The Logical Lizard

Many years ago, when I started recovering and researching meteorites, and chronicling my adventures for various scientific publications, I never imagined that I’d one day be co-starring in a television series about my unusual profession.

Two years of work have finally come to fruition. Tonight at 7 pm local (9 pm Eastern and Pacific) my new series, Meteorite Men has its world premiere on Science Channel and Science Channel HD. I have a lot of friends and colleagues in Arizona who have some interest in my work and—much as I trust them to behave—it seemed a little impractical to hold a screening party at my house. Also, my cat, Bonnie, doesn’t really enjoy visitors as much as I do.

So, a meeting was arranged with Tony Vaccaro, a handsome and enthusiastic gentleman who owns Tucson’s stellar Brooklyn Pizza Company (a favorite of mine; yes it is real New York-style pizza, and I should know). Tony recently acquired the property that used to be North nightclub on Fourth Avenue, and transformed the space into a wonderful astronomy-themed and solar powered club by night and cafe by day —Sky Bar. With a telescope on the roof beaming space images downstairs onto widescreen TVs, Sky Bar was clearly, and immediately, the best possible location choice for a series of Meteorite Men screening parties. The first of those is tonight: 6 pm pre-party with live music courtesy of Sky Bar’s open mic, followed by the series world premiere at 7 pm sharp. I have done a lot of television, but there is something different about this: it is exciting, and somewhat bewildering.

One of my most satisfying professional projects in recent years was to design, edit, and publish the Oscar E. Monnig Meteorite Collection Catalog, in association with eminent meteorite scholar and geologist Dr. Arthur Ehlmann of TCU, Fort Worth. Oscar Monnig was one of the greatest meteorite collectors of all time. His family owned a chain of department stores in Fort Worth; Oscar was a successful, admired, and well-liked businessman, but his true passion was space rocks. During the 1940s, ’50s and ’60s, Oscar amassed one of the largest private meteorite collections in the world. In an act of amazing generosity he left the collection, along with a sizable cash endowment, to TCU. His friend—and now my friend—Dr. Ehlmann became the custodian of the collection, and a portion of the endowment was used to build a truly beautiful meteorite museum at TCU.

The great Oscar Monnig. Photograph courtesy of Nancy Arnold.

Oscar didn’t have any children of his own, but in the course of my work, I happened to meet Oscar’s goddaughter, Nancy, who now lives here in Arizona. A charming and gracious lady, she immediately became a great supporter of our Monnig catalog project, and made available to me a series of historic, and never-before-seen photos of Oscar. We included them in the book, and they added a splendid personal dimension to it.

At the Tucson gem show a couple of years ago, we held a publication party for the catalog, and Dr. Ehlmann traveled out here from Texas to sign copies. Nancy drove down from Phoenix for the event, and brought with her a most extraordinary gift: Oscar’s favorite cufflinks. Elegant, sliver and black, and speckled with a field of small stars they are, for me, a tangible connection with one of my personal heroes.

Yesterday, Nancy sent me an email from Phoenix. She congratulated my co-host, Steve Arnold, and myself on the premiere of Meteorite Men. She also wrote: “Oscar is smiling at you from heaven.” I’m a scientist, and perhaps not the world’s most spiritual guy, but her comment was extremely moving for me.

So, tonight, when I watch the most important project of my career sparkle onto the widescreen TV at Sky Bar, I’ll be wearing Oscar’s cufflinks. I said to Nancy that if Oscar really is watching over us we cannot fail.

Please come down to Sky Bar tonight, say hello to the Logical Lizard, and raise a glass with me to Oscar and the other pioneers who dreamed of holding a fallen star in their hands. Without them, I would never have made it here.

As my regular readers know, I spent much of the second half of 2009 working on my new adventure TV series Meteorite Men for Science Channel. Once our initial shooting schedule had been completed, we were sent back out—several times—for additional filming. I was not entirely clear about how much time and effort would be required to film six one-hour episodes in the field, but I certainly am now.

The Logical Lizard (center, laughing) tries out some super hi-tech equipment at the Odessa meteorite crater while filming Meteorite Men the series. Photograph by Suzanne Morrison.

So, after many thousands of miles, a multitude of flights, a remarkable variety of hotels and motels including one diabolical casino in Nevada, a few boat trips, many weird adventures, eleven flat tires, and three stuck vehicles, we actually seem to have completed all the filming and I am back home just in time to start getting ready for the 2010 Tucson gem and mineral shows.

