The Larvacean Art of Rebecca Hutchinson

Rebecca Hutchinson, “Natural Inclinations”, 2008

Rebecca Hutchinson, “woven collection”, 2009

Rebecca Hutchinson builds delicate biomorphic forms out of fragile unfired paperclay, hangs them in an art gallery, and then destroys them after the show. Many of them look like ant nest casts or caterpillar cocoons, but what they really remind me of are small creatures known as larvaceans.

Larvacean in lab: srsly without hap.

Larvaceans are tiny hapless tadpole-like things that live by the zillions in the open ocean, constructing elaborate “houses” out of mucus which they use to filter particulate matter. They were a source of frustration to marine biologists on plankton surveys, mainly because instead of dancing happily with their fellow planktonic pals under a dissecting microscope, they expired rather quickly inside their pea-sized tomb of slime.

During an expedition in 1971, Alice Alldredge took up these hard-to-study creatures.  But her suggestion to observe them in their natural habitat was met with blank stares, as the scientific culture at the time was stodgily laboratory-based.  Undaunted, she launched herself into the warm waters off the coast of Bimini, tethered herself to an anchor and waited, trying to get a glimpse of larvaceans in their natural habitat. She didn’t have to wait long.

Larvaceans in ocean:  Can you handle their combined hap? You cannot.

Not only were they everywhere, but their mucus houses were larger and more refined. It seemed that the act of dragging plankton nets into the lab ruined their tiny structures, and only by watching them in their natural environment could one get the full effect of their intricacies. Furthermore, once the mucus-houses get filled with particulate matter, they are quickly jettisoned, and the larvacean builds another. Alldredge used her observations to help make groundbreaking studies on how sinking larvacean houses form an important part of the abyssal ecosystem, studies that were only possible by stepping out of the lab and diving into their ephemeral world.

“Sile Bloom” by Rebecca Hutchinson, 2009, Clay and mixed media.

Unlike so many sculptures that are built to last eternally in collections and museums, the paperclay forms crafted by Hutchinson are temporary and ephemeral. Once the artist gives up the idea that these forms will last, they cease to become an object and instead become a visible verb caught in the act.  And the only way to really experience structures like these is to dive in and float amongst them, before they sink away into the abyss. z end

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The Invasive Art of Rafael Gómezbarros

Since 2007, sculptor Rafael Gómezbarros has brought his invasive swarm of giant ants to public buildings of his native Columbia. Titled “Casa Tomada”, (Seized House), the ants represent the displacement of peasants due to war and strife. Spreading aggressively over the colonial façades of goverment structures,  these unstoppable insects have in turn seized the homes of those in power.  Each of the 1300 ants are over 2 feet in length made of fiberglass resin, fabric, and branches.

Photo by Rafael Gómezbarros

Photo by Rafael Gómezbarros

Photo by Juan Carlos Herrera

The ants are not only a sight to behold en masse, but individually they are beautiful sculptures, fiberglass carapaces treated with sand and charcoal that gives them a rich earthy texture.

Rafael Gomezbarros, Hormigas, 2010

Although Gómezbarros’ Casa Tomada ants behave like invading army ants, they are in fact modeled on the hormigas culonas  (big-bottomed ants), a type of leafcutter ant whose large queens are sold as a delicacy by peasants for income during certain times of the year. During mating season, the young emerging queens are caught in the wild, their wings removed.  Then they are soaked in saltwater and roasted. They look absolutely delicious! And of course super-nutritious. Here’s an NPR story about folks who seek out this ancient pre-Columbian snack.

Photo by John Otis

But back to Gómezbarros. Casa Tormada is one of several artworks that deal with  the legacy of history, nature, politics and mortality. A poignant example is “Paracos”, a far smaller installation of beautifully constructed wasp nests that hang on a wall. On many are drawn small maps and towns. These are areas where murderous paramilitary groups still operate in Columbia. The implied violence of these tiny abandoned ‘wasp nests’ hidden in the Columbian landscape is sobering- there’s so many of them.

Rafael Gómezbarros, Paracos, 2009

Rafael Gómezbarros, Paracos, 2009

Finally, for those who can speak Spanish (regrettably I do not) , here is a great myspace video where Gómezbarros talks about Paracos, and other artworks, in his studio.

