Showing posts with label sculpture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sculpture. Show all posts
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Port Lympne's Dinosaur Forest
Port Lympne (pronounced like 'limb') is a wildlife park in Kent, not too far from Hythe, which along with Howletts zoo (nearer Canterbury) is run by the Aspinall Foundation. Port Lympne houses a huge variety of mammal species, and notably features safari truck rides through a sprawling 'savannah' paddock, as well as a number of very rare species that you won't see in many other parks. As of this year, it also features life-size model dinosaurs (andotherprehistoricanimals) designed by industry stalwarts Wolter Design. They're (often) huge, numerous, colourful, varied and actually rather good. Here's a selection.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Guest Post: The Pocket-Sized Crystal Palace Dinosaurs
Today we welcome back guest blogger Rohan Long of the University of Melbourne, who joined us in February for a look back at Crichton's The Lost World novel. This time, he shares some cool relics from paleontology in the Victorian era.
Hawkins' Iguanodon in miniature, held by the Tiegs Zoology Museum. Photo by Lee McRae.
Hawkins' Iguanodon in miniature, held by the Tiegs Zoology Museum. Photo by Lee McRae.
Hawkins' Megalosaurus in miniature, held by the Tiegs Zoology Museum. Photo by Lee McRae.
Hawkins' Megalosaurus in miniature, held by the Tiegs Zoology Museum. Photo by Lee McRae.
Every reader of this blog must surely be familiar with the Crystal Palace dinosaurs. These were the life-size dinosaur models made around 1854 by Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins in collaboration with Richard Owen and placed in a naturalistic, outdoor setting in Crystal Palace Park. They were the very first dinosaur models ever made. The story of these magnificent and ground-breaking models has been told extensively elsewhere, but I’d like to share with you slightly lesser known versions of these famous sculptures.
From their inception, Hawkins and his supporters saw the sculptures as being primarily educational and accessible to everyone – not just the educated elite. Hawkins thought of his dinosaurs as ‘one vast and combined experiment of visual education’. The sculptures were envisioned not as mere spectacle, but as a public educational resource to improve the mind, for all classes of Victorian society. The dean of Hereford, Richard Dawes, a cleric and educator, suggested to Hawkins that small-scale models of the dinosaurs be made for the purpose of scientific studies in schools and other educational institutions. In the spirit of inclusiveness, Dawes said:
‘He should be glad to see those models multiplied at a price which would enable them to be introduced into village and ordinary school, as every one could not visit the Crystal Palace, and he therefore hoped that specimens like those before them might be rendered attainable by those in remote and secluded districts, who would not have the advantage of witnessing the splendid and gigantic illustration of the extinct creation of the early ages of the world which would be there exhibited.1
Knowing a good merchandising deal when he saw it, mineralogist James Tennant struck an agreement with Hawkins to produce the models, along with a series of six posters depicting the prehistoric animals that had been sculpted. Tennant, capitalising on the lucrative market of well-to-do gentlemen naturalists, and had built up a successful business selling fossils, shells, minerals and the tools needed to collect them. (By 1854, Tennant laid claim to the impressive and unique title of ‘Mineralogist to her Majesty’). Small- scale models were produced of the dinosaurs Megalosaurus and Iguanodon, the aquatic reptiles Ichthyosaurus and Plesiosaurus (combined as a tableau), the pterosaur Pterodactylus, and "Labyrinthodon," an obsolete name for the temnospondyl amphibian Mastodonsaurus.
In addition to these models, replicas were made by Henry A. Ward, an American professor of natural science and dealer of in fossils, bones and other scientific specimens. Ward was advertising the models from at least 1866 and sold them from his business, Ward’s Natural Science Establishment, in Rochester, New York. According to Ward’s catalogue of the time, a full set of the five models could be purchased for $30, or individually from $5 to $10.2
We have two of these small-scale models in our Tiegs Museum Zoology Collection at the University of Melbourne, an Iguanodon and a Megalosaurus. They were donated to the collection sometime between 1916 and 1921 by trail-blazing zoologist Associate Professor Georgina Sweet. Due to the university’s historically close association with the British scientific establishment, I suspected our models were Hawkins’ originals rather than Wards replicas. After some detective work I found that although the two model types are very similar in their shape, there are differences in the models’ colouration. Ward’s models are a coppery-brown colour, with a green plaster underside. Our models, and all of Hawkins’ originals, are painted a glossy black, while the exposed plaster underside is a mottled white, grey and green.