Before that happens, and before I jaunt off to California to do some PR for the new Science Channel series, I am most honored to be hosting the Flandrau Science Center’s Science Cafe this very evening, at the charming Cushing Street Bar & Restaurant. Science Cafe is a monthly event, organized by the Flandrau, in which a scientist gives a short talk about her/his specialty, in friendly and informal surroundings, followed by a question-and-answer session.

Not this time: More often than not, a suspected meteorite turns out to be a meteor-wrong. In this case a very large and very old tin can. Photograph by Suzanne Morrison.

Readers of this column will already know that I am a great fan of the Flandrau, so it is a privilege indeed to be part of their ongoing series. Admission is free, food and drinks are available for purchase, and the evening begins at 6 pm. I have been informed that “The Science Cafe fills up fast,” so an early arrival is recommended.

I will be talking about meteorites, meteorite hunting, the making of our TV series Meteorite Men, and why the study of rocks from outer space may hold clues to the formation of our Solar System and the origin of life on Earth.

I hope to see you there. Watch the video teaser here.

In 1989 I commenced the journey that would eventually lead me to become a hardcore vegetarian. And when I say “hardcore” it is directed only at myself. I am not one of those preachy or militant vegetarians. I think people should make their own decisions about what they put in their bodies and I usually don’t even mention my views on devouring birds, fish, cattle, etc., unless someone asks (or asks me to dinner). But I will make an exception today.

My decision was partly health based (I don’t need the hormones or antibiotics that are force-fed to factory farmed creatures), but mostly political: While I have no problem with humane hunting and farming practices, the imprisonment and torture of animals for the mass production of processed food is just wrong. If I were a more existential person I would perhaps posit that any life form guilty of abusing and slaughtering its distant cousins might eventually suffer horrible karmic retribution (Mad Cow Disease as an appetizer?).

My very wonderful parents at Chez Paul on the Ile de la Cite, Paris

My late mother, Gay Flint Notkin, was the first of many to be inconvenienced by my flesh-free diet. She was a gourmet cook who for decades lavished my father, brother, and myself with wonderful home cooked meals. But from the late ’80s on there would be no more breaded chicken cutlets, tuna steaks, pot roasts or escalope of veal for me, no matter how good they might have smelled. Many times Mom would cook something for the rest of the family, and then compose a second meal just for me. Yes, I was spoiled, but I was also tremendously appreciative. She learned how to fashion chick peas into hummus, experimented with all sorts of meat substitutes, and made a killer endive and blue cheese salad (I’m veggie, not vegan).

Our small family was a happy mix of non-practicing Jewish, non-practicing Christian and atheist/agnostic. As such, we made a tepid attempt to celebrate Hanukah and Christmas (as a budding environmentalist I was a fan of our small, reusable silver tinsel tree). Thanksgiving was special. Both my parents were American but spent most of their lives in Europe. They never forgot their roots, and so our annual Turkey Day was a heliocentric island of American tradition in an adored but slightly stuffy London. And Thanksgiving was the one exception I made: Out of respect for my favorite chef I would eat turkey one day a year, on the condition that it was a free range organic bird. My long-suffering mother went to considerable lengths each year to find such a thing. One dinner guest commented that same was “the scrawniest turkey I ever ate.” I explained that our free range bird had not been fattened up in a small cage on a corn-and-slop diet, but had enjoyed (I at least hoped) a happy and active life outdoors. My mom also made real cranberry sauce from scratch, exquisite (vegetarian) stuffing and all the other goodies. We’d set up the big table in the dining room, indulge in some excellent wine selected by my very worldly father and generally have a wonderful time.

Now that Mom is gone, I don’t really feel that comfortable at big Turkey Day dinners. I have been accused of being antisocial, but I think it is more that if the family I remember from childhood cannot be together, it feels awkward for me to participate in something festive. So, sometimes, I make my own plans. As recounted a few days ago in The Logical Lizard, this year I embarked upon an unusual and alternative Thanksgiving mission, traveling alone to the north shore of the Great Salt Lake to gaze in wonder at Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty.

For several glorious hours, I could have been the only person in the world. In the early afternoon, I saw a Land Rover pull up in the distance. Four people and two dogs got out, laughing and happy, and I felt a brief twinge of loneliness, wishing, perhaps, that I was with friends back in Tucson who would doubltess have welcomed me into the fold if I’d asked. I immediately decided to start the 110-mile drive back to Salt Lake City, but first went over to say hello to the new arrivals. The visitors were a delight: fun, vivacious Salt Lake City intellectuals (including a fellow journalist). They told me that they visit the Jetty every Thanksgiving, such a jaunt being “much better than sitting in front of the TV eating too much turkey.” I couldn’t agree more.

