D IS FOR DINOSAUR

The disastrous feeling sometimes called "pre-show jitters" reached a genuinely horrific nadir for all involved, at NYC's Fuse Gallery, late on a Friday afternoon, 27 hours before artist Hal Robins's exhibition's opening reception was slated to begin, Saturday, January 20. In that worst of momentary times, however, the artist himself was also M.I.A.—wending his careful way downtown from Bank Street Books, where he'd gone to promote his book to another of those Manhattan booksellers he'd hoped might be well-met with the work, an assiduously-researched, paleontologically and comix -influenced kids' lit bonbon of dinosaur poetry, fact-spiked and illustrated throughout by elaborately illuminated drop caps and exquisite yet vigorous, vividly-colored saurian portraits—the artwork for which (along with a select few comix illustrations, still-online-accessible and commissioned originally for Salon.com's "Dark Hotel") comprised almost all of his show's nearly 70 pieces...

It should perhaps be noted, that Hal Robins does indeed seem to “have a thing about dinosaurs.” More later, about that...

For all the Fuse crew knew, though, Hal was M.I.A., and there was work to be done. Fuse co-owner Erik Foss, himself a talented artist, planning to attend a Williamsburg opening that evening featuring some of his own artwork, had just installed newly-purchased extra lighting in one portion of his renowned downtown Juxtapozeurian hepcat Lowbrow art emporium-within-a-bar, Fuse Gallery , cozily nestled behind its wildly popular, financially robust giant siamese sibling, the ever-boisterously-happenin' East Village watering hole, Lit Lounge—when, to everyone's immediate mortal terror and lasting vexation, the all-too-recognizable chemically-ooky odor of frying electrical wire began to waft detectably from the ceiling as tiny but oh-so-potentially-deadly wisps of grey-white smoke rippled out from one neat new fixture, not 10 feet from two parallel rows of colorful lefty comix and dino-art...

"Uh-oh, the Gallery's on fire!" people joked nervously, warily eyeing the smoky lighting fixture, nearby precious art, and multiple sprinklers, as dangerously-juicy tech repairs were affected with all due alacrity, and then some; everyone knew, that had the worst come to pass, it wouldn't've been the room's first fire, either... In the mid-‘80s, Fuse Gallery's space, before one awful all-nighter of a “real” fire, had been the kitchen of famously festive Jamaican eatery Sugar Reef, whose patrons then found themselves greeted-&-seated by Deeelite's verging-on-one-hit-wondrous Super DJ Dmitri, and Lady Miss Kier... Video surveillance cameras later recorded in its sad entirety a regular, non-“landlord lightning” conflagration, the stupid trashcan blaze that ended Sugar's era. So, Erik was understandably anxious about the wiring situation, literally leaping to action atop the gallery's ladder, amid Hal's perspicacious depictions of leapin' lizards... soon, and to the great relief of all concerned, everything seemed to've returned to "S.N." from "S.N.A.F.U.", in plenty of time for underground cartoonist / performance art celeb Harry S. "AKA Hal" Robins' first-ever NYC solo art exhibition...

Finally arriving, Hal was aptly apologetic, quickly resolving last-minute pricing issues and details about the show's unusual offer of affordable limited edition prints of the book's dinosaur illustrations, and generally being his agreeable self; unlike some on the “legendary underground cartoonist” circuit, Hal—described by fellow 'toon savant, Trashman and Zap comix legend and sometime collaborator Spain Rodriguez, as being “definitely one of the best underground cartoonists,” has a truly magnanimous reputation... friendly to a fault, affectionately compared to Ben Franklin, by Last Gasp mountain king / publisher “Ronzo” Turner, and generally considered incomparable by a widespread legion of SubGenius weirdos, comix and video game fans, familiar with his KPFA radio show and voiceover stylings for popular videogame Half-Life, and artwork for scores of publications, from vintage issues of Weirdo and Gnosis, to Bob's Favorite Comics, and many more... Hal meets, interacts with and knows an exponentially-greater number of people than might most creators given to the solitary pursuit of comix art-making—by being an annually-featured performer at Burning Man, where his psychotropic desert fashion show emcee presentations, preacherly quasi-SubGenius fulminations, and poetic bardic recitations, often delivered atop such otherworldly locations as this past year's Steampunk Victorian house-on-wheels, “NeverWas Haul,” and rolling desert galleon "La Contessa" make him a Black Rock City crowd-pleaser—also from lauded weekly starring appearances in the carny cabaret style, oddball oracular, eponymous 'Frisco fun-fest "Ask Dr. Hal" (www.askdrhal.com), performed with local Bay Area madman and automotive wiz "Chicken John" Rinaldi, stalwart soundman and local pirate radio hero K-ROB, and a varied cast of eccentrics and mixed nuts...