While I was researching these models, I visited the collections of the Melbourne Museum to see their own Iguanodon (also a Hawkins’ original). A geologist friend of mine was there with the collection manager. He heard about my project and scoffed cheerfully; “Why are you interested in those things? They’re wrong!” This is a common reaction to these dinosaurs and I think it’s short-sighted. If I was writing this in the eighties, I’d be correcting Hawkins’ assumption that Iguanodon was quadrupedal and reconstruct it instead as the awkward, kangaroo-postured biped we all know and love. But paleontological research has brought us full circle and Iguanodon is again considered predominantly quadrupedal, albeit more lightly built than the Victorians had envisioned. Any student of the history of paleontological illustration should be wary of the notion that current reconstructions aren’t every bit a work in progress as their predecessors. Imagine how silly all of these featherless dinosaurs are going to look to the next generation of dinosaur devotees.
Footnotes
1. Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins, ‘On visual education as applied to geology’, Journal of the Society of Arts, (London), vol. 2, 1853–54.
2. Henry A. Ward, 1866, quoted in Jane P. Davidson, ‘Catalogue of casts of fossils (1866) and the artistic influence of Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins on Ward’, Transactions of the Kansas Academy of Science, vol. 108, nos 3–4, Fall 2005, pp. 138–48.
You can catch up with Rohan on Twitter @zoologyrohan and listen to his new musical project, Bronzewing, at bronzewing.bandcamp.com.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Stegodimetrodon
It's not a centerpiece of the city's public art, but one park in Bloomington, Indiana does boast a "dinosaur" sculpture of its very own. Traveling out of your way to see it may not be advisable, but's certainly worth a look if you're in the area. It may be your only chance to see a Dimetrodon with a thagomizer.
The parks department has helpfully erected an informational plaque next to the bench, identifying the carver as William Galloway, who created the piece in 1989, when it won the Hoosierfest Limestone Bench Carving Contest. I was happy to see that the bench's weirdness is acknowledged, though it's not fully explained:
Update 1/6/13: Meant to include that this is, as indiated in comment by Mark Robinson, in Bloomington's Bryan Park. It's a real nice park.
The parks department has helpfully erected an informational plaque next to the bench, identifying the carver as William Galloway, who created the piece in 1989, when it won the Hoosierfest Limestone Bench Carving Contest. I was happy to see that the bench's weirdness is acknowledged, though it's not fully explained:
Originally, the sculpture was meant to be carved in the shape of a Stegosaurus, but since Stegosaurus don't have sail-backs, the artist chose Dimetrodon so people would have a place to lean their backs. Not wanting to give up the large loop on the bench, a Stegosaurus tail was added, making this bench a hybrid dinosaur of sorts.I'd guess that the design changed before carving ever began, with the spiky tail the only part of the original sketches to be retained. Call it artistic license. The plaque does explain that Dimetrodon was not a dinosaur, which is great, but it's a bit muddled on evolutionary history, noting that "dinosaurs eventually evolved into modern day reptiles and birds" and that Dimetrodon is "actually an early ancestor of modern day mammals." A few points for effort, I suppose.
Update 1/6/13: Meant to include that this is, as indiated in comment by Mark Robinson, in Bloomington's Bryan Park. It's a real nice park.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Repost: Tyrant of the Salvage Yards
Today, as I struggle to get into the groove of another hectic semester, I'd like to repost a piece from June of 2011 about sculptor Andrew Chase's wonderful scrap-metal Tyrannosaurus rex sculpture. It never quite got the notice I hoped it would, but maybe with another year and a half of experience under my belt, I can spread the word a little wider.
I'm not the first person to recognize the intimate relationship between art and paleontology. One of the great benefits of writing this blog has been meeting artists who inspire me with their craftsmanship, imagination, and dedication to the inherent beauty in biological forms. Even better than that is learning of the surging culture of young paleoartists hashing out their form on-line. Their ability and discipline is humbling and has spurred me on to make a career of visual science communication. So, when artist Andrew Chase emailed me about his sculpture of Tyrannosaurus rex, my mind was primed to be blown.
Here was an artist who recognized the integrity of the tyrant lizard's form. This is something I admire in the greatest paleoart, and it's the reason I harp on scientific accuracy (concerning which, I admit, I still have much to learn). The greater understanding paleontologists have given us - how dinosaurs moved, breathed and inhabited their lost worlds - has resulted in more resonant art.
