Why Big Ant Studios?
Big Ant at Wilshire Village Apartment Studio
Biologists, especially those who work with mass phenomena, like geneticists, population biologists and ecologists, are mostly drawn to experimental models that can be found in a wide variety of habitats and environments. The rationale is that you don't want to spend a lot of research time looking for your organisms, and the search should yield a sampling population of perhaps thirty or so organisms. If you have to spend a lot of time looking for a study population, it is not suitable for a research protocol. Geneticists were at a standstill until the Pasadena Cal Tech group in 1910 under Thomas Hunt Morgan began working on Drosophila melanogaster, and now we know more about fruit flies than about most any other organism on earth. Botanists are drawn to the ubiquitous grasses, and entomologists everywhere can locate ants. They are an almost perfect subject. Colonies often have large numbers of workers and a sample can be drawn without affecting the survival of the colony as a whole. Ants are an almost perfect subject for biologists.
When I retired abruptly from a health crisis, I soon became confronted with a vacuum in my daily routine. I had always been interested in art, so I decided to take some art classes at the Houston Art League. The first project from the instructor, Patrick Palmer, was to construct a colorful sign or other piece for inclusion in the Westheimer Art Festival booth that we were to host in Fall 1995. We were given a 4' x 4' piece of plywood to do whatever we wanted, tools and paint were provided. Students were beginners, non-artists for the most part, so there was no pressure to produce a masterpiece. We were just having fun. In a week we were cutting the plywood, and my outlay was greeted with quizzical looks. Only when I assembled the six pieces could the outline of the nine foot ant be appreciated. At the festival we were one of the most colorful booths, and no project was bigger then my colorful Pseudomyrma gracilis.
She graced my kitchen wall for a decade before I moved her to the back porch where everybody could see her. She became a neighborhood landmark, and I gave directions to my apartment in reference to her, "Come to the end of Branard, and when you see the nine foot ant, that is my apartment, #12." As my art career progressed, it was natural to call my studio, "Big Ant Studios," the plural because I work in so many styles.
When my life at Wilshire Village came to an end as the apartment complex was demolished, I moved to a much smaller apartment on Crocker Street near Montrose and West Gray. There was no room for the big ant, so it now is mouldering away under the patio deck in the back. I'm not without a big ant image, however. I have carved a large block (24" x 49") with an ant design, Pogonomyrmex occidentalis, the harvester ant, and have printed and posted it in various public situations around Houston (see Street Art).
When I retired abruptly from a health crisis, I soon became confronted with a vacuum in my daily routine. I had always been interested in art, so I decided to take some art classes at the Houston Art League. The first project from the instructor, Patrick Palmer, was to construct a colorful sign or other piece for inclusion in the Westheimer Art Festival booth that we were to host in Fall 1995. We were given a 4' x 4' piece of plywood to do whatever we wanted, tools and paint were provided. Students were beginners, non-artists for the most part, so there was no pressure to produce a masterpiece. We were just having fun. In a week we were cutting the plywood, and my outlay was greeted with quizzical looks. Only when I assembled the six pieces could the outline of the nine foot ant be appreciated. At the festival we were one of the most colorful booths, and no project was bigger then my colorful Pseudomyrma gracilis.
She graced my kitchen wall for a decade before I moved her to the back porch where everybody could see her. She became a neighborhood landmark, and I gave directions to my apartment in reference to her, "Come to the end of Branard, and when you see the nine foot ant, that is my apartment, #12." As my art career progressed, it was natural to call my studio, "Big Ant Studios," the plural because I work in so many styles.
When my life at Wilshire Village came to an end as the apartment complex was demolished, I moved to a much smaller apartment on Crocker Street near Montrose and West Gray. There was no room for the big ant, so it now is mouldering away under the patio deck in the back. I'm not without a big ant image, however. I have carved a large block (24" x 49") with an ant design, Pogonomyrmex occidentalis, the harvester ant, and have printed and posted it in various public situations around Houston (see Street Art).
