Abby was a "problem dog" (she liked to wander, and wouldn't come when called). Some friends adopted her from the local animal shelter last fall. Now that she gets enough exercise and training, she's becoming a model canine citizen. I love her big, broad Labrador head; like the head of a seal. I enjoyed doing this sketch–I wanted to capture the way she curled so snugly into a sleepy, contented bundle.
So back in July, we were surveying for American dippers on a creek
near Juneau. We hiked to the top of a cliff near a waterfall, at the
base of which we knew there was a dipper nest. As I topped the cliff, a
small brown bird burst out from a ledge below us and zinged downstream.
The bird's size, field marks, and style of flight–plus the
greenish-blue speckled egg it left behind in a hollow of moss–identified it as a marbled murrelet.
Murrelet nests are hard to find (just over 50 have been found in
Southeast Alaska, where these little puffin-cousins are among the most
abundant seabirds). We were thrilled to have found it, but very concerned that we had caused the birds to abandon it.
But they hadn't. So for the past several weeks, we've been checking
in on the single chick in the nest. Today it is looking pretty ready to
depart, so it may be gone by tomorrow…
It's a gorgeous day today–a welcome relief from the sogginess and high winds of the past couple of weeks. But it's clearly no longer summer. Fireweed fluff is bursting from the pods as the sun dries them, the shadows are distinctly chilly, and reds (from blazing cadmium to cool maroon) are standing out in the foliage. Here are a few leaves (and one thrush wing feather) found on my walk today.
Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale), goat'sbeard (Aruncus dioicus), fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium), and trailing black currant (Ribes laxiflorum); primary feather from a varied thrush (Ixorius naevius). Watercolor and colored pencil on hemp paper.
Found some unusual sedge perigynia on a walk last Saturday. Looks like a fungal infection; a rust or smut, perhaps? I found some more yesterday (after I did this sketch page). It was drier than the plants I drew, and when I touched the infected perigynia, my fingertips came away smudged with sooty dust.
I’m a science illustrator by training (1997, University of California, Santa Cruz Science Communication graduate program, which is now part of California State University, Monterey Bay), and although I’ve found that my inclinations lie more at the observing, sketching, and teaching end of the spectrum, I do still enjoy creating more “polished” works. Here are a few examples.
The 2009 Alaska Folk Festival poster: Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius), Winter Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes), Townsend’s Warbler (Dendroica townsendi), Red-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta canadensis), and Steller’s Jay (Cyanocitta stelleri)
Cat skull morphology and skull relationship to face (Felis domesticus), colored pencil and acrylic on drafting film.
American Dipper fledglings (Cinclus mexicanus), water-soluble pastels.
Bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi)
Went for a walk yesterday evening on the muskeg above the house. Lots of berries this year, and signs that somebody has been digging for ants again: little excavations in the sphagnum. Birds? Dextrous bears? The sight reminded me of a sketch-page investigation of the muskeg ants:
Several years ago, I kayaked to a small island and discovered hundreds of calypso orchids (Calypso bulbosa) growing in the forest duff just above the beach. Enchanted with them, but not having a sketchbook with me that day, I carefully unearthed one, packed it gently away, and brought it home to my studio, where I spent many happy hours sketching it and then creating this colored pencil/watercolor portrait. The blossom lasted weeks, then, along with the leaf, died away. For some reason, I kept the corm in a little container next to my drawing table. The next spring, I was surprised one day to notice a new leaf emerging. I quickly took it out to a beach-fringe spruce grove, and carefully planted it.
I know now that these orchids are both rare and sensitive, and I probably oughtn't to have taken it. Although I tried to transplant it, it likely died (I've not been back to look). But all the same, I'm so glad to have had the chance to get to know it so well. Years later, I can still feel the smooth, pearly surface of that corm…
In addition to sketching and illustrating, I do some writing. Here are a few of my publications.
NEW!
A new children’s book about humpback whales–and about looking beyond the surface to see the connections in nature. A child and his mother share a conversation about “what it takes to make a whale,” as he learns to look for “the things you don’t see.”
Full color illustrations, 32 pages, 8.5X11 paperback, $11.95. It’s being printed now, and should be in hand by the end of June. Contact me if you’d like to pre-order or if you have any questions.
You can learn more about our When You See Flukes book project, and about humpback whales near Juneau, at our “Spot the Whale” website.
American Dippers: Singers in the Mountain Streams is a concise natural history of dippers, and includes a chapter on how Mary and I conducted our dipper studies. 64 pages, full color. Contact me to order copies or share dipper stories.
Since 2003, I’ve been working with my friend, ecologist Mary Willson, on a study of the habitat and habits of American dippers (Cinclus mexicanus)–marvelous little aquatic songbirds that live along mountain streams. One day while we were watching a pair of dippers feed their chicks, Mary suggested that we write a children’s book. So we did, and I illustrated it. The Singer in the Stream is a 32-page, full color picture book, full of dipper lore. Contact me if you’re interested in ordering copies.
I wrote Frozen in Motion for Alaska Natural History Association (now known as Alaska Geographic). It’s full of Alaska glacier science, and designed for older children and adults.
Mendenhall Glacier–Flowing Through Time is another book I wrote for Alaska Geographic. I grew up within sight of this glacier, and I used to bicycle to its face with my friends for summer picnics and explorations. The terrific photos in this book are by my friend David Job.
I like to think that when we draw from nature, we're drawing nature through ourselves–through eyes and brain and heart, and down the arm onto the page. If that's so, then every time we draw something, we take a little bit of it inside. It has become part of us; we understand it in a new and important way. We've made a connection.
Looked at that way, it doesn't necessarily matter what the end result looks like. The important part is the drawing through.
Seems to me that Sitka spruce (Picea sitchensis) are the defining tree species of Southeast Alaska's forests. Although western hemlock (Tsuga heterophylla) are more abundant, spruce are more prominent. They grow where we like to go: along coastlines, on riverbanks, on the outwash plains of glaciers. And they follow where we've been: old village sites, abandoned mining ruins, forgotten roads.
My favorite spruce are the ones that colonize this region's uplift meadows (extravagant, lush parklands created as former tidelands are lifted from the sea by glacial rebound). These "wolf spruce" are sturdy, cheerfully-symmetrical little trees, bristling with vigor and growing almost fast enough to watch. I drew this one (and a cone from an older cousin) a few years ago near the Brotherhood Bridge, north of Juneau.
Katherine Hocker