From out of the basement, the Bogosaurus awakens!

I made this papier-mâché sculpture when I was 16; ’twas a project for a high school art class. Now I have reunited with the beast, after it had long been dormant in my parents’ basement. At the time I laid down the flour-soaked strips of newspaper, I referred to the sculpted alien as simply “my creature.” Evidently, I am long overdue to give this creature a name and a story. I am working on that now. Tentatively calling it a Bogosaurus; and it’s first issue is forthcoming!

When the whole Studlar family moved out of our old home in West Virginia, I thought that could not keep the sculpture. It’s combination of length and height made it wholly impractical to transport by way of our rental vans, which were already overloaded with stuff. In the final move-out, I had played an insane and exhausting game of “Tetris” in the vehicles. I filled suitcases with books, nested containers in containers like Russian dolls, stuffed all empty spaces with soft things like clothes, put items like staplers and surge protectors under the seats, and arranged and rotated every piece of the puzzle in an effort to use every millimeter of available space. It was around midnight and the snow was falling outside. Weary from the protracted effort and with sore forearms from all the stuffing, I took my final photos of the creature under the basement’s fluorescent lights, thinking it would then join the trash pile, with the moldy clothes hamper and the cans of solidified paint. It seemed an undignified ending to such a memorable creation. But my dad proclaimed that we could keep the creature. I declared that impossible. He suggested putting it atop the load; I objected because that would prevent the driver from seeing out the back. He suggested the car-top carrier; and I noted that it was already full of stuff. Then I had a flash of insight. Or maybe a solution this obvious is not worthy of being called insight. I got out my pocket-knife and cut the creature’s tail off. The long tail we put on top of the load in the back of the van. The body we placed in the front-seat, where there was just enough room, amidst the driver’s overnight back and snack food and CDs. Upon arrival to our new home in Asheville, North Carolina, I taped the beast back together. It now stands proud atop the mantle. I am working on inventing its science-fictional biology.

Bogosaurus sculpture  ©Ross Wood Studlar. Photo ©Susan Moyle Studlar.

Of Zines, Forest Wonders, and Aliens

Much has happened in the past month. My journeys have taken me to the bountiful forests of the pacific northwest, and back to the mysterious deserts and caves of the southwest, a few times. Alongside fellow artist Lesley McClintock, I had a successful exhibit at the Portland Zine Symposium. In preparation, we had a memorable art-jam session, as well as an “open mike” gathering and reading, at the Independent Publishing Resources Center (IPRC). The IPRC had tools ranging from old-fashioned letterpress and printing press to high tech computers and scanners, and varied cartoonists and zinesters working away to finish their publications for the big show. There was an energy present, which reminded me of my alma mater The Center for Cartoon Studies, and made me envious of the independent artists of Portland, who have regular access to such resources. At the symposium, I sold or traded a stack of my own comic books, and returned with a pile of new and different works by the other exhibitors, which I am gradually reading.

Back at Carlsbad Caverns, I reintroduced myself to the world of caves, and worked frantically in preparation for guiding my first tours of Lower Cave and Slaughter Canyon Cave. No sooner had I completed these interpretive missions, past such luminary speleothems as the Texas Toothpick, the Monarch, and Skeletor (shown below, driving his slaves), than I had to depart for my next expedition to the west coast.

This one brought me first to Seattle, then to Mazama, Washington. I was witness to wonder, both in the mighty forests of Mazama, and the wedding of Brad Halm and Erika Kercher. Brad is an ol' Homestead friend of mine, and co-founder of the Seattle Urban Farm Company. Erika is an Outward Bound instructor, based in Mazama, hence the wedding location of their favorite place to hike, climb, canoe, and grow a garden. For me, the wedding was another Homestead reunion, with multiple Homestead and post-Homestead comrades sharing a cabin in the woods, with camping space in its yard, which I capitalized on. The ceremony took place in a field, against a backdrop of towering evergreens and volcanic rock-faces. It would be hard to imagine a better send-off to the next phase of life, with the spirits of earth as witness. At night, the lights of countless stars glimmered through the black void of space; perhaps they bore witness as well.