They invited me to join them for a picnic.

My fab new Utah friends

At first I declined, feeling I’d be imposing and perhaps secretly wanting to float in my solitary melancholy a bit longer. But they gently and kindly insisted and so I stayed. And it was my most uplifting Thanksgiving in many years. My new friends produced a truly amazing meal of smoked cheeses, stuffed olives, artisan bread, three different wines and a sense of humor that brightened up my day like an arc light. A little before sunset we all climbed up a steep cliff face to the north, and basked in an intoxicating view of the Spiral Jetty. At the hilltop I said my goodbyes and began the hike back to my truck. By the time I returned home to Tucson the following day, my new friends had found me on Facebook.

Long after dark I arrived back at my hotel near the SLC airport where I seemed to be the only guest. I checked that the restaurant would be open until 10 pm, then went up to my room for a couple of quiet cocktails. At 8:30 pm I walked back to the lobby to find the bar and restaurant entirely closed up. I questioned the receptionist about this and she said: “I’m sorry, there were no customers so the staff went home.”

“But you told me the restaurant would be open until 10.”

“I do apologize.”

“Can you help me find a local restaurant that will deliver?”

Well, no, she really didn’t know anywhere and went to get the manager. A tall and graceful Asian gentleman appeared, apologized repeatedly and asked if he could please make me a sandwich. “I’m not very good at making them,” he said, “But I will do my best.” A few minutes later he returned from the kitchen with a delicious swiss cheese sandwich on whole wheat, with lettuce and tomatoes and pickles on the side. He apologized again, and I replied: “Really, this is perfect, thank you so much for taking the time to make food for me.” He wouldn’t even let me pay for it.

In all my travels that was the first time a hotel manager personally hand made a tasty sandwich for me. And it was the second time in one Thanksgiving day that strangers had gone out of their way to sustain me. Mom would have been happy to know that somebody made sure I had company and fine food on Thanksgiving — even if it wasn’t free range organic turkey.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

I first became acquainted with the work of the great, enigmatic American artist Robert Smithson while attending New York’s School of Visual Arts during the 1980s. He was fascinated by geology, maps, landscape, earth moving equipment and enjoyed relocating piles of rocks and dirt into fancy galleries. I liked him immediately.

Robert Smithson was born in Passaic, New Jersey in 1938. His father was a natural history enthusiast who built his own small museum, and young Robert planned family vacations (as did I) to include such wonders as the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone National Monument. In 1948 the Smithson family moved to Clifton, NJ and Robert fought the boredom of suburban life by making frequent visits to the American Museum of Natural History and studying at the Art Students League, both in New York City.

As Eugenie Tsai wrote in a collection of essays on Smithson beautifully presented by the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles:

Robert Smithson is perhaps best known as a pioneer of the Earthworks movement and the creator of the iconic Spiral Jetty (1970). However, his involvement in the development of Earthworks is only one of his many contributions to postwar American art. One of the most important concepts Smithson advanced was that of the “site,” a place in the world where art is inseparable from its context.

Smithson picked Rozel Point, a remote spot on the north shore of the Great Salt Lake, Utah for the location of the Spiral Jetty. Over 6,000 tons of basalt rock and boulders were moved into position by dumptrucks in order to fashion the elegant spiral. At the time of construction, the water level was rising and Smithson knew his most ambitious work would soon be entirely—and intentionally—submerged.

I learned from the Dia Art Foundation’s SpiralJetty.org website (Smithson’s estate left the Jetty to Dia after his tragic death in an airplane accident in 1973) that, during the past few years, the water level had subsided enough to make the Spiral Jetty temporarily visible again. I so wanted to visit the site that I had once even suggested to a group of scuba diving buddies that we plan a dive trip there (that idea was met with considerable laughter). Now, after 25 years of daydreaming about the Jetty, it seemed I might at last be able to see it.

Rough road to the Jetty

I telephoned the Golden Spike National Historic Site, the nearest sign of civilization to the Jetty, and spoke with a charming park ranger named Grace, who was most encouraging and assured me that “Now is an excellent time to visit. The water levels are very low.”

I chose Thanksgiving Day for my personal pilgrimage. I have to say the timing was partly convenience and partly strategy. I happened to be within striking distance of the Jetty in late November, and I also figured it would be pleasantly deserted on America’s most family oriented day. The long trip from Salt Lake City is not really that far in terms of miles—my roundtrip mileage amounted to about 220—but it is a little tricky to find your way. There is a lot of travel to be done on gravel roads, while following directions (very kindly supplied by Dia) along the lines of: “Drive 1.3 miles south to a second fork in the road. Turn right onto the southwest fork, and proceed 1.7 miles to cattle guard #2.”

