The Logical Lizard

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.

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.

Back in June I wrote a piece about Lynx rufus, the magnificent Sonoran lynx affectionately known in these parts as the bobcat. And that’s a little confusing because there are eleven different subspecies of wild cats in North America that go by the title of bobcat, including the rather wonderfully named Lynx fasciatus (British Columbia) and Lynx superiorensis (Northwest and Central US).

As a confirmed cat person I have been, for several years, delighted and thrilled by occasional visits to my small desert kingdom by a solitary, wary and very beautiful adult Lynx rufus. He periodically made a tasty lunch out of one of my mourning doves, but I couldn’t really be mad at him as that is the way of life in the wilds.

Recently, while preparing a tasty vegetarian breakfast I looked out my kitchen window to see a bobcat cub frolicking in my fountain. About the size of a house cat, he already had the distinctive glaring eyes and radiant stripes of the desert lynx. I tried to snap a few photos, but he scampered off into the sea of cactus and agave.

The very next morning the cub returned with two siblings and, a little later, his cautious and protective mom. This time, I had no trouble capturing them on camera. The cats just moved right in and made themselves at home: splashing in the fountain, dozing under a mesquite, and climbing like goofy monkeys on a large prickly pear tree that used to stand on the east side of my house. I say “used to” because the diminutive hunting cats had so much fun on the tree they broke off its largest limb. It crashed to the ground and quickly became fodder for javelinas and desert hares.

Some mornings, the four cats walked brazenly onto my patio, scaring the daylights out of my indoor house cat, whose tail fluffed up like a busby—the black, bushy hats worn by the Queen’s Coldstream Guards at Buckingham Palace in my old hometown of London. One of the inquisitive cubs came right up to the sliding door, curious enough about what was going on inside the Logical Lizard’s abode to bump his feline nose on the glass.

Bobcats cover a lot of ground when they’re in the mood, and the family has sadly moved on. I hope mom brings me a new litter next year. They were the most illustrious visitors I’ve had in some time.

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

While our fine city enjoys international fame as host of the annual Tucson gem and mineral shows (and you’ll be hearing plenty about that from me during January and February), tonight is the night that the Old Pueblo is truly at its finest and strangest. The All Souls Procession—Tucson’s hip, weirdo, eclectic, inexplicable and sometimes cutting-edge arts scene’s retrofitted take on Day of the Dead—is the most exciting, inspiring and magical event of the year.

All Souls is already well known to many of you, I’m sure, but I am delighted that this year two of my friends will be experiencing their first procession. If you’ve never seen it, turn off the TV and get yourself downtown by 6 pm. You will not be disappointed. If you’ve watched as a spectator, but never participated, throw on some black and white face paint, don a costume or mask, revel in the ritual, and spare a moment for the memory of a loved one who has moved on to the next world (or whatever you believe in) during the past year.

With local media director, rock star, and bon vivant Caroline Palmer during the 2008 procession

One of my happy annual tasks is designing and building an elaborate mask to wear during the procession. Last year I wore a Hopi-inspired sun god and it was my best-ever effort. I had grand plans for this year—a giant gila monster faceplate was the winning idea—but, alas, the previous two months have been entirely filled by on-the-road adventures filming the new season of my television adventure series Meteorite Men. As such, there was no time to create something new for the 2009 parade. And that, dear readers, also explains why I have been absent from TC.com, lo these many weeks. I missed you, but I am back, and just in time for my favorite, favorite event of the year.

The mighty Flam Chen tear it up during the grand finale to the 2007 All Souls Procession. Photo by Geoffrey Notkin.

I’ll be on Fourth Avenue this evening, likely more than a little fired up, looking forward to bounding through the Fourth Avenue underpass in the company of drummers, dancers, and walking skeletons, watching fire troupe Flam Chen do their amazing thing at the loading docks, and I am hearing rumors of a surprise appearance by Calexico. I hope to see you down there, and I’ll be seeing you here tomorrow as well. I have more than a few tales to tell about life on the road with the Meteorite Men.

Learn more about Tucson’s All Souls Procession

I first heard of Blondie back in the mid-1970s—long before they were international superastars—and while they were still on the indie label Private Stock. In the early days of their career they were regarded as a punk band, toured with Television, and were part of the New York underground scene, along with the Ramones, Talking Heads and other luminaries. Now, many years after the string of mega pop hits like “Heart of Glass,” “Atomic,” “Rapture,” and so on, it’s a little difficult for some to remember Blondie the way there were. But I do.

