Astronomy Art

A few days ago I came across an old post on a science art blog lamenting the fact that there are few artists and bloggers these days whose primary focus is space and astronomy art. Maybe because much of what is currently "observable" is not actually viewable--even with the aided  eye--this limits the personal experience with objects or scenes that can inspire an artist to create. Perhaps artists are intimidated by the perceived expectation to comment accurately on the science behind their works, or maybe they feel their efforts trumped by the scads of beautiful photographs created daily by professional and amateur observers alike.

Having occasionally experimented myself with observationally based astronomical sketching as well as illustrations of imagined objects, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my own concerns in approaching celestial subjects. One of the biggest hangups I've had is making sure that what I draw retains a degree of accuracy and scientific meaning. I know there's lots of art that is wild, abstract, out of proportion, and not at all based on a picture-perfect rendering of reality that is still aesthetically viable and even conveys a deeper sense of meaning about its subject than it might have otherwise. Still, when I've sat down and drawn a made-up nebula or star cluster, or thought about creating an abstract representation of a famous astronomical object (like the Lagoon Nebula...one of my favorites!), I always feel a little queasy about it. I worry that any artistic interpretations of an astronomical scene might only detract from the perfect beauty of the original, while simultaneously giving a false account of what actually exists in the universe.

I know. I worry too much.

Which is why, I finally gave in to my inclination to complete a rather unconventional portrait of a totally fictional astronomical body...

The creative spark for this drawing--which I'm calling Stellar Nursery--was initially inspired by those cool math pictures I wrote about a few posts ago, but then sat around untouched for days while I ruminated over how to develop the initial sketch (I hate that stage). Later, after I finished reading Frank Herbert's The Jesus Incident, I went back into the studio intending to put to paper a few of the fantastical scenes that were banging around inside my head. However, when I removed the old sketch and went to refit my drawing board with a clean sheet of paper, I hesitated. There was something about the sketch that still compelled me. I stared at it for a while, and decided to make a go of completing it.

Though the result looks only faintly like real stellar nurseries I've seen, and definitely does not accurately portray any scientific principal or process, it still evokes for me the exuberance I've felt when learning about, viewing, and remembering past observations of, our galaxy's active star forming regions.

It remains to be seen if this drawing signals the beginning of a series...

Flute-a-Pillar

After a weekend forecast of persistent rain, how could I not take advantage of a refreshing Sunday-morning break in the clouds and head outdoors. At the recommendation of a fellow BRAS member, I decided to visit the Schoepfle Garden (one of the many metro parks operated by Lorain County), to stretch my legs a bit and take some photos.

The park--only a short drive through the cornfields from Oberlin--consists of a traditional European style formal garden (complete with meticulously-manicured topiary), surrounded by acres of natural woodland that edge a stretch of the Vermillion River. Though this adorably perky green sculpture was undeniably charming, I'll admit I generally prefer seeking out slightly more chaotic and hidden treasures.

A jumbled leafy mess at first glance, the tantalizing geometry of this spiderweb drew my attention...

...and maybe raccoons are so common here as to be a nuisance, but what beautiful little five-fingered footprints they leave behind...

As cliche as it can be, I don't suppose I'll ever get tired of gazing at bits of dew glimmering in the morning sunlight...

...or finding bold bits of color that glare out atop beds of mud and decay...

 Nature high aside, nothing prepared me for what I later encountered in the children's garden. I'll let this one speak for itself...I really have nothing else to add!

..."OF COURSE"...  

                                     Hmmmm...

A Flute-a-Pillar... What they won't think of next!

I certainly didn't expect musical instruments to feature so prominently in the local landscaping...

But no trumpet...aw shucks!

In my own backyard

It's a GORGEOUS day outside.

At the Black River Astronomy Society's club meeting last week, one of the members quipped, "The things I love most about living in Ohio are September and October," and I'm beginning to understand why. In order to take advantage of the lovely afternoon I decided to go on a mini expedition into the backyard and see if I could discover any cool happenings.

Little yellow flowers glowed in the fading light of the afternoon...

...and I spent some time observing an engorged Orb Weaver as he slept off what must have been quite a memorable feast...

...but the most uninhibited festivities were taking place among our already prodigious population of crane flies.

There were at least four couples whom I observed livin' it up on the north side of the house, and many more single rovers buzzing around trying to woo a potential partner. Looks like Mr. Orb Weaver won't be missing any meals anytime soon...

Cool Math Pictures

If you search arnold tongues in google images, you might be surprised to discover that the lovely photo at left is not the first, or even the most eye-popping image that is retrieved.

Instead (and no offense to Mr. Schwartzenegger's unique performance), I hope you would be as mesmerized as I am by a boldly-colored panel that looks like it could have been taken from off the cover of some fantastic retro-science-fiction magazine...