I asked Andrew what drew him, as an artist, to this particular animal. "Tyrannosaurus has a purity of form that I find beautiful," he answered. "In my opinion, the T. rex is basically a mouth delivery device, everything else is subordinate to that. No goofy crests, sails, horns/protrusions for sexual display, for this baby it's all about the head. What's the tail for? To balance the head. Legs? Moving the head to the food. Brain? Overrated, keep it small and you can make the jaws bigger. Arms? Not necessary, lose 'em (well almost) and increase the size of the head. I think that singular dedication of purpose is maladaptive but really, really cool."
I told Andrew I was especially impressed that he had consulted with the University of Utah's Dr. Mark Loewen when conceiving his sculpture, and I knew that many readers would appreciate it, as well. He said, "I don't know why anybody doing this sort of project wouldn't consult with an expert. I'd be insane not to. There's literally no downside. I've made six animal sculptures so far and I've found that the closer I adhere to the animal's real physiology, the better the outcome. When I make a strong effort to be accurate, the pieces are better balanced, pose more easily, and are generally superior in every way to the one sculpture where I just eyeballed it."
Andrew's T. rex is six feet long, stands two feet at the hip, and weighs about forty pounds. It is fully articulated, as are his other animal sculptures, and he says that it's "made primarily out of recycled transmission parts, conduit, plumbing pipe and unidentifiable widgets found in industrial salvage yards."
The genesis of the sculpture was Andrew's yet-unpublished children's book, Timmy, a lonely robot tale - written and created before Wall-E - in which he says that "the Tyrannosaurus is a metal shredder, compactor and waste disposal unit. Everything and everyone will eventually pass through him. Because of this, the poor T. rex suffers the plight of undertakers everywhere and leads a somewhat lonely existence, even though he's witty, urbane, and would never intentionally eat a functioning machine."
Please head over to Andrew Chase's website to check out more of his art, including some stunning work from Timmy.
* * * * *
I'm not the first person to recognize the intimate relationship between art and paleontology. One of the great benefits of writing this blog has been meeting artists who inspire me with their craftsmanship, imagination, and dedication to the inherent beauty in biological forms. Even better than that is learning of the surging culture of young paleoartists hashing out their form on-line. Their ability and discipline is humbling and has spurred me on to make a career of visual science communication. So, when artist Andrew Chase emailed me about his sculpture of Tyrannosaurus rex, my mind was primed to be blown.
Here was an artist who recognized the integrity of the tyrant lizard's form. This is something I admire in the greatest paleoart, and it's the reason I harp on scientific accuracy (concerning which, I admit, I still have much to learn). The greater understanding paleontologists have given us - how dinosaurs moved, breathed and inhabited their lost worlds - has resulted in more resonant art.
I asked Andrew what drew him, as an artist, to this particular animal. "Tyrannosaurus has a purity of form that I find beautiful," he answered. "In my opinion, the T. rex is basically a mouth delivery device, everything else is subordinate to that. No goofy crests, sails, horns/protrusions for sexual display, for this baby it's all about the head. What's the tail for? To balance the head. Legs? Moving the head to the food. Brain? Overrated, keep it small and you can make the jaws bigger. Arms? Not necessary, lose 'em (well almost) and increase the size of the head. I think that singular dedication of purpose is maladaptive but really, really cool."
I told Andrew I was especially impressed that he had consulted with the University of Utah's Dr. Mark Loewen when conceiving his sculpture, and I knew that many readers would appreciate it, as well. He said, "I don't know why anybody doing this sort of project wouldn't consult with an expert. I'd be insane not to. There's literally no downside. I've made six animal sculptures so far and I've found that the closer I adhere to the animal's real physiology, the better the outcome. When I make a strong effort to be accurate, the pieces are better balanced, pose more easily, and are generally superior in every way to the one sculpture where I just eyeballed it."
Andrew's T. rex is six feet long, stands two feet at the hip, and weighs about forty pounds. It is fully articulated, as are his other animal sculptures, and he says that it's "made primarily out of recycled transmission parts, conduit, plumbing pipe and unidentifiable widgets found in industrial salvage yards."
The genesis of the sculpture was Andrew's yet-unpublished children's book, Timmy, a lonely robot tale - written and created before Wall-E - in which he says that "the Tyrannosaurus is a metal shredder, compactor and waste disposal unit. Everything and everyone will eventually pass through him. Because of this, the poor T. rex suffers the plight of undertakers everywhere and leads a somewhat lonely existence, even though he's witty, urbane, and would never intentionally eat a functioning machine."