There are lots of mentions of his work traveling internationally, especially Casa Tormada, but I haven’t been able to find out if that has happened, or where they might be. With the disturbing wave of anti-immigrant laws displacing  workers in the USA, now would be a great time for Gómezbarros’ visually arresting swarms to pay a visit. z end

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The 27 Happiest Invertebrates In The World

Recently a friend sent out one of those gawker-style lists calculated to encourage maximum sharing and reposting: The 26 Happiest Animals In The World. It’s full of aww and squee, but one thing stood out- It’s absolutely devoid of invertebrates! How can that be, when invertebrates are the most numerous, most diverse, and clearly the happiest organisms on this planet? Well the answer is because they have their own list. And here it is.

The 27 Happiest Invertebrates In The World

Here are some ridiculously happy invertebrates who have clearly figured something out that they will hopefully share with the rest of us when they are done laying eggs in our laundry or whatever.

1. This Jumping Spider

Jurgen Otto

Secret To Happiness: Wins hands-down for the most insane mating display ever.
Favorite Thing: Surviving mating.

2. This Tardigrade

Tagide deCarvalho

Secret To Happiness: Slowly taking things as they come.
Favorite Thing: Being absolutely indestructible.

3. This Mantis

internets

Secret To Happiness: Not afraid to strut her stuff for the opposite sex.
Favorite Thing:  Consuming the opposite sex.

4. This Snail

internets

Secret To Happiness: Has a stick.
Favorite Thing: Stick.

5. This Fungus Gnat

BBC

Secret To Happiness: Glowing like a star on a comfy hammock made of slime.
Favorite Thing: Being a top New Zealand Tourist Attraction.

6. This Happy-Face Spider

Darlyne Murawski

Secret To Happiness: Having a great big happy face emblazoned on her ass.
Favorite Thing: Living in Hawaii year-round.

7. This Dragonfly

Secret To Happiness: Flying to and fro in the warm sun over sparkling rivers.
Favorite Thing: The Clean Water Act.

8. This Pill Bug

igor siwanowicz

Secret To Happiness:  Rolling up into a ball whenever life gets tough.
Favorite Thing: Not having to return to the sea to lay eggs.

9. This Japanese Beetle

Secret To Happiness: Stopping to smell the roses. Then eating them.
Favorite Thing: Launching self into street-lamps.

10. This Imperial Cicada

Alexey Yakovlev

Secret To Happiness:  Of all cicadas, singing it loudest and proudest.
Favorite Thing: Plant sap.

11. This Deer Tick

TGIQ

Secret To Happiness: Living life to its fullest.
Favorite Thing:  Puppies, and you.

12. This Argentine Ant Supercolony

Alex Wild

Secret To Happiness: Ability to colonize every continent except Antarctica.
Favorite Thing: Antarctica’s getting warmer by the minute.

13. This Arrow Worm

Steven Haddock

Secret To Happiness: Keeping trim on a diet of planktonic copepods.
Favorite Thing: Styling its facial hair every morning.

14. This Acorn Weevil

TGIQ

Secret To Happiness:  Dancing on a nut like she’s on top of the world!
Favorite Thing:  Ovipositing.

15. This Moth

Mike Tidd

Secret To Happiness:  Knows that being hairy isn’t scary.
Favorite Thing: Toasting each evening with a glass of fermented nectar.

16. This Mantis Shrimp

ocean.nationalgeographic.com

Secret To Happiness:  Wearing the punchiest fashions while throwing fast punches.
Favorite Thing:  Seeing better than you can.

17. This Antlion

Farhan Bokhari

Secret To Happiness:  Giving his all to his fans, every day.
Favorite Thing: Wiggling his elegant palps for the audience.

18. This Parasitic Wasp

Rsguy

Secret To Happiness: An unshakeable belief that we are on this planet to help others.
Favorite Thing: Sleeping in late.

19. This Bdellid Rotifer

microscopy-uk

Secret To Happiness: Not needing a man for 30 million years.
Favorite Thing: Spinning and Spinning and Spinning.