...You stare in awed horror at an apocalyptic sky dotted with swooping UFOs, while an army of alien invaders advances over the barren desert landscape...

Last night, Rob came into the kitchen as I was cleaning up after a chocolate-chip-cookie fest and said...with typical nonchalance..."Hey, ya wanna see somethin' cool?" He's actually been showing me quite a few interesting pictures these past few weeks. Mostly ideas for homework projects to use in the computational physics course he teaches at the college, the images have ranged from the somewhat more familiar Mandelbrot set...

...to last night's unveiling of the Arnold tongues (two above), a bifurcation diagram of the circle map (doesn't this look like it could be found at a modern art museum)...

...and a comparatively simple--but sublime and elegant--logistic map...

Maybe because it's a bunch of lines rendered in (my favorite) black-and-white, this last graphic immediately sent my mind spinning off into a creative frenzy. This looks like something I might draw...or rather...it looks like something I wish I'd drawn...or even better, I thought, "I could use these graphics as inspiration for my next Masterpiece!!!" 

Now, I've still got an inspiration or two bouncing around in my subconscious, and I did fool around with some sketches this afternoon (which I'm sorry to say I won't show unless I finish), but what's occurred to me since that initial spark is the truly incredible thing about these graphics is that they were generated through mathematical functions...just sets of parameters run through a computer code a b'jillion times until these surreal and beautiful patterns emerged from the chaos. A butterfly flaps its wings in Paris and...

Once we got past memorizing multiplication tables in elementary school, whatever aptitude I might have had for mathematics faded away into oblivion. There are all sorts of ideas about why people get scared away from math. In spite of the current trendiness of "nerd" culture, it unfortunately remains a popular subject to hate (on an episode of Star Trek Enterprise I watched last night, Hoshi even used the phrase "calculus equations" to represent her frustrated feelings toward the impossibly difficult language she was trying to decode), and I'm ashamed to say I was chief among the haters. The grades on my senior-year high school report card were admirable...well, except for that D in trig/pre-calc (I don't remember a single thing from that class except that logarithms were impossible and I had a crush on a boy that sat nearby...not that HE cared). I dropped out of the only college math class I ever tried to take at the U of U, and I can't tell you how overjoyed I was when I found out I wouldn't have to take ANY math to graduate from Juilliard.

In the intervening years, I've begun to appreciate all that I've missed by not giving math a chance. Now (even though I still squint and wrinkle my forehead whenever a page of numbers presents itself to me), I sometimes even fantasize about going back and refreshing my algebra well enough to approach calculus with an open mind. Just think of all the cool graphics I might eventually be able to create!

(an image of the Chirikov Standard Map taken from Wikipedia)

Daddy Long Legs

I've already told you that the house Rob and I are sharing for the year is super cool.  I've set up a beautiful studio, have taken advantage of the extensive counter space and gadgetry available in the kitchen, and love the afternoons I'm able to curl up on the front porch with a good book and a cool drink.  From here it's only a five minute walk (or less) to the gym, the physics building, the college's observatory and planetarium, Oberlin's free art museum, the public library, and a host of restaurants that range from yer reg'lar ol' corner Subway to the trendy Feve (where--as a side note--last week I had the most delicious hamburger I've ever had in my life.  The burger itself was juicy and delectably flavorful. Topped with sun-dried-tomato pesto, chévre, lettuce, and tomato, it delivered an unforgettable burst of goodness to the taste buds).

One of the only problems I've confronted with this otherwise luxurious living arrangement, is that we have to share our space with an astonishing number of cellar spiders, or Pholcidae...more commonly known as daddy-long-legs. Just to be clear, the creatures we always referred to as "daddy-long-legs" while I was growing up (and swore possessed the most potent venom of the spider kingdom, and could kill you if their jaws were only big enough), were actually not spiders at all, but belong to an order of arachnids called harvestmen. The cellar spiders I run into here are gorgeously dainty, but hugely sprawling critters that build their messy webs in every possible nook and corner they can find...especially (and appropriately enough), in the cellar.

Whenever I go downstairs to do laundry or add newspaper to the recycling pile, I have to dodge clusters of webs on every stair corner and paddle my way through curtains of hanging silk that dangle languidly from the low ceiling.

Just the other day I had a more direct confrontation with one of these balletic beasts.  In order to prevent mildew, we've been asked to leave the front washer door open after every load. On this occasion I pulled back the handle and discovered the biggest specimen I'd yet encountered perched within a web that filled the washer's front opening. It's nice that these spiders are not particularly aggressive. I gently shooed this one away and, as he tiptoed off upon eight transparent willowy limbs, cleared away the remnants of his gauzy lair.