Please head over to Andrew Chase's website to check out more of his art, including some stunning work from Timmy.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Bad Dinosaurs' Paradise
What's the logical next step from owning a chain of successful garden centres? Why, opening a taped-together, homebrew natural history museum adjoining to one of said garden centres, of course. And what really draws legions of screaming kids to a natural history museum, cash-cow parents in tow? Easy - model dinosaurs. Especially moving, roaring ones. One caveat - because of the DIY nature of your new attraction, all the dinosaurs have to be really, really weird.
It's time for another dinosaur safari. Journey beneath the half-tyrannosaur and we'll begin.
Remember the Terrible '90s Dromaeosaur Face-Off - my occasionally unduly mean bad palaeoart contest? Well, if you've ever wanted to see some of the strangest early '90s ideas of what dromaeosaurs looked like as man-sized robots, you're in luck. Presenting: Velociraptor, Paradise Park-style.
Oh yes - there's nothing I like doing more on a Sunday than heading down to a dreary warehouse in Newhaven and gawping at someone's eccentric idea of what dinosaurs looked like writ large. Such is the rock-'n'-roll lifestyle that I lead. Fortunately, I had artist and (surely, by now) LITC stalwart Niroot with me to share the nerdy giggles.
An aside: the above pictured model could be controlled by a button panel. Niroot was having a go and watching the results when, apropos of nothing, the monster's jaw flopped open and it emitted the Godzilla roar, which had me in absolute stitches.
Still, Paradise Park haven't limited themselves to oddly-proportioned, lizardy dromaeosaurs with stolen sound effects. They also have oddly-proportioned, lizardy troodonts.
When was this ever what a Saurornithoides looked like? Teeth limited to the front of the mouth - really? The explanatory sign is brilliant, too - "their slashing claws wearing down their victim to provide a meal for all".
A word of advice for the owners of dinosaur-related attractions - when you buy your huge moving Styracosaurus, make sure the manufacturer knows what they're doing and hasn't done something really dumb, like stick the nose horn between its eyes.
Actually, this Elasmotherium-style gigantor Styracosaurus seems to get around, although - perhaps in an effort to top other attractions in the shoddily-reconstructed ceratopsian stakes - Paradise Park have two of the bloody things. (Although the red head is attractive.)
This exhibit (yes - really) about dinosaur eggs speaks for itself, really, so I'll just let it sink in and then we can move on. Actually, it's almost tempting to find the brazen attitude towards creating cut-price dioramas quite laudible. Although on the other hand, it's just utterly laughable.
In a similar vein...I don't think this has been touched since the early '90s. Hopefully most of you will recognise these!
What's the most wrong-looking plesiosaur restoration you've ever seen? Forget it - it's just been instantly topped by this hugely fat, inexplicably land-borne monstrosity. It's looking very relaxed - perhaps even suave - about it all though.
And from the other way!
Speaking of things that are just perversely bizarre...
AAAAARRRRRGGGHHH *inhale* AAARRGGGHHHHH *black out, fall over*
Say, did someone order a 1960s Iguanodon with extra mammoth? Perhaps my favourite feature of this model - another one that has, as I'm afraid to admit that I know, made it into multiple attractions - is the pair of rather spindly humanoid arms it has attached to it. Bless.
That's enough heartless mockery for today. While I haven't even covered half of the abysmal, ugly, surreally anatomically incorrect dinosaur train-crashes present at this attraction, the whole thing is clearly a labour of love. Yes, even the text is frequently flat-out wrong (Jurassic Styracosaurus, anyone?), but someone has spent an absolute fortune gathering into one place what is undoubtedly one of the most repulsive collections of gigantic dino-gnomes in the UK, if not the world. For that, I salute them.
Also, this rather baffling, outsized version of one those wooden skeleton kits you used to get back in the '80s and '90s is cool for reasons that I am unable to put my finger on. Who made it? Why is it based on a cheapo, long-obsolete slot-together children's model? I guess we'll never know.
Many thanks to Niroot for letting me use his superior photos.
It's time for another dinosaur safari. Journey beneath the half-tyrannosaur and we'll begin.
Remember the Terrible '90s Dromaeosaur Face-Off - my occasionally unduly mean bad palaeoart contest? Well, if you've ever wanted to see some of the strangest early '90s ideas of what dromaeosaurs looked like as man-sized robots, you're in luck. Presenting: Velociraptor, Paradise Park-style.