20. Pelagic Sea Slug

Gary Cobb

Secret To Happiness:  Flamboyantly dancing through life.
Favorite Thing: Eating jellyfish and incorporating their nematocysts.

21. This Leafcutter Ant

Alex Wild

Secret To Happiness:  Living with 8 million organic vegetarian farmers.
Favorite Thing: Promenading with a parasol.

22. This Sea Cucumber

Bill Curtsinger

Secret To Happiness: Told by naysayers that sea cucumbers are benthic, but won’t hear of it- It’s time to swim!
Favorite Thing:  Expelling its digestive tract onto naysayers.

23. This Baby Cuttlefish

ZSecret To Happiness:  Facing the world with optimism, anticipation, and skin that can change color to match every single float at Mardi Gras.
Favorite Thing:  Surprises.

24. This Giant Tube Worm Colony

Viki Ferrini

Secret To Happiness:  Living life on the edge.
Favorite Thing:  Has  secret crush on the deep-sea submersible Alvin.

25. This Centipede

Sam Martin

Secret To Happiness: Grabbing life by the forcipules and not letting go until it stops struggling so dang much.
Favorite Thing: Being a mom.

26. This Cassiopea Jellyfish

Secret To Happiness:  Standing the world on its head.
Favorite Thing:  Making its own food.

27. These Lord Howe Island Stick Insects

Joel Sartore

Secret To Happiness: Living for each other no matter what the odds.
Favorite Thing: Not being extinct.

z end

 

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Chirp Across the Chasm

There simply is no insight more rewarding, lasting, and revealing than inquiry and discovery of our natural world through evidence and research. Seriously, how many days and nights have you hiked through a forest and wondered what it really sounded like in the Age of Dinosaurs? My childhood imaginations would run wild, fueled after watching Land of the Lost’s stop-motion beasties. Even as an adult I would marvel at what strange sounds Parasaurolophus or The Best Dinosaur would have sounded like. Did they roar? Hiss? Trill? Chirp? Gleefully, paleontologists aren’t content to merely wonder, but their wonder drives them to interpret all the delicious fossil evidence to get some real answers to not just how things walked, ate and flew, but what they truly sounded like, slowly bringing forth an ancient chorus, one painstaking note at a time.

The latest bit of paleo-awesome is the recent report of the Jurassic Katydid Archaboilus musicus , which unlike Parasaurolophus, has a lot of modern living cousins to compare instruments with. Combined with a fossil specimen so complete they could micro-analyze its wing morphology, scientists have been able to reconstruct its song:

I love the incredible bell-like ring of bush crickets to begin with, but add to the fact that this ancient instrument hasn’t been played in over 165 million years, and I’m just enraptured.

And if that wasn’t insect-art-y enough, some silly modern ape-lad has gone and made a song about the song, singing along in time with the reconstituted stridulations:

So there you have it, a bunch of paleontologists hunched over mathematical models of wing venation has added more infectious wonder to the world that wasn’t there before.  Curiosity leads to inquiry which leads to research and testing which leads to more marvel. Finding out the true depth of this world doesn’t take away from the wonder, it only adds. Doesn’t that make you want to sing?

Chirp! z end

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Making Iron Gall Ink

After reading my series of holiday posts on galls, my friend Karima excitedly reminded me of one of the earliest forms of gall art: INK! And this month we finally made some!

Karima Cammell owns and operates Castle In The Air, a cornucopian cabinet of fine-art supplies, hand-bound journals, quill pens, and unique inks from around the world. Not only is it a showcase of craft materials, the store also boasts a gallery of other artists from their many workshops, including Karima’s own beautiful ink paintings.

She already had a supply most of the ingredients: My job was to bring some local oak galls and rainwater. We could have easily used distilled water, but when you’re making a recipe that’s thousands of years old, there’s a certain joy in getting as archaic as possible.

Apple Galls from California coast live oak. Photo by Karima Cammell

I collected the oak galls on a rainy weekend in Marin County, near some particularly gall-besotted coast live oaks- Oak apple galls are huge and pithy, often as wood-hard as the trees they grow on. Pocked around the surface are tiny holes, created when the newly emerged adult takes off to mate, lay more eggs in oaks, then expire. Interestingly, some of the holes might also have been created by wasps called inquilines– gall wasps that find another wasp’s gall, and lay their own eggs as well, to grow into uninvited tenants.