On my drives between Carlsbad and the airport in Albuquerque, I contemplated visitors from space. For betwixt these locations on Route 285 is Roswell, a small New Mexican town, whose name, for the world, has become synonymous with UFOs. I finally made landing at the International UFO Museum and Research Center. Established in 1994, the Museum is devoted to the UFO phenomenon, and especially the "Roswell Incident." In 1947, on the morning after a violent thunderstorm, rancher William “Mack” Brazel found strange wreckage and debris scattered across his sheep ranch in the desert of southeastern New Mexico, and later made the 75-mile journey to Roswell to report it to civilian and military authorities. After inspection, the air force announced to the press that a flying saucer had crash-landed, but changed their story to a weather balloon a few hours later. At the UFO Museum, the walls are covered with affidavits and testimonials from witnesses, who claimed that the flying machine was from another planet, and contained materials not of this earth; that the military recovered alien bodies along with the wreckage; invented the weather balloon story as a cover up; and silenced anyone who knew otherwise with bribes and threats. The Roswell Incident makes for an intriguing story, whatever the origins of the aircraft in question.

Especially in my youth, I regarded the possibility of extraterrestrial visitors with a special sense of awe—and fear. While vampires and werewolves could send shivers across my frame, I had confidence that these creatures were pure fantasy. Aliens on the other hand, might be real. When I saw the 1993 film Fire in the Sky, I became apprehensive about walking in the woods alone, especially in my home territory of West Virginia. I was concerned that I might be next, and didn't want the little grey men to put a needle in my eye. In recent years, I have become less afraid of otherworldly travelers, and more concerned about global warming and nuclear war. After revisiting some of my childhood wonders and fears at Roswell, I expressed them in my sketchbook.

I wish happy and safe journey to my readers, and hope that you stay clear from all threats. terrestrial or extraterrestrial!

First Contact in Ancient New Mexico

In recent travels with my parents, I experienced more of the great state of New Mexico—the state which looks and feels like the set of a science fiction movie. I'll have more to say about the otherworldly frontiers of the land of enchantment soon. For now, I'll share a piece of my own science fiction art, inspired by New Mexican artifacts.

At Three Rivers Petroglyph Site, near to Alamogordo, the rocky hills are docrated with more than 21,000 glyphs, chiseled into stone by the Jornada Mogollon people, between 600 and 1100 years ago. The images feature birds, insects, mammals, humans, circular symbols, abstract geometric patterns, and animals with geometric patterns on their bodies. A trail winds through the gallery of stones, and gives us a rare and up close view of the mysterious artwork. So many centuries hence, it is hard to know the meanings of images—archeologists and others can make but educated guesses.

We observed a bug-eyed creature, etched in the stone. We speculated that it was a record of humankind's first contact with aliens, centuries before the Roswell incident. I imagined what such an event might look like, and recorded this dream in my sketchbook.

UPDATE on previous post: After the rainstorm, the mighty thunderhead of bats rose from the cave. Evidently, the rains brought out more insects, and brought more bats from other regions for a stay over in our bat cave, just as the inns in Portland become crowded with travellers when a convention on local organic food takes place. Unfortunately for us, the additional bats didn't stay at our cave for long, and we have returned to a small but captivating nightly exodus of bats.

CURRENT EXHIBITION: On August 10 and 11, I am exhibiting at Portland Zine Symposium (Oregon), alongside fellow artist Lesley McClintock! I shall exhibit and sell my comic books Frog Stories, The Raven and the Crayfish, and others, as well as posters (Thunderbird!) Lesley shall offer prints, illustrations, and paintings, taking inspiration from Crater Lake and the forests of the Pacific Northwest. It shall also be great to see my comrades Chris Seigel and Nolan Calisch of Wealth Underground Farm!

Topmost photo by © Susan Moyle Studlar