Oh yes - there's nothing I like doing more on a Sunday than heading down to a dreary warehouse in Newhaven and gawping at someone's eccentric idea of what dinosaurs looked like writ large. Such is the rock-'n'-roll lifestyle that I lead. Fortunately, I had artist and (surely, by now) LITC stalwart Niroot with me to share the nerdy giggles.
An aside: the above pictured model could be controlled by a button panel. Niroot was having a go and watching the results when, apropos of nothing, the monster's jaw flopped open and it emitted the Godzilla roar, which had me in absolute stitches.
Still, Paradise Park haven't limited themselves to oddly-proportioned, lizardy dromaeosaurs with stolen sound effects. They also have oddly-proportioned, lizardy troodonts.
When was this ever what a Saurornithoides looked like? Teeth limited to the front of the mouth - really? The explanatory sign is brilliant, too - "their slashing claws wearing down their victim to provide a meal for all".
A word of advice for the owners of dinosaur-related attractions - when you buy your huge moving Styracosaurus, make sure the manufacturer knows what they're doing and hasn't done something really dumb, like stick the nose horn between its eyes.
Actually, this Elasmotherium-style gigantor Styracosaurus seems to get around, although - perhaps in an effort to top other attractions in the shoddily-reconstructed ceratopsian stakes - Paradise Park have two of the bloody things. (Although the red head is attractive.)
This exhibit (yes - really) about dinosaur eggs speaks for itself, really, so I'll just let it sink in and then we can move on. Actually, it's almost tempting to find the brazen attitude towards creating cut-price dioramas quite laudible. Although on the other hand, it's just utterly laughable.
In a similar vein...I don't think this has been touched since the early '90s. Hopefully most of you will recognise these!
What's the most wrong-looking plesiosaur restoration you've ever seen? Forget it - it's just been instantly topped by this hugely fat, inexplicably land-borne monstrosity. It's looking very relaxed - perhaps even suave - about it all though.
And from the other way!
Speaking of things that are just perversely bizarre...
AAAAARRRRRGGGHHH *inhale* AAARRGGGHHHHH *black out, fall over*
Say, did someone order a 1960s Iguanodon with extra mammoth? Perhaps my favourite feature of this model - another one that has, as I'm afraid to admit that I know, made it into multiple attractions - is the pair of rather spindly humanoid arms it has attached to it. Bless.
That's enough heartless mockery for today. While I haven't even covered half of the abysmal, ugly, surreally anatomically incorrect dinosaur train-crashes present at this attraction, the whole thing is clearly a labour of love. Yes, even the text is frequently flat-out wrong (Jurassic Styracosaurus, anyone?), but someone has spent an absolute fortune gathering into one place what is undoubtedly one of the most repulsive collections of gigantic dino-gnomes in the UK, if not the world. For that, I salute them.
Also, this rather baffling, outsized version of one those wooden skeleton kits you used to get back in the '80s and '90s is cool for reasons that I am unable to put my finger on. Who made it? Why is it based on a cheapo, long-obsolete slot-together children's model? I guess we'll never know.
Many thanks to Niroot for letting me use his superior photos.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Welkom in het DinoBos!
I happened to be back in the Netherlands earlier this week. As a bit of an early birthday present, my girlfriend (yes - really) paid for my entry into DierenPark Amersfoort, a zoo in, er, Amersfoort. Although I always do like a good zoo, DierenPark Amersfoort had another draw for me - a large area dedicated to life-size fibreglass dinosaurs known as the 'DinoBos' (or 'Dino Forest'). What self-respecting dinosaur geek could possibly resist such an attraction? And so off I went, taking far too many photos. Fortunately, the place was pretty empty. Unfortunately, it was also bloody cold. Still, some of the models were really rather impressive.
The DinoBos is arranged as a circuit, the models being presented in roughly chronological order (that is, according to when the real animal was alive) starting in the Devonian. Or Devoon, as it apparently is in Dutch. Of course, the only animal from the Devonian present was the weirdo evil fish Dunkleosteus, with a model of a shrunken (or juvenile) fishy plonked rather unceremoniously in a small pond. Except the pond had filled with leaves, so the rather surprised-looking creature had the appearance of having been dumped in the middle of the woods and left to die. It's one of those occasions where one can't help but imagine that the attraction bought a load of models, noticed one of them was a fish and thought "what in holy hell are we going to do with THIS?"