After collecting a handful of these beautiful sculptures, it was time to visit Karima, and pummel them into powder. The ingredients Karima used came from a kit made by Abraxas in Basel, Switzerland. As it turned out, the kit also contained a large bag of pre-ground oak galls. Gallotannic acid is the essential compound for making good ink. It can be found everywhere in nature, from tree bark, chestnut wood, even pomegranate peels. But gallotannins are crazy-concentrated in wasp galls.  Just for fun, we decided to add some of our local wasp galls to the mix, helpfully ground to dust by Karima’s daughters, who were on hand to assist, learning about wasp galls as they went.

So in case it wasn’t clear by now, iron gall ink is a freaky-old recipe. Bach used it for his compositions. Da Vinci doodled with it. The constitution of the United States was drafted with it. Heck, the Dead Sea Scrolls were written with iron gall ink. The ingredients list for Iron Gall Ink is therefore fittingly mysterious-sounding:

  • Oak galls, milled or pulverized       90 gr
  • Rainwater or distilled water        400 ml
  • Gum Arabic, pulverized                     10 gr
  • Vitriol (Ferric II Sulphate)                   30 gr
  • Red wine                                                    3 table-spoons

Though the list reads like an exotic magical potion, they were all common and readily-available ingredients in many parts of the ancient world thanks to trade and industry. Here’s a great breakdown on the origins of gall ink ingredients. In fact, now’s as good a time as any to mention the informative awesomeness that is the Iron Gall Ink Website. It goes deeper into the chemistry and archival preservation, and is well worth a look.

Urn as you learn. Photo by Karima Cammell

The first order of business was the most immediately satisfying. 90 grams of beige powdered oak galls and 30 grams bright green iron sulphate were placed in a ceramic urn, and the the water is added. Instantly the mixture became an opaquely dark purple-black, creating a black insoluble octahedral complex known as ferric pyrogallate.  According to Abraxas’ wonderfully medieval instructions, we were to “strew it with an iron staff, adding the rest of the water and red wine.” Afterwards the gum arabic is added to keep the pigment suspended in the liquid. The mixture is left to ferment for a few days in a warm place, “stirred hourly”. None of us had a proper “iron staff” on hand, but I brought a giant railroad spike as a helpful substitute.

Bottles fit for an imp. Photo by Karima Cammell

After a few days of waiting and patient stirring, the ink was ready to put into bottles! The deep-purple mixture was carefully poured into several small vials, and into each was added several drops of clove oil, to prevent mold from developing. Afterwards we all sat down for another fun event: making labels! A delightful assortment of quills, nibs, labels and sealing-waxes were brought forth. The daughters came up with the title “Oak Wasp Ink Supply” for our newly created ink consortium. My handwriting was the least legible- I’ve always been terrible with penmanship, but I didn’t care- nothing is more fun than making mongoose-scrawls with your own handmade ink! The ink flowed from our nibs as a deep purple, oxidizing to a dark rust-black once it dried on the paper.

Selection of fyne products crafted by Oak Wasp Ink Supply. Photo by Karima Cammell

As we were all seated about the large project-table making labels, one of the daughters noticed some “flies” on the other oak apple galls I had left for them.. It appears some of them were still emerging! The nearly-invisible creators of our ink had made an appearance. We found at least 4 tiny gall wasps, coming from the two fresher-looking galls I had brought. Under a loupe we could see their own inky-dark exoskeletons highlighted in beautiful glittering iridescent green. A visitation by living calligraphic faeries.

Newly-emerged oak gall wasp, cleaning its antennae. Photo by Karima Cammell

Similar-looking gall wasp. Mine was prettier. Photo by Peter J. Bryant

A similar-looking gall wasp to the one we found. Ours was prettier. Photo by Peter J. Bryant

Now what to do with my new bottles of ink? Perhaps I’ll take one of these classes and put them to good use! z end

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At some point I just got tired of stinging his crotch

I recently nearly completed the game Deadly Creatures for the Wii, possibly the only game where the main character is a tarantula and/or scorpion. But at some point, I confess I just got weary of crotch-stinging.