I first saw them in London in 1978. It was their initial European solo tour and they headlined at the Rainbow in Finsbury Park—a large and elegant seated venue, a bit like the Rialto only bigger and fancier. I was a young lad with two tickets to see this “unknown” American act, and really, I couldn’t give one away. Nobody wanted to go with me. The kids I went to school with, blissfully unaware of the punk rock revolution fomenting in their own town, were still spacing out to Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Yes.

I finally convinced a biker friend of mine, John, to take the train with me up to north London. He didn’t much care much for live music but he was always up for an adventure. We arrived early and took our seats—eighth row, right in the center.

After a while, the warm-up band started playing and they were extremely weird. I remember that the house lights were left on, as if Blondie didn’t want to take the chance of being upstaged. There were four guys in this group: the guitarist and bassist both sang, and they had a demented keyboard player who pounded on a bizarre stack of synthesizers that had wires and cables hanging all over the place. Their songs were jangly and dissonant. The show was energetic and mildly interesting, but they were a little too odd for me. When Blondie came on, the theater wasn’t even half full, but I didn’t care. Debbie Harry was only in her thirties then, and as lovely a rock ‘n’ roll deity as I had ever seen float across the stage.

On the way home, I asked John what he thought about the concert. “Well, Blondie were okay, but that warm-up band were amazing! They’re going to be huge.” John really didn’t know a thing about music so I dismissed his prediction as the babblings of an amateur. I later found out that the strange opening act were called XTC.

I’ve seen Blondie many times in the intervening years, and I danced to “Sunday Girl” at my high school prom. Blondie’s supremely talented bassplayer, Gary Valentine, was let go in the late 1970s and they were never quite as good without him, although they still play his wistful song “I Am Always Touched by Your Presence Dear.” From the time they came back to London after the release of Parallel Lines, there were never again empty seats in the theaters and Blondie were instantly adored.

I once saw Debbie and romantic partner/songwriter/Blondie guitarist Chris Stein do a secret show at CBGB’s with a pickup band. I sat in a cozy little VIP section with Matt Dillon on one side of me, and the Talking Heads on the other. It was pretty cool. In the 1990s, my band used to rehearse in a room next to Blondie at an elite studio in New York, and we got to chat and hang out a little. Chris Stein and I both played Steinbergers, and he’d painted out the “berger” on his guitar, so it just read “Stein,” which I found to be very clever.

The Logical Lizard hanging out with Blondie lead guitarist Chris Stein in New York, back in the rock 'n' roll days. Photo by Lach.

Last year, when Blondie set out on their big reunion tour I happened to be in NYC and took my brother and my former 1980s sweetheart to see them at the Sony Theater in Times Square. I assumed that the band would be old and tired, but it was easily the best Blondie show I ever saw: they were tight, extremely well rehearsed, full of energy, better dressed and sharper than ever, and cracked through a set of greatest hits. The song list was predictable, but who doesn’t want to hear “Hanging on the Telephone,” “Dreaming,” and all those other pop classics?

So, not surprisingly, I was expecting something similar at the Desert Diamond show this past Tuesday. Blondie, right here in my adopted home town, at a small venue! I took my dear friend Lisa Marie—a talented local silversmith, a serious music lover, and long-time Blondie fan who had never actually seen them in concert. I was a little concerned when I got my first peek at the venue. It looked more like a hotel ballroom, where you’d hold a wedding reception, than a concert hall.

When Blondie came on at about 8 pm (awfully early for New York rockers) they blasted straight into “Call Me,” which makes for a hell of a good opener. Debbie was in a bright red dress with mismatched Converse sneakers: one red and one blue, just like Clem on the cover of Parallel Lines). Unfortunately, the sound was dreadful, like listening to a transistor radio through two sheets of soggy cardboard. Most of the audience were of retirement age and, despite the very modest volume, I noticed a lady next to me wearing earplugs.

As an original fan, I felt it my duty to show the band some love, so Lisa and I ran to the front and sidled up to the stage, right by Debbie. Periodically we were yelled at, or ordered back to our seats by security, but we made the most of it.

Debbie Harry onstage with Blondie, Desert Diamond Casino, Tucson, September 1, 2009. Photo by Caroline Palmer.