Of course, things picked up when it came to the dinosaurs themselves (for one thing, they look a little more suited to their woodland habitat). As a kid, I visited Blackgang Chine and the Dinosaur Park in Norfolk on a number of occasions. I can't speak for what the latter's like these days, but it's safe to say that whenever anyone mentions fibreglass dinosaurs (as they are often wont to do at the trendiest parties) I always picture the hilariously bad, 1970s creations from Blackgang. Therefore, the rather more modern-looking models at DierenPark Amersfoort (or DPA, as I'll be calling it from now on, thanks) came as something of a pleasant surprise. Particularly impressive were the sauropods because, well, they were life-size sauropods. And one of them was Giraffatitan.
Blimey, that's big. And look - it doesn't have elephant feet! Equally awesome was the Diplodocus. Perhaps they were a little overzealous in giving the animal a slimline neck, but otherwise the model was quite beautiful, from its dermal spines to its whiplash tail and graceful poise. The neck was erect, too (something that would no doubt make the SV-POWsketeers happy).
There was one serious plague upon these models - BUNNY HANDS. Unfortunately, every theropod had its hands orientated in the 'classic' palms-down style, which was a real shame as they were often rather good otherwise (see Albertosaurus and Tyrannosaurus below).
Bizarrely, while Coelophysis was modelled with a funky hairstyle, a Deinonychus pair were completely naked. This might have something to do with the old palaeoart meme of depicting "Syntarsus" (aka Megapnosaurus) with a 'badass mohawk' - some have argued that Megapnosaurus is a junior synonym of Coelophysis. In any case, it's a bother that the Deinonychus weren't feathered as they featured in the only scene with dinosaurs properly interacting - in this case, attacking Iguanodon. Rather anachronistically, it should be said (what happened to good old Tenontosaurus, the obligatory long-tailed buffet?), but it was executed quite well.
Interspersed among the nicely-sculpted static models were a smaller number of shabbier, rubbery-looking things that ocassionally spasmed with movement. I suppose it's good for keeping kids interested, but they inevitably ended up sticking out like a whole sad bunch of grey sore thumbs. Particularly goofy-looking was the Herrerasaurus (below), although it was also one of the most mobile. Just look at those eyes. The eyes alone!
Nevertheless, terrible and broken animatronics couldn't sour what was otherwise a very pleasant woodland jaunt beside a series of looming recreations of extinct animals. There's a surprising variety of them on offer here, too - besides the usual suspects, there are such unusual subjects as Maiasaura and Scelidosaurus (below), while the forest setting gives a suitable air of adventure and discovery. Of course, the rest of TPA is excellent too, with a surprisingly wide range of (actual living and breathing) animals that even includes Rhinoceros unicornis (with a baby born this year). It's well worth a visit.
And finally...here's one for Heinrich Mallison. (Sorry it's a quadruped, Heinrich...)
 |
| I get acquainted with a Triceratops/umbrella stand. |
The DinoBos is arranged as a circuit, the models being presented in roughly chronological order (that is, according to when the real animal was alive) starting in the Devonian. Or Devoon, as it apparently is in Dutch. Of course, the only animal from the Devonian present was the weirdo evil fish Dunkleosteus, with a model of a shrunken (or juvenile) fishy plonked rather unceremoniously in a small pond. Except the pond had filled with leaves, so the rather surprised-looking creature had the appearance of having been dumped in the middle of the woods and left to die. It's one of those occasions where one can't help but imagine that the attraction bought a load of models, noticed one of them was a fish and thought "what in holy hell are we going to do with THIS?"
Of course, things picked up when it came to the dinosaurs themselves (for one thing, they look a little more suited to their woodland habitat). As a kid, I visited Blackgang Chine and the Dinosaur Park in Norfolk on a number of occasions. I can't speak for what the latter's like these days, but it's safe to say that whenever anyone mentions fibreglass dinosaurs (as they are often wont to do at the trendiest parties) I always picture the hilariously bad, 1970s creations from Blackgang. Therefore, the rather more modern-looking models at DierenPark Amersfoort (or DPA, as I'll be calling it from now on, thanks) came as something of a pleasant surprise. Particularly impressive were the sauropods because, well, they were life-size sauropods. And one of them was Giraffatitan.
 |
| "It's...it's a dinosaur!" |
Blimey, that's big. And look - it doesn't have elephant feet! Equally awesome was the Diplodocus. Perhaps they were a little overzealous in giving the animal a slimline neck, but otherwise the model was quite beautiful, from its dermal spines to its whiplash tail and graceful poise. The neck was erect, too (something that would no doubt make the SV-POWsketeers happy).