My rental truck had already suffered one flat tire before departure for the Jetty. At that time I unhappily discovered that the rental company neglected to include a jack with the vehicle. Just a small oversight. I was able to borrow a jack from a colleague (it didn’t fit but we made it work anyway), but only for the duration of the tire change. There were now no tools of any kind in my truck and if I had another flat on Thanksgiving Day, on a dirt road somewhere northeast of the Great Salt Lake, there would be no help on the way.

It was a lovely drive, and chilly. The air felt clean and clear and winding dirt roads were surrounded on all sides by green and sculpted mountains. At some point I realized that the extensive lowlands I’d been traveling through for hours were all once part of the lake, an indication of the great changes that northern Utah has seen over the millennia.

When I rounded Rozel Point the road became so rough I had to leave the truck and hike it. Normally I would have barreled through, but I wasn’t taking any chances without that jack. My first view of Spiral Jetty, lying grand and still against a vast table of white salt, was much the way I felt the first time I saw the actual Mona Lisa or the Golden Gate Bridge. These are images so firmly implanted in the collective unconscious that gazing upon them in real life can be rapturous and slightly unsettling, as if they are vespers from other dimensions that have crossed over into our reality.

The lake had receded far indeed, leaving the Jetty starkly stranded on expansive salt flats. The sky reflected perfectly in the distant waters, creating a seamless chrome-like backdrop. And the whole place was blissfully deserted. I passed a couple of happy hours taking photos, and walking the spiral inside and out. I didn’t want to disturb Smithson’s greatest work, but I did want a souvenir, so I filled a small vial with white sand from the shore next the Jetty.

As I began to contemplate heading back to Salt Lake City, a Land Rover pulled up and parked on the shore. Four people and two dogs piled out, happy and laughing. At first I was slightly disappointed that my reverie had been disturbed, but I quickly revised my opinion: How wonderful and surprising that I’m not the only art enthusiast who is a big enough nut to come all the way out here on Thanksgiving Day. So I went over, said hello, and received a most generous invitation. But that’s a story for another day.

I remained by the Jetty, and the hills above it, almost until sunset. During my slightly melancholy drive back to Salt Lake City and a lonely and empty motel room, I realized very clearly that one of the most memorable days of my life was drawing to a close. A dream come true; a solitary journey into the wilderness for a unique and truly happy Thanksgiving Day; and a close encounter with the progeny of one of the Twentieth Century’s most puzzling and original artists. All things to be thankful for.

To learn more, I recommend the exhibition catalog Robert Smithson (2004) organized by Eugenie Tsai with Cornelia Butler in association with The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, published by the University of California Press.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

This review contains spoilers. Last week I looked at the history of the original Prisoner television show and, in particular, its beautiful and enigmatic primary location, Portmeirion. I am not a number, I am a free man, so I will freely admit that I sat through all six hours of AMC’s Prisoner remake (okay, they called it an “interpretation,” whatever), loaded as it was with interminable advertisements for cars, palm-sized telephones, and other things you don’t need.

In the plus column the cast was, for the most part, rather good, particularly and not surprisingly the mighty Ian McKellan who is a towering talent and always a treat to watch. The production values were high, the locations lush, and the series itself did have a few memorable moments, but only a few.

The first two episodes were rather dull and I thought to myself: “Well, they’re just setting the scene, it’ll get better.” The second two episodes were also rather dull and I said to myself: “They’re saving all the action for the end.” The final two episodes were also rather dull and then I had nothing left to say to myself.

Portmeirion, the intriguing primary location for the original "Prisoner" series, was replaced by desert landscapes in AMC's remake

A major flaw is James Caviezel’s portrayal of Number Six. He showed none of the sarcasm, wit, or humor that the great Patrick McGoohan brought to the original. McGoohan’s Number Six is fiercely independent, confident, and determined, but he’s also mischievous and complicated. He’d wander around The Village, knowing he was under surveillance, smiling at hidden cameras like a wily cat, just to confuse his watchers. He had the ability to make his enemies think he was up to something even if he wasn’t. Viewers believe that McGoohan’s Number Six can outsmart a small army of captors, and he turns the tables on his enemies so slowly and craftily that the viewer doesn’t really notice until Six has the upper hand and begins to destabilize The Village. However, my biggest issue with AMC’s remake is that it is just so sadly predictable. By the second episode it’s obvious that The Village is some sort of creation managed by the evil corporation that Caviezel’s Six once worked for. What a tired cliché, and the idea of “duplicate” personalities from the real world, living in The Village construct has been done before (and done better) in the groundbreaking science fiction film Tron as well as William Gibson’s masterful Neuromancer. Where is the mystery in the new Prisoner? One of the beauties of the original is that we never fully understand what is going on. As McGoohan’s Six says in “Many Happy Returns”: “I have a problem too. I don’t know which side is running The Village.”