Only Debbie, Chris Stein, and drummer Clem Burke remain from the original lineup. Last June, Jimmy Destri, the keyboard player and one of the key songwriters was still with them, and I really missed his presence here in Tucson. He’s a great performer. So, the sound sucked, the audience were mostly old and confused, and Blondie were finishing off their national tour with a Tuesday night show in a partially-filled casino in Tucson, Arizona. It must have been a bit of a downer for them, but they were troopers and didn’t let it show. They surprised me with “Fade Away And Radiate,” not exactly a conventional pop hit, and a long ska/reggae jam in the middle of “The Tide is High.”

So, I’ve been to better Blondie shows, but in all these years it was the first time I ever got to see them elbows-on-the-stage in a small venue. They may be older, but you know what, so am I, and Blondie still kick the pants off of most contemporary acts. I’ll pony up my cash to see them anytime.

A few days ago I rose early and went out for a walk. It was a lovely morning and I thought a brisk stroll would clear my head and help prepare me for another long and busy day. As I reached the end of my driveway, I noticed what I took to be some garbage lying in the road in front of my house. I like a tidy place, so I picked it up with the intention of disposing of it properly.

It was not, strictly speaking, garbage but rather a 188-page, full color, printed Avon catalog in a clear plastic bag. A lot of care had been put into the photography, design and printing of the catalog, but it had been treated like garbage. I think it’s fair to assume that a local representative, or the rep’s hired help, had left it there for me, in the gravel, on the road, much like a cat might leave a dead field mouse on your doorstep. How very thoughtful! I am not married and no women live in my house (except my cat), so we have little need for makeup, except perhaps when the All Souls Procession rolls around, and somehow All Souls doesn’t really feel like an Avon-style event to me.

The Avon rep had not mailed the catalog to me, or knocked on my door to ask if I would like to receive a copy. No, it had been deposited on the street in front of my house. As I continued with my walk, I noticed that every single residence in my neighborhood had also been a victim of unsolicited dumping. Some catalogs were in driveways, some on the ground near mailboxes, some randomly thrown on city roads. Scores of them, maybe hundreds, maybe thousands, who knows? It was most unsightly.

Advertising or littering?

This isn’t advertising, it’s littering. If Avon, or any other company, feels the need to bother me with promotional material they should be required to pay postage and mail it to me, not throw it on the ground for me to clean up later. Northwest Explorer does the same thing, so do those entertaining Jehova’s Witnesses (always so well dressed and very serious), and so do the Fill A Bag For A Vet People (the bag people I don’t mind, it’s charity, and they are trying help our needy veterans), but the rest should be held accountable. Why should I, and every one of my neighbors, have to walk to the end of our driveways to pick up somebody else’s discarded paperwork?

Imagine if everyone did it. Imagine if everyone who mailed unwanted stuff to you—supermarkets, car lube joints, credit card companies, bogus loan outfits, and the rest of them—left their junk mail in a heap in front of your house, and your neighbors’ houses. Greater Tucson would rapidly become a king-size rubbish dump. It’s like spam, only worse. At least spam doesn’t burn up natural resources (water, ink, paper, electricity for printing presses, staplers, paper folders, and gasoline for driving from house to house) to quite the same degree.

Out of fairness I telephoned my Avon rep, a Ms. Debbie Calvillo (her name and contact info were rubber stamped on the back of the catalog in barely-legible blue letters), to ask her opinion on the advertising vs. littering issue. She was polite and friendly but seemed confused, so in order to clarify I asked if she felt it was okay to drop catalogs in front of people’s houses—an act that some would consider littering. She quickly asked for my address, “So I won’t litter in front of your house any more,” she explained. I asked again if she felt it was okay to distribute advertising material in this way and she said: “Yes, I get it in front of my house all the time.” At which point she hung up on me. I guess that means if somebody does it to you, it’s okay to do it back to somebody else.

I appreciate that Ms. Calvillo is likely a nice young lady trying to make a few extra bucks and I certainly do not begrudge her that. It’s hard to make ends meet for most of us. I also don’t have any kind of beef with Avon. I’m sure they make many people happy with their products. But littering is littering, unwanted junk mail is curse upon us all, and I expect reputable companies to be more responsible about the way in which they advertise. I figure a couple of letters to the BBB and the Tucson City Manager on the ad dumping issue are warranted. Anyone care to join me? If we don’t do something about the rabid and uncontrolled advertising in our community, you’ll one day soon have to climb over piles of unwanted paper just to reach your own mailbox on your own property.

And don’t even get me started on the highway billboards. “Only another bla-bla miles until ‘The Thing.’”