There was one serious plague upon these models - BUNNY HANDS. Unfortunately, every theropod had its hands orientated in the 'classic' palms-down style, which was a real shame as they were often rather good otherwise (see Albertosaurus and Tyrannosaurus below).
Bizarrely, while Coelophysis was modelled with a funky hairstyle, a Deinonychus pair were completely naked. This might have something to do with the old palaeoart meme of depicting "Syntarsus" (aka Megapnosaurus) with a 'badass mohawk' - some have argued that Megapnosaurus is a junior synonym of Coelophysis. In any case, it's a bother that the Deinonychus weren't feathered as they featured in the only scene with dinosaurs properly interacting - in this case, attacking Iguanodon. Rather anachronistically, it should be said (what happened to good old Tenontosaurus, the obligatory long-tailed buffet?), but it was executed quite well.
Interspersed among the nicely-sculpted static models were a smaller number of shabbier, rubbery-looking things that ocassionally spasmed with movement. I suppose it's good for keeping kids interested, but they inevitably ended up sticking out like a whole sad bunch of grey sore thumbs. Particularly goofy-looking was the Herrerasaurus (below), although it was also one of the most mobile. Just look at those eyes. The eyes alone!
Nevertheless, terrible and broken animatronics couldn't sour what was otherwise a very pleasant woodland jaunt beside a series of looming recreations of extinct animals. There's a surprising variety of them on offer here, too - besides the usual suspects, there are such unusual subjects as Maiasaura and Scelidosaurus (below), while the forest setting gives a suitable air of adventure and discovery. Of course, the rest of TPA is excellent too, with a surprisingly wide range of (actual living and breathing) animals that even includes Rhinoceros unicornis (with a baby born this year). It's well worth a visit.
And finally...here's one for Heinrich Mallison. (Sorry it's a quadruped, Heinrich...)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Tyrant of the Salvage Yards
I'm not the first person to recognize the intimate relationship between art and paleontology. One of the great benefits of writing this blog has been meeting artists who inspire me with their craftsmanship, imagination, and dedication to the inherent beauty in biological forms. Even better than that is learning of the surging culture of young paleoartists hashing out their form on-line. Their ability and discipline is humbling and has spurred me on to make a career of visual science communication. So, when artist Andrew Chase emailed me about his sculpture of Tyrannosaurus rex, my mind was primed to be blown.
Here was an artist who recognized the integrity of the tyrant lizard's form. This is something I admire in the greatest paleoart, and it's the reason I harp on scientific accuracy (concerning which, I admit, I still have much to learn). The greater understanding paleontologists have given us - how dinosaurs moved, breathed and inhabited their lost worlds - has resulted in more resonant art.
I asked Andrew what drew him, as an artist, to this particular animal. "Tyrannosaurus has a purity of form that I find beautiful," he answered. "In my opinion, the T. rex is basically a mouth delivery device, everything else is subordinate to that. No goofy crests, sails, horns/protrusions for sexual display, for this baby it's all about the head. What's the tail for? To balance the head. Legs? Moving the head to the food. Brain? Overrated, keep it small and you can make the jaws bigger. Arms? Not necessary, lose 'em (well almost) and increase the size of the head. I think that singular dedication of purpose is maladaptive but really, really cool."
I told Andrew I was especially impressed that he had consulted with the University of Utah's Dr. Mark Loewen when conceiving his sculpture, and I knew that many readers would appreciate it, as well. He said, "I don't know why anybody doing this sort of project wouldn't consult with an expert. I'd be insane not to. There's literally no downside. I've made six animal sculptures so far and I've found that the closer I adhere to the animal's real physiology, the better the outcome. When I make a strong effort to be accurate, the pieces are better balanced, pose more easily, and are generally superior in every way to the one sculpture where I just eyeballed it."
Andrew's T. rex is six feet long, stands two feet at the hip, and weighs about forty pounds. It is fully articulated, as are his other animal sculptures, and he says that it's "made primarily out of recycled transmission parts, conduit, plumbing pipe and unidentifiable widgets found in industrial salvage yards."