So, in an attempt to, I suppose, update the original AMC took the easy way out, pitting Caviezel’s unimaginative Six against an Orwellian corporation, and then further slowed down what little excitement there is with an endless series of annoying flashbacks. The remake is largely a character drama, with precious little action. We don’t get to enjoy the ingenious and relentless escape attempts carried out by McGoohan’s Six, and Caviezel’s Six just isn’t engaging enough to hold the viewer’s attention as he participates in a halfhearted battle of wits with McKellan. Christopher Eccleston of the new Dr. Who series was, at one point, slated to play Six in the remake, and that I would have loved to witness! Eccleston is exciting, dangerous, and unpredictable and could have held his own against McKellan.

I fully appreciate that the new series is an original work and it should be judged on its own merits, rather than mercilessly compared to the original. That being said, if you have the gall to remake one of the most adored and influential series in television history, then you had better be prepared for the comparisons anyway. It’s unavoidable.

The verdict? AMC’s remake gets two stars out of five and it would have been only one without Ian McKellan. Patrick McGoohan is, and always will be, the real Number Six. Sorry AMC, I won’t be seeing you.

Sometimes good things just keep on getting better. With about 170 working artists to choose from, scattered far and wide across greater Tucson, making the most of this past weekend’s Open Studio Tour was a massive and inspiring challenge. Since I have a number of close friends who are accomplished Tucson artists, I have a pleasant but unfortunate tendency to park myself at a colleague’s studio for half the tour, spend a delightful afternoon chatting and sipping wine, thereby missing out on so much of what the tour has to offer. This year, I was determined to get out, see more and do more, and I did.

On Friday I profiled a few of my favorite local Tucson artists in The Logical Lizard, including Lisa Marie Morrison of Sirocco Design, Suzanne Morrison of Backcountry Photography and photographer Stu Jenks, and much of Saturday was spent visiting with them. On Sunday I made it a mission to meet some new artists, see some new work, and maybe add an original or two to the Logical Lizard’s modest art collection. These were some of my personal highlights:

Artist Chris Bishop and part of the outdoor exhibit at Maiden Arizona

Chris Bishop of maidenarizona.com, is a transplant from New Jersey and her artistic journey to Arizona reminded me more than a little of my own. She is interested in everything from photo mosaics to creative desert landscaping. Chris invited five women artists to help transform her home studio on North Monroe Crescent into a two-day indoor/outdoor art show encompassing watercolors, textiles, mosaics, found-art collage, and other mixed media. She has gathered a fine group of talented people around her and I was particularly impressed by art teacher and fiber artist Jacqueline Bland, and Joanne Pritzen’s colorful mixed media found art collages that somehow managed to happily reminded me of both Roy Lichtenstein and Kurt Schwitters in the same instant (Twosies, a lovely vibrant piece that was featured in the TPAC guide came home with me).

At 2409 North Castro I enjoyed watercolor instructor Bob Goldman’s beautiful figure work in pen, charcoal, and pastels as well as clasically inspired portraits by Hope Cunningham.

Later in the afternoon I took a long drive down to Pantano and Escalante to view some impressive large works by metal sculptor and blacksmith Jason E. Butler. Jason was at the JCC unveiling a new work, and I was treated to a tour of his workshop by his wife Mary. Jason also teaches metal working at Pima Community College and his sculpture is an intriguing blend of organic and industrial elements.

Metal sculpture by Jason E. Butler

Metal sculpture by Jason E. Butler

Elizabeth Frank is an artist’s artist. Widely admired within the community, she works with fallen aspen branches (collected during an annual pilgrimage to Colorado) and found objects such as discarded tin ceiling plates, vintage photos, keys, hinges and abandoned furniture. The result is a series of magical and whimsical sculptures. Tall, elegant, ethereal figures clustered together on pedestals in her aerie-like space atop the Labor Temple Studios at 267 South Stone reminded me of haunting black and white photos taken in Alberto Giacometti’s Paris studio during the 1960s. After a couple of glasses of chardonnay, I realized I’d fallen hopelessly in love with the delicate and pensive Moonlight Angel, and that piece asked to go home with me too. A venerable Tucson building, the Labor Temple is home to five artists and is a must-see venue on the studio tour.