I suppose I should accept at least part of the blame for our infestation. As you may remember from my dealings with cockroaches in Evanston, I really dislike killing things...even those typically considered to be creepy and/or thoroughly disgusting. That I'm not a vegetarian (and so completely relished that hamburger the other night) is a glaring hypocrisy.

So far these spiders haven't caused me any real harm. I've even wondered from time to time what other pesky critters they may be keeping at bay. I suppose I'm getting used to our gangly neighbors. I'll just have to watch where I'm reaching and keep inspecting my shoes before putting them on.

Chocolate Redemption

Weeks ago, Rob and I were invited to have dinner at the home of one of Rob's colleagues.  We later confirmed the plans for tonight and offered to bring dessert.  In anticipation of this, we'd already gone by the store a few days ago and picked up the ingredients for Moosewood's incredible Vegan Chocolate Cake...yes, that's right: a vegan creation that's as delectable as any reg'lar chocolate cake you can dream up!  The recipe promised to be quick and simple--even better--so just for kicks, we decided to make it a double decker and use a chocolate orange glaze (a recipe found in Moosewood Restaurant New Classics) as both a filler between layers and a decorative mess on top.

We set to work early, passed the time in between around a scrabble board (I won by the way: 314 to 298:), and took a quick lunch break during which I whipped up a scrumptuous wild rice and sausage version of Dad's classic "Rice Stuff."  I think Rob and I both surprised ourselves by how well we collaborated on this little venture.  Rob was brilliant with his parchment-paper origami (parchment paper works REALLY well for getting cakes out of pans without anything sticking), and I turned out to be the master refiner of the fresh-orange-zest-infused bitter-chocolate glaze.  After a dusting of powdered sugar, and some attempted artsiness with our remaining orange slices, here is the result...

Don't worry...we'll also be bringing vanilla ice cream.  I guess that spoils its vegan-ness, but we worried our hosts might be overwhelmed by such a chocolatey monstrosity, and would appreciate a bit of tempering on the side.

I can't WAIT for dinner tonight!

Half Full...

Three nights ago, Rob and I made pasta and enjoyed the warm Ohio evening picnicking in our big new backyard.  Rob had set his usual glass of bubbly water out on the table and we watched as the sun sent playful reflections and shadows out over its surface.  "That would make a great picture!" I exclaimed as I ran back inside to get my camera.

I had arrived in Oberlin the day before, exhausted after a three day drive from the International Music Camp, but relieved to be with Rob again and excited to begin my life afresh in this beautiful little college town.  During the last leg of my trip I drove north from Columbus and passed through quaint villages and lush rolling fields just as the sun was setting.  Everything was lit with the hale glow of late summer and my insides were churning with a blush of anticipation.  "My new home is gorgeous!" I thought "I can't wait to explore!"

For the next year we'll be living in/caring for the home of another professor who is on sabbatical.  The place is lovely.  With walls covered in artwork and exotic memorabilia adorning each room, it's a space that inspires both comfort and creativity.  We've been asked to be extremely careful with the wooden floors and furniture, so I've had to check my casual living habits a bit and make sure to bring a coaster with me wherever I go, but that's a small sacrifice to pay for the privilege of such nice living arrangements.  

We're still unpacking a bit, so I apologize for the clutter, but here's a view of the dining room...

...the 3rd floor attic studio I've claimed for my own (check out that windowseat with a view!)...

...the spacious front porch...

...and the long wooded backyard, whose boundary stretches beyond the furthest trees pictured here...

Especially when compared to the tiny, and very noisy studio I had in Evanston, this place is paradise!

Now that I'm more or less settled in, I spend my days searching for work and slowly reintroducing my chops to the horn.   I've been told that, when done right, an employment search is basically equivalent in time and energy spent to a full time job.  Though I've already submitted about dozen applications, I have yet to secure an interview, but I suppose this is to be expected and I'm trying not to let the process discourage me.

In between job searches I jog upstairs for mini practice sessions.  At the moment my mouthpiece still feels like a foreign object and I sound a bit like most 7th graders...but again, after a month away from the instrument this is to be expected.  I've never taken so much time off from playing, but I've been told by numerous colleagues that this kind of "reboot", when approached with patience and intelligence, can actually be quite healthy.  If there's anything I do have in abundance these days it's time, so now I'm just relying on my drive and eager work ethic to carry me through the slow process of growth and learning.  I hope to be playing well enough in a couple weeks to feel comfortable performing publicly and, ideally, begin recruiting some private students.

Two nights ago, Rob and I went out for Thai food (which I haven't had in months) in the town of Avon, a few miles northish of Oberlin, and then capped off the evening with a sunset stroll along our new great lake...Lake Erie.  Though it felt odd to be watching the sun set over a large body of water after having spent two years watching it rise over Lake Michigan's eastern profile, the experience was no less satisfying.