The genesis of the sculpture was Andrew's yet-unpublished children's book, Timmy, a lonely robot tale - written and created before Wall-E - in which he says that "the Tyrannosaurus is a metal shredder, compactor and waste disposal unit. Everything and everyone will eventually pass through him. Because of this, the poor T. rex suffers the plight of undertakers everywhere and leads a somewhat lonely existence, even though he's witty, urbane, and would never intentionally eat a functioning machine."
Please head over to Andrew Chase's website to check out more of his art, including some stunning work from Timmy.
Here was an artist who recognized the integrity of the tyrant lizard's form. This is something I admire in the greatest paleoart, and it's the reason I harp on scientific accuracy (concerning which, I admit, I still have much to learn). The greater understanding paleontologists have given us - how dinosaurs moved, breathed and inhabited their lost worlds - has resulted in more resonant art.
I asked Andrew what drew him, as an artist, to this particular animal. "Tyrannosaurus has a purity of form that I find beautiful," he answered. "In my opinion, the T. rex is basically a mouth delivery device, everything else is subordinate to that. No goofy crests, sails, horns/protrusions for sexual display, for this baby it's all about the head. What's the tail for? To balance the head. Legs? Moving the head to the food. Brain? Overrated, keep it small and you can make the jaws bigger. Arms? Not necessary, lose 'em (well almost) and increase the size of the head. I think that singular dedication of purpose is maladaptive but really, really cool."
I told Andrew I was especially impressed that he had consulted with the University of Utah's Dr. Mark Loewen when conceiving his sculpture, and I knew that many readers would appreciate it, as well. He said, "I don't know why anybody doing this sort of project wouldn't consult with an expert. I'd be insane not to. There's literally no downside. I've made six animal sculptures so far and I've found that the closer I adhere to the animal's real physiology, the better the outcome. When I make a strong effort to be accurate, the pieces are better balanced, pose more easily, and are generally superior in every way to the one sculpture where I just eyeballed it."
Andrew's T. rex is six feet long, stands two feet at the hip, and weighs about forty pounds. It is fully articulated, as are his other animal sculptures, and he says that it's "made primarily out of recycled transmission parts, conduit, plumbing pipe and unidentifiable widgets found in industrial salvage yards."
The genesis of the sculpture was Andrew's yet-unpublished children's book, Timmy, a lonely robot tale - written and created before Wall-E - in which he says that "the Tyrannosaurus is a metal shredder, compactor and waste disposal unit. Everything and everyone will eventually pass through him. Because of this, the poor T. rex suffers the plight of undertakers everywhere and leads a somewhat lonely existence, even though he's witty, urbane, and would never intentionally eat a functioning machine."
Please head over to Andrew Chase's website to check out more of his art, including some stunning work from Timmy.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Mesozoic Statuary of Wood's Golf Center
Flickr user Graham, aka Tourist Trap, has shared some photos taken at Wood's Golf Center in Norristown, PA. Their mini golf course is inhabited by some of the coolest statues I've seen in one - the official site says that their "award winning miniature golf courses are themed around 'The Adventures of Sinbad' and 'The Land of Dinosaurs.'"
There are a couple photos that aren't available to embed, including a T. rex that looks like he might be buddies with Whoopi Goldberg and some bizarre quasi-dinosaur that defies easy categorization. I've played at a few pirate or jungle themed courses, but I'd really love to whack a few balls alongside the citizens of the Mesozoic.
There are a couple photos that aren't available to embed, including a T. rex that looks like he might be buddies with Whoopi Goldberg and some bizarre quasi-dinosaur that defies easy categorization. I've played at a few pirate or jungle themed courses, but I'd really love to whack a few balls alongside the citizens of the Mesozoic.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Triceracopter
In 1977, a sculptor named Patricia Renick unveiled a piece called Triceracopter: Hope for the Obsolescence of War at Cincinnati's Contemporary Arts Center. It is literally the body of a decommissioned helicopter melded with a fiberglass Triceratops head and limbs.
The meaning of the piece is pretty clear - it plays off the durable old conception of dinosaurs as failed monstrosities, the most outlandish critters on the evolutionary discard pile. A bit on the nose, and while I disagree with dinosaurs being saddled with this reputation - no group of animals who dominated terrestrial ecosystems for 120,000,000 years has much to apologize for - you can't fault the craftsmanship. And the melding of organic and inorganic, animal and machine, is always arresting. Triceracopter would look pretty imposing in my front yard. If I had the dough, I might even buy it, as it's been on the market for about a year.
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