Tucson artist Elizabeth Frank

Elizabeth Frank studio

"Moonlight Angel" (detail) by Elizabeth Frank

At the 7th Avenue Arts District Studios, sculptor Dana Smith’s work caught my eye. As a paleontologist and science writer I was fascinated by her large scale ceramic work, inspired by fossil ammonites from Morocco and Madagascar, and ancient trilobites. A lively conversation revealed that Dana and I have a long string of mutual friends in the science world, and I accidentally delivered a (hopefully) short lecture on the history of ammonites—an extinct cephalopod in which I have a particular interest.

Sculptor Dana Smith and some of her fossil-inspired recent works

As usual, I ended the day with my pal Stu Jenks. I was treated to a preview of his gorgeous new fine art photography book, Hoop Dancing: More Journeys Through Nocturnal Photography, Book Two which will be published next week and limited to 300 signed and numbered copies.

Photographer Stu Jenks in his studio on North Seventh Avenue

So, after consuming two long days, numerous slices of brie, and almost half a tank of gas, that left about 145 artists I didn’t get to visit this year. I wish I could get everywhere and see everything, but the Open Studio Tour would have to last at least two weeks to make such a thing even possible. But what I did see underscored something I already know well: Tucson is blessed with a diverse, friendly and fabulous arts community.

My compliments to the Tucson Pima Arts Council for organizing another successful event, and also to the supporting sponsors. And if you missed the fall tour this year, don’t worry. Next weekend’s outdoor Tucson Museum of Arts Holiday Craft Market is another excellent opportunity to revel in the beaux arts of Tucson. See you there.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission. Artworks pictured are © by the respective artists and reproduced with express permission.

The annual Leonid meteor shower is one of the night sky’s most exciting events. Our planet is currently passing through a debris trail left behind in space hundreds of years ago by Comet Tempel-Tuttle. As those small fragments of ice and stone hit our atmosphere at thousands of miles per hour they burn up, producing bright trails known as meteors or shooting stars. Fragments that make it to the surface of the Earth are meteorites, but the diminutive particles that generate the Leonids are too small and friable to survive their passage through our atmosphere.

Artist's impression of a meteor shower

Peak meteor activity is expected to occur between midnight and dawn tonight and into Tuesday morning. Bill Cooke of NASA’s Meteoroid Environment Office stated: “We’re predicting 20 to 30 meteors per hour over the Americas.”

The Leonids take their name from Leo, due to an optical illusion that sometimes make it appear as if they emanate from that constellation.

Tucson’s dark skies are ideal viewing for meteor showers, especially for night owls who are happy to stay up into the wee hours. If you’re so inclined, turn off the house lights, mix up some hot chocolate or a favorite tipple, head outside after midnight, park yourself in a spot with an unobstructed view of the heavens and see what transpires. It may be a memorable celestial show.

I know, silly question. Patrick McGoohan’s masterful, provocative, and visionary series from 1967 will hopefully always be one of the benchmarks against which great television (and social commentary) is measured. Phrases like “Who is Number One?” and “I am not a number, I am a free man,” have percolated into the collective consciousness, and almost everyone who had a TV in the ’60s or ’70s remembers “that show with the howling white balloon chasing the guy on the beach.”

End title logo from the original "Prisoner" televion show. © ITC

With AMC’s Prisoner “interpretation” making it’s debut tomorrow, and being billed (by AMC) as “the television event of the year,” the real question should probably be: “Why bother remaking one of the finest programs of all time?” While you’re at it, why not remake Casablanca as a hip-hop musical? Actor James Caviezel, perhaps best known for his leading role in The Passion of the Christ, has the biggest of shoes to fill, but roles as contradictory as Jesus Christ and Number Six do, I suppose, make for an impressive resume.

The Village flag flying over Portmeirion

To say I am a Prisoner fan is a bit like saying War and Peace is a large tome. At the risk of coming off as some sort of crazed fandom nerd, I will admit that I have many times journeyed to Portmeirion. The mystifying primary location for the 1967 Prisoner, Portmeirion was the life’s work of brilliant Welsh architect, town planner and conservationist Clough Williams-Ellis. Clough had a penchant for saving, as he called them, “fallen buildings” (he meant “fallen from grace,” not necessarily “fallen down,” though he did purchase the occasional pile of rubble and resurrect the original structure in all its glory). During the first half of the Twentieth Century, Clough rescued interesting or architecturally beautiful structures from various parts of Europe and relocated them to an isolated and strikingly lovely peninsula in north Wales. He was a man who really loved his work.