When a plea from a British school teacher was posted to an international science listserve, Nevada meteorite hunter Ralph “Sonny” Clary made the educator’s seemingly impossible request come true.

In May of 2009, Matthew Smith a teacher in Liverpool, England sent an email to an online forum devoted to meteorites. With a very small acquisitions budget, Mr. Smith was hoping to acquire a few space rocks, to assist with presentations for his students. Sonny Clary, a highly experienced meteorite hunter based in Nevada had just the thing.

Meteorite hunter Ralph "Sonny" Clary takes a compass bearing during a desert expedition

In 2007 Sonny made an extraordinary discovery on an ancient dry lake bed in the American Southwest. While scouting for possible hunting locations he came across a debris field of stone meteorite fragments. He collected numerous pieces and donated representative samples to academia, so the new meteorite could be studied and classified.

After reading Mr. Smith’s request, Sonny packed up more than 90 of the meteorites he’d found, and shipped them to the UK—as a cosmic gift.

More than 90 space rocks donated to a British school by Sonny arrive in the UK

When asked how much the meteorites were worth, Sonny replied: “I feel the true value of these meteorites is being lucky enough to hunt for and find them, and being able to share that excitement with the students by donating to their school and allowing them to experience holding and owning a rock from the asteroid belt. This may help spark the next generation of meteorite enthusiasts.”

He is modest indeed. In total, the meteorite specimens that Sonny donated weighed about five pounds. A conservative estimate would put their retail value at $2,000.

Sonny (left) and his great friend, the late Professor Jim Kriegh planning a desert expedition

Mr. Smith will be writing an article about Sonny’s generous donation for an upcoming issue of Meteorite magazine. The quarterly science journal is published by the Arkansas Center for Space and Planetary Sciences in Fayetteville, but the editorial team, Nancy and Dr. Larry Lebofsky, are Tucson residents.

English school kids showing off their new space rocks

Looking at the photographs of the enthralled English schoolchildren holding their new meteorites reminded me of something Alexis R. Faust, educator and executive director of the Flandrau Science Center said to me during a recent visit: “It gives you a different perspective on the world when you see it through the eyes of children. It’s rejuvenating.”

The author, looking very haggard (above left) and Sonny after a particularly grueling expedition. Sonny is an expert camper and outdoorsman and I've learned a lot from him.

Sonny Clary is a great example of how one individual can get a classrom full of children excited about science. Those look like some happy kids to me, and I can only imagine how amazed I would have been—when I was a school boy in England back in the 1970s—if an American adventurer had mailed me a space rock.

My compliments to Sonny.

The first known mention can be found in the U of A Register from 1892, which rather grandly states the university will “make the Museum of Geology and Mineralogy an adequate representative of the ores and minerals of Arizona, as well as a place for the deposit of everything illustrative of the practical workings of the mines, mills, and furnaces.”

Curatorial Specialist Sven Bailey patiently studied the history of the University of Arizona Mineral Collection and recorded the five other temporary homes it occupied before relocating to the spacious and airy basement of the Flandrau Science Center.

A view across part of the main gallery of the University of Arizona's wonderful mineral museum. Photograph by Geoffrey Notkin

If you walk into the Science Center, past the planetarium, maybe pausing for a moment to admire the Mars Wall, and then scamper down two long flights of stairs decorated with brightly painted murals, you will come upon a geologist’s dreamscape. The main collection comprises some 19,000 specimens, plus 7,000 micromounts. Of special delight to me was the mysterious Silverbell iron meteorite. Discovered in 1939, somewhere northwest of Tucson, the exact find location has been lost to science, and the UA Mineral Museum has the largest piece in the world. In addition, I was intrigued by a mock-up of the famous Tucson Ring meteorite, appearing as it did back in the 1800s during the least glamorous part of its life (it was once used as an anvil in the Tucson presidio, and has now been promoted to the rather magnificent centerpiece of the Smithsonian’s meteorite display in Washington, D.C.).

At the mineral museum, a detailed recreation with full-scale models demonstrates how the Tucson Ring and Carleton iron meteorites were once used in a blacksmith's shop in frontier-era Tucson. The actual meteorites are now part of the Smithsonian's collection in Washington, D.C. Photograph courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

“Our collection is actively used for research, and the curator is currently building a new mineral database,” Sven tells me. He is a tall, soft spoken, and thoughtful man. He seems wonderfully at ease in the beautiful and elegant underground collection; he could almost be the custodian of a secret treasure mine. “Some of our meteorites and minerals are studied by Planetary Sciences,” he continues. “And they are also available for students. Some university instructors lead field trips to the museum and assign extra credit.” Now, that’s my idea of school Extra credit for looking at rocks!