Hal's capacity to generate goodwill in crowds may've helped produce the mellow, night-and-day contrast of his reception itself, when it finally unfolded, with that previous day's moment of sparky doom... A relaxed, casual, atypically Slackful hippie/longhair mix of Burners, academics, comix fans, Hal's relatives, and stragglers from a nearby Ron English show, all braved bitter cold to admire art, leaning in to better view his Luis Rey-meets Virgil Finlay-esque renderings with, ah, rapt-or enjoyment...

Somehow, Hal's big-kid-cum-anachronistic-supergenius personal vibe provided a pleasant contact high to fans, some arriving via fellow performance art star Zero Boy's mailing list, while such local cartoon luminaries as Michael "Tales Designed to Thrizzle" Kupperman, and Bob "The Seduction of Mike" Sikoryak paid respects, enjoying glimpses of Hal's portfolio's other artworks; as famous SF writer Norman Spinrad enthusiastically appraised the "Dark Hotel" comix's politically-incisive storytelling—while Erik's friendly red-sweatered pooch Shadow stole a few scenes, barking excitedly at ladies with whom her master conversed.

Erik himself hovered watchfully, dashing to and fro, inspecting and correcting spontaneous periodic circuit-breaky dimmings from his still-temperamental lights, as fellow art talent and gallery co-owner Dave Schwartz enjoyed the laidback scene, while angelic black-clad co-managerial presences Lisa Lebofsky, and intern Lyndsea, held court with happy efficiency, would-be book buyers crowding two-deep at their desk to watch Hal apply typically meticulously-calligraphed signatures and inscriptions to purchases of a fortunate few fans who snapped up the gallery's scant several sale copies, in what certainly seemed like record time.

Perusing the art, people frequently mentioned Bill Stout's paleo artwork, in positively comparable terms; arts writer mavens Carlo McCormick and Psychedelic Solution Gallery founder Jacaeber Kastor, both arrived early, digging the exhibit with their kids, Tristan and Tiki... “He's a maestro of dinosaur art,” said Carlo, “—with these chops, he reigns, in a very particular illustrative niche—and, in some ways, maybe dino art, and J.R. 'Bob' Dobbs' Church of the SubGenius, are compatible belief systems—even if SubGenii aren't quite extinct, yet...”

“We both really preferred Hal's black & white images aesthetically,” said bourgeois-boho Manhattan pathologist Phil Kaplan; he and his girlfriend Eka took great delight in purchasing books, and possibly the show's most grotesque comix art, a grisly depiction of a Nazi sex scandal that provided the event's first opening-night art sale...

Later, talking to the artist, in the trepidatious afterglow of a show awaiting well-deserved further notice and art sales, Hal delivered thoughtful observations—“I fear dinosaur art is dismissed as kitsch, by many, if not most critics. But it's produced by enthusiasts, after all, and therefore can be considered a part of the landscape of Outsider Art...My comix background makes me, even in the production of color images, more a ‘linear’ than a ‘painterly’ artist—and, in the book, I used watercolor and other media to infuse cross-hatched black & white pen & ink drawings, when they became color works, with painted skies and background elements... But as to where I would fit, in the tradition of ‘prehistoric art’ or ‘paleo art,’ [my own work] is more in the linear vein of Rudolf Zallinger, than the more painterly Charles R. Knight, whose depictions of dinosaurs became the standard, for most of the 20th century... Also, what rarely seems to be acknowledged when considering this level of imagery is that it has an active psychological aspect—partaking of intimate moods and bearing aspects of storytelling.”

It isn't every day that a celebrated East Village Lowbrow art scene finds itself happily met with a beautiful display of academically-correct art that many in attendance could agree might be equally well-received at its creator's hometown's California Academy of Sciences, or NYC's own American Museum of Natural History...

There may indeed be uniquely vibrant electrical fire—if of another sort entirely—now on real world display, at NYC's Fuse Gallery, through February 24, and virtually-accessible in perpetuity via their archives.