Portmeirion is, today, a rather chic and exclusive hotel complex. It is “listed” as a protected site of architectural and historic importance and is preserved pretty much exactly as it appeared in the original show. When you drive down that long, winding, tree-lined road, and pass under a pair of arched and pastel-colored Georgian residences, you cannot help but feel that you are entering the actual Village. It is thrilling and more than a little freaky. Six of One, the official Prisoner appreciation society, used to book the entire “town” of Portmeirion for one week each year and stage a dazzling Prisoner convention, complete with scene reenactments, most notably the human chess game. I attended several times and it was an extraordinary experience, almost as if the Prisoner was real.

The Logical Lizard (center in captain's hat) participating in the human chess game at the "Prisoner" convention 1988 in Portmeirion

The black-and-white action series Danger Man (Secret Agent in the USA) was McGoohan’s precursor to the Prisoner, and Portmeirion was used several times as an “exotic location” in that series; one time even standing in for a Mediterranean seaside town. The idea for the Prisoner must have been brewing in McGoohan’s questing mind during those days, as there are a number thematic similarities between the earlier series and his 1967 masterpiece—notably the chilling Danger Man episode “Colony Three.” British TV impresario Lord Grade of ITC Entertainment believed in McGoohan and trusted him enough to take huge a gamble: Grade funded 17 expensive, complicated, feature film-quality episodes of the sometimes incomprehensible but always engrossing Prisoner. McGoohan chose Portmeirion as the main shooting location for his finest work and it’s rather wonderful that you can visit the place today and experience its beauty, magic, and strangeness just as the cast and crew did back in 1967.

Members of Six of One, the official Prisoner appreciation society, re-enact the election scene from the "Free For All" episode of the original "Prisoner"

So, back to the important question: Why remake one of the most unique and memorable works ever to grace a television set? To give a modern take on a classic show (not likely, the Prisoner is timeless)? Because they can? To make it more accessible (read: easier to understand) for contemporary short-attention-span audiences? For the money? Can’t think of a good new story idea? It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be honest and say I am genuinely looking forward to seeing what they’ve done with my all-time favorite TV series, and I’ll be tuning in on Sunday evening with an open mind, albeit prepared, as best I can be, for a barrage of commercials during the broadcast.

I find Caviezel an odd choice to play the indefatigable, confident, autonomous and almost rabidly independent Number Six, but maybe we’ll be surprised and like him, just like one day maybe we’ll actually understand what happened in “Fall Out,” the final episode of the original. In the plus column, the great Ian McKellan is playing Number Two and that alone has to be worth watching. And, as journalist Scott White noted in the Canadian Press: “The new six-part miniseries is a chance for a whole new generation of viewers to discover the original show.” That has to be a good thing any way you cut it.

All 17 episodes of the 1967 Prisoner are available online at amctv.com but they should really be seen in their full and almost cinematic grandeur, so if you’ve never experienced the original, do yourself a favor and get it on DVD.

Be seeing you.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

Now that hot weather is only a thing of memory, and all of us art-loving desert rats begin to shake off that summer siesta mindset we suddenly notice that Tucson’s events calendar has become very full, seemingly overnight. Tomorrow and Sunday, and hard on the heels of last weekend’s splendid All Souls Procession, comes the fall Open Studio Tour, organized by the Tucson Pima Arts Council.

The fall Open Studio Tour is one of the highlights of the year and, as usual, TPAC has produced an informative and comprehensive guide to the event. On their website you can view an alphabetical listing of participating artists, download a guide in PDF, or else pick up a complimentary printed map/guide/calendar in person at any of the participating studios.

"Surprise." Photograph by and © Suzanne Morrison.

This year my great friends Lisa Marie and Suzanne Morrison are on the tour for the first time. The sisters are both colleagues and associates of mine and I am a fan of their work. Lisa Marie, the owner of Sirocco Design, is a brilliant silversmith and jeweler and her handmade silver creations are unique, fun and thoughtful in their execution. Suzanne works for my company Aerolite Meteorites as a studio and science photographer and is an accomplished fine art photographer in her own right. She is also the owner of Backcountry Photography and just returned from several weeks on the road working as location photographer for my TV series Meteorite Men. In addition to fine art prints and intriguing silver jewelry, the Morrisons will be offering a selection of handmade clasps, bead strands, findings and pendants, gems, and rock and mineral specimens from around the world at wholesale prices. Two Tucson originals, you can visit both of them Saturday and Sunday at 404 South Cherry (two blocks west of Campbell; three blocks south of Broadway and convenient to all Downtown studios) from 11 am to 5 pm. Oh, and there will be wine!