Tarantula has come to kick ass and chew crickets, and she’s all out of crickets.

Though humans show up from time to time, the entire game is told from the perspective of these two invertebrates, switching from tarantula to scorpion every other chapter. You get to spend hours crawling through abandoned junkyards and desert tunnels, getting into graphic fights with lizards, snakes, bombardier beetles, tarantula hawks, mantids, and other testy creatures.

Mostly, though, it’s a lot of walking through tunnels.

Which oddly for me is the most soothing part.  Wouldn’t you love to crawl around like a tarantula or scorpion? I know I would! I spent many happy hours just doodling around, crawling up and under things, admiring the somber environments and well-crafted animations of all the invertebrates.  Each protagonist has their own battle moves, and by shaking the Wii remote like a spastic maniac you somehow are able to perform brutal finishing moves on your opponents.


(warning: contains virtual invertebrate combat)

I never really enjoy combat in games- I’m happiest exploring virtual worlds, not having to slay things for points. Which of course is the main goal of Deadly Creatures. The entire game is sadly like one of those real-life Japanese Bug Fight cage matches that I find so reprehensible and cruel. I keep expecting to hear one of those macho Animal Planet announcers blathering on how X-treme it all is while I’m stabbing rats in the back, their blood temporarily “staining” the camera. Ew.

Remember those humans I mentioned? Their story only vaguely intersects with the world below. Mostly they serve to shake things up, or provide a little dialogue in an otherwise wordless game. But after offing countless nasty beasts, wouldn’t you know it, at some point you have to battle a surly human too.

Which is really where my patience ended. How long must somebody endure a cut sequence of  a scorpion crawling into Billy Bob Thornton‘s pants, over, and over, and over? Isn’t there some sort of game-designer crime on the books that says you can only foist the same cut-sequences on a player so many times?


(warning: contains perverted scorpion and badly rendered CG human.)

After 6 tries I finally threw in my Deadly Towel and watched the end sequence on YouTube.  Where the ending just.. ends. Oh well.  It was at least sufficiently buggy up until then!

But at least this strange game taught me a few things:

  1. Spiders, lizards, and other predators always emit a guttural screech before fighting.
  2. Seriously, the battle cries are important. If you don’t do it, you can’t fight. Fact.
  3. Scorpions are vicious back-stabbing sadists. And they can mow lawns.
  4. Tarantulas can leap 5″ into the air, spin, and shoot webbing like spider-man.
  5. Mites can fly, somehow, and sound like bees when attacking in swarms.
  6. The Wii remote and Wii nunchuk provide absolutely no gaming poise or dignity.
  7. There is a hilarious motion capture video that was released along with the game.
  8. Ditto for this insurance ad starring one of their lizards.
  9. Despite the fact that nobody else bought this game, I  hope they make a (less gory) sequel. z end
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Tumbled Swarm

A few insect-art gems from my tumblr page this Tuesday:

J.C. Leyendecker, Saturday Evening Post, 1932

JAW Cooper, Antianthe expansa, 2010

Savinac, Néocide, 1970s

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The Insect Book of Utamaro

Whilst hunting down information online (for an entirely different post on Japanese insect art), I found several delicately beautiful images by the famed ukiyo-e artist Utamaro, all tantalizingly referred to as pages from a 1788 work entitled “Picture Book of Selected Insects With Crazy Poems“:

Utamaru, Ehon Mushi Erami, 1788

Utamaro, Ehon Mushi Erami, 1788

Utamaro, Ehon Mushi Erami, 1788

Well, insects and crazy poetry go together like insects and crazy bloggers, so I was not content to rest once I found out such a book existed. Frustratingly, though many museum databases have images to view online, none of them provide any insight into the “crazy” poems. Thankfully the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge has the entire 2-volume set translated. The site’s clever interactivity also gives context to the many allusions and deft wordplay packed into each poem . Plus it has the 2 other books in the series, which deal with crazy bird poetry and crazy seashell poetry.

The Fitzwilliam site also calls the book by its actual name, Ehon Mushi Erami, which translates as Picture Book of Crawling Creatures (though mushi is often used for insects, it actually is a catch-all name for things what crawl, which is why frogs and lizards are included).