It's good to be here.  Opportunities are on the horizon.  It's only a matter of time...

Tripping

The 28th was my birthday.  And what better way to spend it than the most complicated and exhausting camp changeover of the summer?

Most weeks, the final band concert of the session takes place on Saturday afternoon.  The kids perform, pack up their stuff, and go home with their parents, leaving us staff a blissful (mostly) chaos-free evening to relax and regather our wits.  On Sunday morning we all sleep in till brunch at 10:30 and await the new batch of campers that show up for registration around noon.  That Sunday night is always a marathon of preparing music for the following morning's rehearsals--we might be up until midnight or later making sure everything is ready--but at least we would have had the evening/morning quasi break in which to recoup some energy.

On the 28th, however, the final band/orchestra concerts happened as usual, but THEN, adult campers arrived, were checked in, and sent to rehearsal sites at 4:30 expecting music, chairs, stands, percussion equipment to be there waiting for them.  The orchestra concert ran long, so the latter 3 items were still in transit when the first rehearsals were supposed to start (the equipment managers have the least downtime of anyone here).  After we got a start tearing down orchestra music, I had to run straight over to Rindt Hall with my crate of music for advanced band.  And of course, because many adult campers don't register till the day they come, there were a bunch of additional folders to be made, large-print copies to be provided, and non-standard instruments to be taken care of...I got a LOT of exercise running back and forth filling specialized orders right up until the final notes of the rehearsal sounded.

No downtime here!

Fortunately, after all the madness from the condensed changeover had subsided (around 8:00 that evening), I had the freedom to load up my little ipod shuffle (thanks Patrick:) with music, and take a restful stroll over to the peace gardens.

For a variety of reasons, not the least of which being that I did my final NU bibliography project on "sound art" (a provocative, philosopically challenging, and utterly fascinating topic), I have been dipping my toe into the "ambient music" genre.  By "ambient music" I do not mean the insipid, formulaic, dumbed-down grocery store/elevator music that might initially come to mind for you, but rather, serious compositions that explore (either musically or even just sonically) what can be done with sound in how it relates to space, and which employs a slow--often minimalistic--approach to how it evolves over long stretches of time.

When I go back and read that last sentence, my eyes roll.  It's vague pretension stems from the defensive stance I feel the need to assume when admitting I enjoy an oft-ridiculed and hugely misunderstood genre.  I'll stop apologizing for my taste and just give you a list of the specific selections I included on my playlist that evening:

Aphex Twin: Selected Ambient Works vol. II 
Brian Eno: Ambient 4: On Land
Vangelis: Alpha (not really in the same class as these others, but instead just one of my favorite--of the non-orchestral--selections from the Cosmos soundtrack)
John Cage: In a Landscape  

While indulging in this unconventional soundtrack (and drenched in bug-spray) I wandered up the road to the gardens--my steps keeping time with occasional rhythmic interludes, and my knotted attentions expanding into the surrounding woods.  It occurred to me that I should probably be enjoying the natural turtle-mountain soundscape instead of plugging myself in to an artificial experience.  From time to time I took out my earbuds and paused to listen to the whir of many dozens of dragonfly wings, bird calls echoing across the distance, and the hush of air rustling through the trees.

When I reached the road's final ascending bend into the garden proper, I got a whiff of fresh-cut hay.  Fields of wildflowers had been mowed into giant cylindrical bales.  They lay scattered over the rolling terrain and offset the geometry of the emerging peace towers to lend an air of surreality to the landscape.

With my mind under the influence of hypnotic soundscapes, my imagination came to life.  My senses seemed simultaneously heightened and dulled, and--lit by the glow of the setting sun--my ascent to the towers transformed and prolonged itself.  I felt as though I were living a dream of ancient childhood.  The age and space of things seemed tangible and I was reminded of similarly transcendent impressions I'd had while hiking alone in the mountains and deserts of Utah.

The sun was setting...

The loons were calling...

And I was definitely tripping!

No drugs required.

I know I sound a little over-the-top here, but I love moments like these.  Illusory or not, they feel eternal and deep.  I feel connected to the land.  I am lonely while blissfully solitary, simultaneously yearning and sated.  My spirit airs out like sheets on a clothesline.

With the sun firmly beyond the horizon I figured I should probably make my way back to camp.  

In the diminishing light Brian Eno's "On Land" sounded more sinister...a good imagination can take the mind in so many directions! A deer bounded across the road in front of me.  Bats soon joined the patrolling dragonflies for a feast of swarming mosquitos (thank GOODNESS my bug spray still seemed to be working!)