Moose with Ticks

Lately, environmentalists, residents, and tourists from New Hampshire to Minnesota have been distraught over the relatively sudden decline of their iconic lone herbivore, the moose. Theories were raised—have wolves killed off the population? Over-hunting? Disease?

The answer? Ticks.

Conservationists have repeatedly found moose who have chewed off chunks of fur, exposing pale skin, abraded and pocked with sometimes over 100,000 plump winter ticks. These “zombie-moose” are quite literally sucked dry of blood, only to fade away, anemic, weak, and manic from the thousands of parasites biting at their skin. Given that moose are solitary animals, they end up dying alone deep in the woods, making them difficult to find for scientific research.

Typically, along the southern fringe of American moose territory, long, snowy winters keep the moose population abundant and ticks in check. But with global warming, the balance is tipping. Deer, who can live in warmer climates, have evolved to constantly groom, a practice ridding them of excessive parasites.  Moose however, don't have this instinctual habit and have not been given the time to develop it.

I heard this story first on PBS Newshour, and was immediately hooked. I love the mystery of it—the allure of a silent killer—and resounding shock and disgust of a harmful species gluttonous and cheering at our warming planet. The threat to us is real.  Ticks spread disease, as do many other parasitic creatures.  As their numbers rise, the possibility of getting bit and infected by a virus or bacteria will surely increase. 

Perhaps it's time to shed the imagery of polar bears and icebergs and adopt a new poster-child for global warming: pests and parasites—the silent and stealthy vectors of disease.

"Moose with Ticks" 48x26 inch, oil on canvas

Hope you enjoy the painting!  I will post my preliminary drawings later...I left my sketchbook in Georgia...it's currently in the mail on its way back to me. 

Here is the PBS Newshour clip: 

Surfing Swans

A refreshing reminder that not everything has to be backed by concrete biological reasoning.  Fun is fun! 

Stay strong, Boreal forest.

Satellite images show tar sands extraction obliterating Boreal forest right before our eyes | Liz Barratt-Brown's Blog | Switchboard, from NRDC

The Cave Goat

A few months ago, I got really interested in dinosaurs (see previous blog posts). 

 Specifically of interest to me, were all of the things we don't know about them, which, as it turns out, is a lot.  The facts of dinosaurs are so vague and debatable especially when compared to how casually willing we are to reproduce the long-necked, scaley, dumb beasts on tv and movies time after time. 

For Paleontologists, having a stagnant (regardless how false) dinosaur mascot could be a good marketing move.  But, is it that hard for us to accept unknowns?  Can't our brains resist categorizing and defining for the sake of accuracy? 

Thinking about this lead me to look for species that obstruct our assumptions of how we like to envision animals to be. That's how I stumbled across the Myotragus, or Cave Goat, a mammal, who is, or was, cold blooded.  Here's what the internet told me: 

The Myotragus lived about 5,000 years ago on the Balearic Islands, in the Mediterranean. The goat crossed over on a land bridge that later eroded leaving him on a hostile island with little food and no predators. So, it evolved.  First, it shrunk, which is a fairly normal for island mammal evolution.  Then it grew a huge jaw, two rat-like bottom teeth, forward facing eyes, and a fairly long life-span--some say around 30 years.  And finally, somewhere along the way, it also became cold blooded, meaning its' body heat, energy, and growth was totally dependent on the outside temperature.  Why?  No clue.  What effect did it have?  Well, it was slow, couldn't jump, couldn't really run, and we don't know how it managed to give birth given its lack of energy.  

This. is. bizarre.  

Cold blooded and warm blooded are things I've always thought is cut and dry--mammals versus reptiles, egg laying versus live birth, scaly less-human things versus fluffy and more-human things.  As it turns out, like with everything else, there is a knotted gray area the dichotomy.  

When an assumption is exposed as something porous and malleable, it begs for reflection.  If the Cave Goat was a cold-blooded mammal, living only 5,000 years ago, chances are it wasn't the only one.  Chances are words like mammal, reptile, cold-blooded, warm-blooded, feathers, fur, and even animal and plant, are not and have never been so excruciatingly separate.

Knowingly or not, we've outlined fairly strict standards for animal biology based on a tiny slice of witnessed history and tireless research. Thank goodness for the Myotragus.  Findings like these remind us of the complexities of life, the lightness of evolutionary order, and have us reeling in humility toward the impenetrable secrets of time and biology. 