So where did the ‘crazy’ come from? Turns out the book is a collaboration of a group of comic poets, a bunch of wags who would get together and compose kyōka, which means ‘light verse’, or ‘mad song’. Kyōka was mostly a parody of serious short-form poetry. Utamaro’s images in the books might be lyrical, but the poetry is all about love, lust, and silly double entendres.

Just how crazy are they? Well here’s a couple of my favorites, courtesy of translator John T. Carpenter.

Earwig,  hasami-mushi

Though by name
you are the ‘scissors insect’
when you try to cut off
ties with a lover of the past
you cannot sever cleanly.
–Katsura no Mayuzumi

Dragonfly, kagerō

If you no longer love me,
then leave, like a dragonfly
that wants to fly away,
yet I won’t let you escape
from my long sticky pole!
  –Ichifuji Nitaka

Perhaps it would help to mention that, er,  ‘long sticky pole’ refers to the long sticks used to catch (and eat) dragonflies and other insects? Actually no matter, it’s still kinda naughty.

Heck. even the furtive bagworm can’t escape from being accused of amorous intentions as it pupates:

Bagworm, ninomushi

On a pitch-dark night,
when one can’t even guess
which way is East or West,
the bagworm hides its lust
in a cloak of invisibility
–Tachibana no Uranari

As you can see, they’re all pretty silly, though ‘crazy’ might be a stretch for today’s reader. I’m sure they caused a stir in the late 1700’s though!  I recommend paging through the entire set- the woodblock prints are elegant scenes, with the celebrated invertebrate subjects crawling through the greenery, secretly looking for love. z end

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Record of the Insect War

Over the holidays lots of friends sent me this glorious link of Brian Chan‘s Insect Origami, beautiful sculptures of multi-legged invertebrates created by folding a single piece of paper.

Brian Chan, Scutigera, 2006

Brian Chan, Mayfly, 2006

Coincidentally, I watched a documentary with my relatives over the holidays called Between The Folds, a wonderful look at origami. The film lets the artists themselves talk about what drew them to paper folding, and how it is an art, a science, an artistic science, and a scientific art. In amongst all the glorious polygonal paper topology was an offhand  reference by physicist Robert Lang, about the “Bug Wars” of the ’90s. Bug Wars! I had to find out.

Jun Maekawa, kabutomushi, 1993

Like any community of enthusiasts, origami has spawned  many conventions, clubs, and competitions. At one such club known as Origami Tanteidan Jun Maekawa decided to one-up everybody in 1992 by taking a multi-legged rhinoceros beetle model (no simple feat in itself) and add outspread wings to its design. “Then,” says the club’s ‘Insect War‘ page, “the origami insect war got full-scale.” If somebody brought a winged beetle one year, the next somebody made a winged stag beetle. Last year’s spider begets a scorpion. Origami enthusiasts would gleefully analyze each others’ crease patterns, then scour the natural world for an invertebrate nobody had folded before and bring that to the next meeting.

The result is an endless swarm of insect origami, entire Flickr groups comprised entirely of folded sculptures representing insects, arachnids, crustaceans, and other arthropods. The Flickr group gives you a taste of the utterly amazing creatures that are being created. As well as being one of the artists profiled in Between The Folds, Lang also expounds a bit about the Bug Wars and the science of origami in a New Yorker article. Lang considers his creations to be compositions, and each sculpture is an ‘Opus’, much like a musical work. Sure, make fun of him if you like, but not until you’ve made your own damn gerromorpha out of a single piece of paper.

Because I can’t help it, here’s a bunch more obscure beasts, each made from a single piece of paper:

Robert Lang, Stag Beetle BP, opus 477, 2005

Robert Lang, Dragonfly varileg, opus 453, 2003

Petr Stuchlý, pseudoscorpion (chelifer cancroides), 2011

Seriously, the amount of obscure arachnids just makes me want to collapse into a disbelieving heap of happy. Who thinks to make a paper ricinuleid? That’s utterly bonkers!

