelty that anyone in it's presence will desperately want to hear it played... for all of about 60 seconds... after which everyone will wish for it to be unplugged. I'm not convinced that cloaking such an instrument in a Badger pelt changes that observation, though I give this project high marks just the same. Well played, Mr. Cranmer, well played.

(photos by David Cranmer)

I Heart the MCZ Week (day 6): Big Cats

A technical glitch kept me from posting yesterday's session at the museum - boo. Rest assured, I was there for a spell, spread out on the floor in front of the African mammals. A friend asked me how I was selecting my daily MCZ-love themes, and the truth is, I let the particulars of each visit choose my focus for me. On this day, the big cats had particular draw... especially when I took some time to investigate the toes on the lion skeleton below - check out the incredible structure of those retractable claws!

The sheath of keratin that covers feline claws (not included in this display) is the same material that makes up ungulate hooves - both structures being modified mammal nails. Claws are attached to the terminal bone of each toe and all cats have the ability to retract them, making them essentially disappear into the paw. Thechnically speaking, the resting position of the claws is in retraction, and by constricting muscles in the toe, a cat is able to straighten them outward when needed. Cheetahs, who rely so heavily on traction during high-speed land pursuits, are one of only 4 felid species in which the claws do not fully retract and are always visible (a nugget of information I learned when I was researching cheetahs for a National Geographic assignment years ago).

Portrait of a Black Dog

I had a nice opportunity to work with a friend recently on an illustration for a product label. I will reveal the final design when that product is off to market, but for now, I think it's safe to share the artwork. The image is a portrait of a gone but not forgotten childhood best friend - a black lab named Damon.

Sleeping Dogs

Oscar is a doll when he sleeps. Just look at him. I call the middle pose "the lima bean".
It's been a little while... but I'm awake again, and in new ways. It may be 60 degrees outside but it's nearly December - an epic year is drawing to a close, and looking ahead, there's a world of good work to be done...

Hand Numbered

If you've ever walked the comparative anatomy halls of a natural history museum, where bare skeletons of all manner of creature stand starkly side by side - the spindly assembly of a lithe African antelope next to the massive bone blocks of a 4-ton hippopotamuses - you might notice, upon closer inspection, that each and every bone in any given skeleton is identified by a neat, hand-written number. On older skeletons, this handwriting can be the graceful, faded script of a quill pen; newer acquisitions might sport a more bold, rapidograph print. However the marks were made, they serve the purpose of cataloguing each animal - and all of it's osteo-anatomy - within a given museum's vast archives. Upon donation to the institution, each animal specimen is given a unique string of digits, just like the call number on a library card - but unlike a library book with a single card inside it's cover, a single skeleton contains a few hundred bones... each of which need to be numbered, lest the pieces become separated at any time and risk mingling with other specimens.

I have always admired the elements of design and order that these specimen numbers impart on the raw surfaces of the bones they identify; and recently, to my great delight, I had the opportunity to be the mark-maker myself. On an afternoon last week, working in the department of mammalogy at the Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology, I was tasked with inscribing the bones of a marten skeleton with it's assigned specimen acquisition ID: MCZ 64353. Trusty Rapidograph pen in hand, I made my way down each vertebrae, along each long leg bone, across each scapula and jaw, until I was left with needle-fine ribs, fragile hyoids, and bits of phalanges too delicate for any amount of ink. It was a sublimely meditative task, and simultaneously extremely thrilling.

Below, a pine marten, in the flesh and fur that it's skeleton usually wears.

All of a Sudden... Summer

The rains have finally moved on, the temps have been rising, and in textbook fashion, all that water and sun have fueled a brilliant burst of green here in the Northeast. Lush park and lawn grass is a welcome old friend, but the mercury rising above 75 or so puts me into siesta mode rather quickly - and for a breed developed on the velds of Africa, Oscar is a mighty wimp when it comes to the heat. The poor beast's operating speed shifts down about 3 gears, and often stalls completely... it looks a lot like a nosedive: he buckles down in the front then flings his rear end and great barrel chest over into a satisfying flop onto one side - sprawling stretches and majestic rolling from side to side often ensue... Depending on how much time one has for a dog walk on any given day, this is either quite adorable, or crazy frustrating (because once his 95lbs are down, they're DOWN, and all prompts to get up are met with irritated grumbling). But regardless of our strolling snail's pace and unplanned pit stops, O-Town and I can't help but revel in the return of open windows, daylight well past supper time, and balmy evenings spent socializing on front porches, cool beverages in hand... Summer, it appears, is on.
 

A Joyful Easter

A lot of holidays are best celebrated in venerated historical tradition, complete with social gathering, requisite ritual, and more often than not, copious amounts of rich food. Other times, through the guaranteed approach of a calendar date alone, holidays can serve as simple but compelling landmarks for events completely unrelated.

Reflecting now from the relative comfort of April, I have my own perspective, but I suspect many might agree when I say: it has, for reasons most broad, been one harrowing, onerous, inexorable, bitch of a winter. And it dragged on. Even this much anticipated transition into spring, that we always imagine as bright and abrupt (though it never really is), has seemed unfairly riddled with pranks by a reluctant Old Man Winter. Just yesterday, flurries swirled around the house in Vermont... the dusting of wet white snow was enough to dampen spring-bound spirits... but it didn't last. And sure as the return of red-breasted robins, wee peepers, and mud - neither has this dreadful winter.

So here's to a joyful Easter - and an elated welcome to spring. And here's to patience, perseverance, and acceptance - because progress isn't always a linear forward march, so much as a series of advances and setbacks that eventually lands you in daffodils.

From You Have I Been Absent

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew,
Nor did I wonder at the Lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the Rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it Winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

~William Shakespeare, Sonnet XIII
 

A Sweet Tooth Turns Six

When you're Oscar dog, and it's your birthday, you might just be entitled to an ice cream cone for breakfast. Sometimes you have to wear a party hat, sometimes you get a meatloaf-cake brunch, but when the sun is shining and you're out on the town, ice cream makes for a rare and extravagant celebratory treat (and oh how you enjoy it... for all of 30 seconds). Happy Birthday, my sweet boy - rainbow sprinkles look great on you...