Side note--the woman who discovered the Cave Goat was amazing...Dorothea Bate, check her out.  Seriously. 

"Cave Goat", 23 x 30 inch, oil on canvas

Notes on Goats

Lil sketches

Original sketch

I like Amy Bennett's trees.

There's an artist who I have just loved lately and her name is Amy Bennett.

She paints from miniature scenes that she creates, stages, and lights.  It almost looks like paper or clay--everything has a soft, puffy quality.  So, it's hyper realistic, but in a weird fake way because of the miniature set that it's based off of.  Really awesome.  

I'm always struggling with how to simplify nature visually in a way that keeps the energy and organic qualities intact.  I'm finding more and more that the way I want my version of nature to feel is massive, empty, and deep, which for me seems to mean large spaces of solid color, heightened contrast, less line-work and more shapes.  With each painting I make, I'm starting to see the details that I want to include  and deciding to leave out other earlier.  My brush strokes are slowly becoming more intentional, but with the complexity of landscapes, it's a gradual and experimental process.


I love how Amy Bennett has done it.    They're incredible, simple without losing any detail, and not overworked.  Her topics range from architectural work, to people and group settings, to nature, but I'm specifically drawn to her trees and skies.

Taking a lesson from Amy's work, observation is incredibly important and, I'll admit, I'm horrible at taking the time to work from real life.

Goal: This week, I am going to sit outside and paint trees.  Thanks Amy.

Paper Sculptures

I'm a bit late on this, but am now officially obsessed with Li Hongbo's paper sculptures.  Sit back and enjoy:

 Thanks familyguiding.com!  Click here for the original page....

Arts – Earthly Iridium and my Creative Process

Jackie Dorage | April 1, 2014 | 0 Comments

“K-Pg Boundary,” Jackie Dorage, oil on canvas.

Throughout the earth is a thin band of Iridium—an element denser than iron that’s only found in large quantities at our planet’s molten core. It rests among the dirt and rocks, accompanying them on their slow techtonic trip to form mountains and canyons, make earthquakes, and re-define oceans. Visible as a black line etched among the earth tones, the strip of Iridium, known as the K-Pg Boundary, sits as a relic of the asteroid that decimated the dinosaurs over 60 million years ago.

There it is, sliced and shuffled into our ground, bookmarking geologic time, reminding us of our blind kinship with the universe, and flippantly noting the irrepressible facets of life.

What do you do with information so large in scale and grim in outcome? How do you cope when you’re reminded of the magnitude everything? For people naturally inclined toward the sciences and math, the answer would be a life of testing questions, fixating on the rational, and inspecting the unknown with a meticulous eye.  They have it so lucky. As for the rest of us, we can turn away, look toward religion, or have incredible zen-power to accept the unknown and be OK with our limited mental capacity. For me though, I’ve attempted to deal with it creatively.

Here we are, in a world completely made up of elements that got spit out by an exploding star,  flung through space as an asteroid sling-shooting around on gravitational forces, colliding and tumbling until it crashes on an earth, exploding into stardust all over again, mimicking its creation and dusting a new land with space-made elements. They settled, reacted, heated, cooled, and connected to create cells, microorganisms, DNA, fins, sensory glands, antennae, eyeballs, stomachs, sex, bones, brains, societies, culture and technology. Through all of this, the building blocks have stayed the exact same—the same in  history, formation, and structure—but given a unique set of circumstances.  It’s somewhat common knowledge and a familiar pop-science narrative, but the simplicity and scale of it will forever be mind boggling.

All I ever need to inspire a creative mindset is to expand my thoughts outward and upward. I envision the earth as it is—a malleable space rock, pulled and tugged by the moon and sun, with a magnitude of diverse creatures fumbling around on its surface, relatively unaware of anything outside of them. With this macro way of thinking, the world is a spectacle to be explored, a pallet for the imagination. But whether your interest is in nature and science, like mine, or in society, politics, or the psyche, ask questions and find answers. Whatever your topic, research, learn, imagine, and create–be a scientist, and use your canvas as your lab.

The K-pg Boundary, quilting our planet in super-nova explosion dust, acts as a visible testament to the incredible complexity of life and death that space has given us.   To be creative is to not be disillusioned, and for me, space, earth, and nature give me more than enough intrigue to last a lifetime.