This spectacular example of the mineral pyrargyrite from Hartenstein Germany is just one of 19,000 specimens in the museum's main collection. Photograph by Sven Bailey / Courtesy of UA Mineral Museum

The mineral museum welcomes school programs, and children of all ages have enjoyed the remarkable collection with a concentration of students from First through Eighth Grades. Last year over 100 school groups visited the Flandrau and the mineral museum, and that translates into a lot of kids getting a first-hand look at geology, mineralogy, mining history, and meteorites.

The museum is also open to the general public and Sven and his colleagues are available to answer mineral-related questions. For many years, Senior Curatorial Specialist Shirley Wetmore, served in a “first contact” capacity with visitors who stopped by with samples hoping they had found a meteorite or rare mineral. Shirley was universally liked, did a great deal to further the public’s understanding of rocks, minerals, and meteorites, and recently retired from the museum.

Sven is a hard working man, handling the equivalent of several different jobs at once. In addition to showing visitors around and answering questions, he is engaged in an ongoing project to photograph the mineral collection (see photos on this page), keeps the website up to date, and helps design and coordinate signage and special exhibitions.

A large and intricate specimen of natural silver from the museum's collection. Photograph by Sven Bailey / Courtesy of UA Mineral Museum

It always feels good to see people happy in their work and Sven is especially enthusiastic when he leads me into a back room, opens an impressive safe, and produces a genuinely staggering specimen of leaf gold. Found on the Crystalline-Alabama Claim in Jamestown, California, it was recently acquired by the museum with the rest of the Hubert de Monmonier collection, a significant group of minerals, never before seen in public. Approximately 870 pieces, including some very important specimens, and 300 books, were donated by the de Monmonier estate. A stunning exhibit of some of the finest pieces from that collection is currently on display in the Flandrau’s main exhibition space.

So, doesn’t all of this sound great? A world-class mineral museum with active ongoing research programs, rare meteorites, beautiful displays, a friendly, enthusiastic and knowledgeable staff keen to interact with, and inform the public. Too good to be true? Almost. Due to budget cuts the University of Arizona Mineral Museum is only open on Fridays and Saturdays, and to school groups by appointment. If the feared permanent closure of the Flandrau Science Center does take place, what will become of this extraordinary collection?

Curatorial Specialist Sven Bailey and a leaf gold specimen from the Hubert de Monmonier collection, recently acquired by the Mineral Museum. Photograph by Geoffrey Notkin.

117 years ago, UA set out to build a mineral collection that would reflect the epic geologic and mining history of Arizona. They succeeded admirably. Now this great collection is open for only two days a week, and even that may be nothing but a temporary stay of execution. After six years with the museum, the talented Sven Bailey is moving on to a new job unconnected with the university. “Will we miss his expertise terribly,” said Executive Director Alexis Faust. But with the museum and the Science Center facing an uncertain future, who can blame Sven for moving on? Maybe if the Flandrau had a sufficient operating budget he would have stayed.

In a recent letter to Tucson Weekly, former associate director of the Flandrau, Joe Ruggiero, shared this fine sentiment: “For 35 years, through good times and bad, Flandrau provided this community with some measure of wonder, a place where one could come face to face with phenomena and see the beauty of the sky explained in vivid detail.”

Alexis, the current director states: “We have wonderful resources here. There should be a conduit for that information to get to the people of Tucson, the taxpayers.”

The Flandrau Science Center and the UA Mineral Museum are part of that conduit. The mineral museum is an extremely important and unique educational and historical resource. Allowing it to be closed, and therefore lost to the people of Tucson, would be a crime against science.

Tucson is the astronomy capital of the world, I am told by Astronomy Coordinator Michael Terenzoni during a recent visit to the Flandrau Science Center. “People come here from all over the world to do astronomy; to build observatories.”

Michael also informs me that people identify a planetarium as a source of valid information and I, of course, agree with him. “When we have an event in the skies, people come here to find out about it.”

So what happens when they arrive at Tucson’s wonderful Flandrau to find it closed?

