Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman (or, "Why I Make Art With Bugs")

Throughout history, people have been fascinated by insects. This fascination has manifested itself in the full range of responses from awe to revulsion. Insects have been gods, heraldic symbols, and jewels, as well as the inspiration behind our aliens, our phobias, and our horror film industry. They have been the embodiment of the ideals we work to mimic, and the ultimate symbol of the “other.” They have been both at once, in the form of many comic-book super-heroes. A topic so rich in history – both anthropological and psychological- with the power to evoke such a vast range of strong emotions seems like the perfect point of reflection for art. As well as being topically fascinating, insects are aesthetically beautiful, intricate forms. Their body structures are diverse and delicate, possessing a strange beauty I try to share through my work.

I am additionally intrigued by the human tendency- and my own - to anthropomorphize . As we know no other way of existing than that which we have experienced- namely, the experience of a person- it is no surprise that in order to make sense of the behaviors of other beings we attribute to them (if only subconsciously) the cognitive and philosophical capabilities that we ourselves possess.

If the insect has a human face, does it have an intellect like ours? It looks like us, so can it also think and feel in the ways that we do? Or is it a mask of us, with nothing behind it but a series of instinctual reactions and biological imperatives. And, when it comes down to it, which of these would be more disturbing to our sensibilities- an “animal” who is a person, or a hollow copy of humanity, lacking in personhood?

Thats How The Elytron Crumbles

...or, more accurately, splinters disastrously. The last year or so i've been working with a wonderful batch of Torynorrhina flammea jewel beetles (here are pictures of the top and bottom to give you an idea of their body structure and beautiful iridescence). Originally, the modifications I was making only required cutting into the abdomen on the bottom side of the beetle. Using a sharp x-acto knife and some care, this proved to be no problem. However, a more recent project necessitated cutting into the elytra. In doing so, I discovered that the chitin has a distinctive grain. cutting lengthwise wasn't too problematic. However, once I began cutting diagonally and widthwise, things got trickier. It seems the wing covers weren't too keen on being swiss cheese. After extensive struggle and fudging some rough edges with glue (also, I must admit, an unkind word or two to the beetles I was hacking at. Most people talk to dead insects, right?), the project was completed. However, I swore never again to attempt cutting shapes out of elytra. No sir. never. not gonna happen.

Well, that was about two months ago. Last weekend I found myself staring mournfully at the belly of a beautiful 5-horned rhinoceros beetle (Eupatorus gracillicornus), my fateful vow echoing in my head. This was all supposed to be so simple; Cut a window into the abdomen of the beetle, empty out the body cavity, and transform the inside into a light-box with ultra-miniature diorama. Easy as pie, right?

But there before me lay the pitfall of my lack of foresight. I had thoughtlessly assumed that the belly-side of a rhino beetle would be the same as that of my earlier jewel beetles. Oh, what fools we mortals be! While the jewel beetles had lovely, workable, wide-open spaces between where the two rows of legs anchored to the body, the rhino beetles' legs emerged directly from the center of the thorax. Not only this, but the abdomen was a stubby thing, making any chance of simply cutting below the legs impossible. I would have loved to have cut into the top side of the beetle (thus being able to show off its full beauty), but for the issue of those pesky elytra. Because of my previous experience I had written it off as a lost cause, and resigned myself to working on the belly.

Here's where I owe a friend of mine a great debt of gratitude. He suggested using a Dremel rotary tool with the thinnest cut-off wheel. I was afraid a power tool-even one as small-scale as a Dremel- might destroy the beetle's fragile desiccated body. However, it worked brilliantly! On a medium-low setting, taking great care not to cut too deep, I was able to cut a nearly perfect rectangle out of the elytra. Once they were out of the way, my trusty old x-acto knife could get through the wings and the exoskeleton. Victory was mine! 

(A victory I celebrated with about 30 minutes of scooping out dried beetle innards.)