Phil Kuhns, Katydid, 2011

Victoria Serova, Mantis Shrimp, 2009

Victoria Serova, Mantis Shrimp, 2009

One thing’s for sure, I really want to make an origami insect. Perhaps though I’ll start with the insect basics, as right now the only origami I can make is one of those ‘fortune tellers’ from grade school! z end

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Raise a Glass of Insects

 

Happy New Year! Though perhaps everybody is perhaps a little tired of celebrating things by now, I finally have time to talk about my favorite insect-laced booze, so let’s go!

For a few years now I have been rounding out my December birthday with a small toast from a very special bottle, an Italian liquor called Alkermes, produced by the Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella. Its bright red color (and its name) comes from one of the earliest dyes in the world, a scale insect whose bright color was the prize of textile manufacturers and physicians for centuries.

Yup, those spheres aren’t galls, but the insects themselves.

Qirmez means scarlet in Arabic, and the name is also given to the insect itself, Kermes vermilio. These small insects feed on Mediterranean oaks, and the immobile females produce carminic acid in record amounts to deter predators, giving them a deep red color. Its ability to lend vitality to wool and silk led to its belief that it could restore health and vitality in humans as well. The 8th-century Assyrian physician Yuhanna ibn Masawaih is credited for inventing the non-alcoholic version of alchermes, a recipe combining all sorts of exotic and revered ingredients. It was used as a general tonic to restore vitality and cure palpitations and other ailments for centuries. Among other physicians, its recipe was passed down to an order of Domnican monks who created  pharmaceuticals out of their church, Santa Maria Novella. Production of medicines became profitable, and was eventually handed over to a separate business by the 15th century. By the 1800s liquors were being created, including Alkermes, sold as a powerful restorative.

By then the oak-sipping Kermes insect had been traded out for Cochineal, the dye that most natural carmine is made from today. Cochineal is also a scale insect Dactylopius coccus of the superfamily Coccoidea, but hails instead from Central and South America, feeding on cacti. For centuries colonial Mexico provided the Spanish empire with a near-monopoly of cochineal by exploiting indigenous labor and resources, its high value crashing sharply only after the appearance of the plant-derived dye Alizarin.

Whether from Kermes or Dactylopius, the bright color of Alkermes has endured the centuries. Today it is still manufactured in small amounts in the same historic location. Alkermes is used today as a flavoring in Italian desserts, or imbibed neat as an herbal liquor.

If making it sounds complicated, Getting ahold of a bottle is not an easy task either. In the USA, there are currently no importers of Santa Maria Novella, due to some international tussle. But back in 2008, they were still importing them to a couple of stores in LA and New York, so I got lucky.

I had to wait until a friend was visiting LA for a vacation. I handed her a wad of cash and directions where to go. Unfortunately she returned by plane, so the large glass liquid bottle had to remain in her LA friend’s house for months until my wife and I visited Los Angeles ourselves. We decided to meet our friend’s friends at the newly renovated Getty Villa in Malibu, a famous antiquity collection styled after an Italian Villa.  After having a great time touring around, we had an official hand-off in a fountain grotto!

Alkermes Transfer Rendezvous Point

After such a journey in its acquisition, I decided not to open it until as many of the 7 people involved in getting it to me could be at once place as possible. This turned out to be my friend’s birthday nearly a year afterwards.  Four of us each poured a mere 20ml of the bright red fluid. The 35% alchohol content meant that 20ml was plenty strong for a sipping liquor! If you’ve ever had an Italian herbal liquor, then this to be a particularly smooth one, with a hefty amount of spice, and flavors that linger far past the inebriation. Michelle Krell of the sensory blog GlassPetalSmoke describes it far better than I ever could:

“Alkermes reveals notes of cardamom, vanilla, cinnamon and coriander seed at first sip. Middle notes of clove, orange and star anise glide along the palate with provocative spicy hints that quietly fade. A shadow of rose appears in the finish, enhancing the visual relationship one has with the scarlet color of this sweet and aromatic drink.”

Since then I have been miserly hoarding it, only bringing it out to toast something truly special to me, so long as I share it with a few friends. This last winter solstice we toasted my birthday with two friends while sitting in natural hot springs under the stars! Best bug juice, ever. z end

 

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