Lisa Marie and her muse, Vegas Jane, in the Sirocco workshop. Photograph by Stu Jenks.

In June, I profiled visionary photographer Stu Jenks here in The Logical Lizard. In addition to being one of the Southwest’s most gifted and spiritual artists, Stu is a remarkable ambient musician. He’s a fine storyteller too and is sure to make you feel welcome. See Stu’s latest work at the Old Arts District Studios, 549 North 7th Avenue, including some lovely framed pieces bargain-priced at under $200, along with advance copies of his new publication Hoop Dancing: Book Two. Please note: Stu was a last-minute addition to the tour and is not listed in the official guide but he’ll be there live and in person Saturday and Sunday.

"Cradle Rocks." Photograph by and © Stu Jenks.

Another local favorite of mine is Molly of Molly Phoenix Glassworks (I have a Molly Phoenix glass spaceship hanging over my bar). This year, The Silver Palate cookbook inspired her and visiting artist Marion Chubon to prepare “light fare and warm libations to keep you going.” Molly designs and builds a delightful line of stained glass artwork, ideal for gifts or for decorating your sunny Tucson retreat. She writes: “It is uncommon for me to have visitors in my studio. It is one of those sacred places where magical things happen . . . The sun provides warmth and rainbows when it passes through the prisms in the west facing window. If there was room for a comfy chair you can guarantee there would be one in the corner with a half full cup of coffee next to it with a pencil or two hiding under the cushion. This weekend it will be wonderful to share this with you.” Find her at 1315 North 5th Avenue (look for signs near 5th Ave & Speedway, and Stone & Drachman).

And that quick intro covers just a handful of local talents I know and like, out of over 160 working artists who will be opening up their personal studios and workspaces this weekend. Many offer snacks and drinks, along with great deals when you buy artwork directly from them during the tour. Get outside, enjoy the moody fall weather, see some original work, visit a studio, immerse yourself in our kooky and vibrant arts scene. And, if you can afford it, please help support a struggling local artist by purchasing something totally Tucson. Times are really tough for many of our most talented.

Yesterday afternoon I walked into a prominent Tucson framing store to pick up some artwork. I was immediately assaulted by a dippy version of “It’s A Jingly Jangly Jolly Holy Holly Santa Sleigh Ride” or some such. Really awful it was. I barrelled straight up to the counter and barked at the salesman: “You are not playing Christmas music on November 11!”

“They started playing it on October 31st, mate,” he replied. “How do you think I feel? I’m going completely mad.” Yes, he was very funny charming and—like me—not originally from around here. We went on to commiserate about the cheesy and repetitive Christmas songs and I realized that, much as this tacky fodder is irritating to shoppers, it must be soul destroying for the store employees who have to exist with it 24/7 during the run-up to our country’s most blatantly corporate-sponsored holiday.

Edvard Munch's "The Scream" may have been based on a shopper's pre-Christmas listening experience. National Gallery, Oslo. Public domain image.

I discussed this matter with a friend yesterday evening, and her professional opinion as a wordly Tucsonan and bon vivant is that it’s acceptable to begin with the Elvis Christmas songs on November 15, and then gradually degenerate down to the sappiest and most obnoxious material by December. From the sublime to the ridiculous.

Wiser people than I have noted that the piranha-like pre-Christmas commercial feeding frenzy begins earlier each year. Store managers used to patiently hold their breath until the day after Thanksgiving before unleashing their sleigh bells and reindeer playlists (particularly absurd lyrical content here in the desert). Now the dreaded debut has been moved up to early November. That means we are forced, while attempting to complete our normal, civilian, non-Christmas shopping tasks to endure mind-numbing ditties for seven weeks out of the year.

I predict that next year the store managers who are hungriest to cash in on what was once a happy family-based religious event will start up with the nonsense in mid-September. Within a decade the need to maximize pre-Christmas profit will mean we are required to listen to pop pap year-round. Laughing and drinking will be banned and if you don’t sport a colorful Santa and the reindeers magnet on the back of your car, you may be rounded up by the Department of Homeland Security for anti-social and un-American behavior.

It truly is the Nightmare Before Christmas.