DINOSAUR ALPHABET

Harry S. “Hal” Robins, before stepping into paleo-art, has achieved a certain cult notoriety as an underground comics artist, muralist and active member of the Church of the SubGenius, dipped his paintbrush into children’s books once before with the whimsical THE MEANING OF LOST AND MISMATCHED SOCKS (also published by Frog Ltd.) and is perhaps best known for his voice artist gig in the HALF-LIFE computer game series. That past experience sheds little light on why Robins should be writing and illustrating a children’s dinosaur book or be qualified to do so. But open up the pages of DINOSAUR ALPHABET and any sense of doubt is immediately erased. According to the book’s press release, dinosaurs are Robins’ “favorite topic,” and both his passion for paleontology and his knowledge about the subject radiate throughout its pages. He also credits the stop-motion films of Willis O’Brien, who created the epic dinosaur battles in the original KING KONG; Phil Tippett (STAR WARS); and grand master Ray Harryhausen (VALLEY OF GWANGI, ONE MILLION YEARS B.C., ETC.)—solid street-cred among dino recreationists.

Robins structures his book like any number of children’s alphabet volumes with an illustration of a dinosaur whose name starts with the letter accompanied by a rhyming four-line verse. Robins provides two pictures of each dinosaur—one large and colorful—and the other, a black and white line drawing enclosed in a large square of the letter that begins each rhyme. Because his illustrations are vivid and dynamic, the book can be enjoyed simply on this level and read aloud for ultimate pleasure.

However, what elevates DINOSAUR ALPHABET for true dino buffs are the notes at the back in which Robins discusses not just why he pictured the particular dinosaur in the particular way that he did but reveals the careful research that went into each line of the accompanying verse. Now each picture becomes a lesson on the dinosaur pictured, the accompanying verse making absorbing that information easy to recall. One doesn’t want to destroy all pleasure for the reader, but another pleasing aspect was his clear knowledge of the history of paleontology. Notably, he laments how scientists discontinued the use of the species name “Brontosaurus,” once one of the most famous dinosaurs, in favor of the blander “Apatosaurus.” I imagine many share that sentiment. Robins also throws in a nice peppering of pop culture dino references such as the fact that Baronyx being mentioned in A. Conan Doyle’s dino classic, THE LOST WORLD. Another fun addition to the notes is a short ode to Dimetrodon, the sailed reptile who was perhaps the dinosaurs’ most famous predecessor.

Robins says his criteria for inclusion in the book—other than the constraints of one dinosaur for each letter of the alphabet—was simply dinosaurs that he personally finds interesting. He admits that he left out some of the most famous dinosaurs, but we’ve seen a lot of pictures of them so it’s hard to mind, especially when given the chance to learn about some more obscure varieties. Plus there’s plenty of representation by other members of the more rock star species’ families. Instead of T.Rex, we meet carnosaurs Ceratosaurus with his single horn and Giganotosaurus, the largest predator that ever walked the earth. Instead of armadillo-like Ankylosaurus, Robins introduces us to Euoplocephalus, who also has a club tail. Instead of Triceratops, Monoclonius, Torosaurus and Zuniceratops walk the pages. Mighty Sauropods, the largest creatures every to walk the earth and the quintessential dinosaur to many, are well represented by Jobaria, spiky-tailed Rhoetosaurus, Ultrasaouros, the small-by-Saurian-standards Vulcanodon, Seismosaurus, for whom he alone gives a two-page spread to emphasize its immense length, and Quaesitosaurus (although one wonders how many choices there could be for dinosaurs beginning with Q). Velociraptors, the super-clawed villains made famous in Jurassic Park, are replaced by Deinonychus which Robins imaged as possibly feathered, consistent with recent archaeological evidence, and didn’t those Velociraptors kind of resemble monster chickens anyway? Stegosaurus appears only under the letter C warning ferocious Ceratosaurus to stay clear of his mighty spiked tail, but we get to meet Huayangosaurus, who had in addition to a spiked back had long horns on his shoulders, and Kentrosaurus, who had a mix of plates and horns on his back. Plus a few mainstays do make the cut such as Allosaurus, the Jurassic era smaller ancestor of T. Rex; Lambeosaurus, the nesting duck-billed dinosaur with the funny crest; and Iguanodon, from which the first ever dino fossil was found.

In sum, DINOSAUR ALPHABET is a book that dinosaur fans of all ages will enjoy.