In front of the Flandrau Science Center: The large white dome houses the planetarium, and the smaller dome, far right, is the observatory. The U of A Mineral Museum is located in the basement, and the Henry Moore-like sculpture on the lawn cradles a splendid iron meteorite. This internationally recognized institution must be kept alive at all costs. Image courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

Author Grace Flandrau could informally be described as the Science Center’s mom. A successful novelist, columnist, radio show host, and frequent visitor to Tucson, she died in 1971, and a year later the University of Arizona used a bequest from her estate “to fund a facility that would increase public understanding and appreciation of science.” The official website goes on to say:

Originally known as The Grace H. Flandrau Planetarium, the facility was part of the UA Department of Astronomy. Its location on campus, near the Astronomy Department, Optical Sciences Center, Lunar and Planetary Laboratory and historic Steward Observatory, reflects its continuing connections to the research community. The Planetarium was designed by Tucson architectural firm Blanton and Company and opened its door to the public in 1975.

Previous directors have included my friend, the late O. Richard Norton, a highly respected science writer and astronomer, and Richard R. Willey author of the short book The Tucson Meteorites: Their History from Frontier Arizona to the Smithsonian, which chronicles one of Tucson’s most enduring and mysterious legends. What the Flandrau website doesn’t mention is that the planetarium and mineral museum were almost forced to close their doors permanently earlier this year, and manage to maintain minimal opening hours due to the generosity of donors and supporters.

My initial plan was to conduct an interview with Alexis R. Faust, the current Excecutive Director of the Flandrau, then make a short visit to the superb U of A Mineral Museum, housed in the Flandrau’s basement. I thought I might get two interesting columns out of the one visit. I was late for my meeting and waited, briefly and comfortably in the conference room, for Alexis. I was graciously served good coffee, cold spring water and some snacks. My misguided belief that I would be satisfied by a short visit to these two astonishing resources was just that—misguided. I was there for half the day.

“The greatest economic value is the intelligence of people,” Alexis told me within the first couple of minutes. “Knowledge is the currency of the future.” And I was immediately and entirely captivated by her devotion to learning and her observations and predictions—both remarkable and numerous—about the future of education. “The mind is an amazing thing before we beat it to death with rote memorization, prejudice, and fear.”

To my surprise I did not hear any complaints or bitterness about budget cuts and the partial closing of the Science Center. Although the remaining staff have contracts that only run until December, the pervading view seems to be that when cuts need to be made, the money has to come from somewhere. But there is plenty of optimism among the few determined educators who walk through the quiet and nearly empty buildings.

Under the dome: The science fiction-like projector generates astral light for planetarium shows. Image courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

“We’re not just sitting here,” Alexis elaborated. “We’re writing grants and raising funds so we can bridge this period of time. We are dedicated to finding it, and we are competing against the rest of the country for those funds, so we have to be as good as we can be.” With their their passion for education, their portable planetarium shows, a fine meteorite collection, and “the largest to-scale model of Mars anywhere in the world,” the Flandrau’s protectors are keeping it is as good as it can be, but the public gets to enjoy their best for only two days a week.

Alexis left me with this thought: “A lot of people still come by and knock on the door. They haven’t even heard about us closing. It’s not the university’s fault. I am incredibly grateful that we’re as alive as we are. Education is not getting funded the way it needs to be funded, and education is in the midst of a revolution. We need to keep up with it. That’s why institutions like this are so important.”

So, Alexis isn’t just hoping for better times ahead for the Flandrau, she intends to be part of a global change in not only how we teach, but how we learn. Tucson needs brilliant people like her, and Michael Terrenzoni, right here doing what they do best.

University of Arizona please take note: When times are tough, and we tighten our national belt, some will suffer, but Tucson’s venerable science center, with its international network of colleagues and collaborators, its long history of education and sharing the wonders of astronomy and the natural world, is too important, and too unique a resource to be one of those left to die in a wasteland of economic cutbacks.

The original installment of Macro Thursday was evidently quite popular with my readers, thank you. So, I have decided to make it a semi-regular feature within the realm of the Logical Lizard.

The idea here is to use the ultra-fab macro lens on my favorite digital camera to capture hidden details of the natural world. All of these photos were taken in a single day during a lengthy hike through the Rincon Mountains, outside of Tucson. Amazing what you can see if you take the time to stop and look.

Spines unfolding

Why did the tarantula cross the road? My hiking companion claimed it was because she wanted me to pick her up and stroke her belly—apparently they like that. I didn't see my friend rushing over to do any such thing, so I was happy to just take the photo and skip the belly rub.

Butterfly with camouflage

Spiral of barrel cactus buds

Balancing act

Lichen growing on a boulder

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