Here it is! A comb object crafted by bees assembled into a pendant inspired by my favorite quilt pattern.
Comb Object, Flying Geese hanging at GoCA’s HIVE exhibition in Colorado Springs through October 6th.
The dark comb on the left was made in the brood chamber, the deep part of the hive where the queen lays eggs and nurse bees raise the young up to adulthood. It took years to earn its smooth, resinous patina.
The materials are bee comb, wood, twine and wax
The light comb on the right was made in a honey super and took just a few days to make. The bees made the negative space. The gaps are passages through which they walked and were not cut or otherwise shaped by me.
Negative space
Here you can see the wood frame in which the bees did their building. It’s a little over an inch wide.
Side view, Comb Object, Flying Geese
A sphere of wax weights the bottom.
Bottom half, Comb Object, Flying Geese
Here’s a closeup of the wax sphere and its shadow. It’s interesting how the shapes work together, the triangle, the hex and the sphere, don’t you think?
Sphere and shadow, Comb Object, Flying Geese
Here it is in installation.
Comb Object, Flying Geese and 100 paintings by Laura Tyler
In A Disaster in the Making Dr. Henk Tennekes connects systemic pesticides to declining bird populations in the Netherlands. According to Tennekes, birds are starving in areas where insects have been wiped out by clothianidin. Apparently, there just aren’t enough ground beetles around for baby birds to eat.
Weighing in at seventy-two pages, A Disaster in the Making is more article than book. It’s a sad and moving read due largely to the inclusion of a series of dreamy, watery illustrations by Ami-Bernard Zillweger. Recommended for anyone in evidence gathering mode trying to make sense of the whole EPA/clothianidin/honeybee connection.
I have a problem with the term “colony collapse disorder” because the word “disorder” implies sickness or disease. What if healthy bees are being made weak due to exposure to chemical pesticides? Does the word “disorder” contain that possibility? Or does it keep us hunting for something wrong, diseased or inadequate within the body of the bee?
Those of you who check in from time to time may have noticed I don’t often write about the threat to honeybees known as colony collapse “disorder.” There are a couple of reasons. One: this is an art blog so I try steer clear of technical beekeeping stuff. Two (and this is the main thing): it’s a complex topic fraught with confusion, even for beekeepers and most of the big news stories that have emerged in last year have seemed just off target enough for me not to want to pass them on to you. Like when the NYTimes published Scientists and Soldiers Solve a Bee Mystery I didn’t post about it even though it seemed it could be definitive. In a nutshell, it tells the story of how scientist Jerry Bromenschenk documented a correlation between a fungus, a virus and collapsing bee colonies. As you can imagine, people were excited and relieved to learn that the mystery of the dying bees had finally been solved! The story burned up the blogosphere. Unfortunately for Bromenshenk (the victim of a rashly written headline if there ever was one) it fractured under scrutiny. Money magazine rebutted with What a Scientist Didn’t Tell the New York Times about His Study on Bee Deaths which cast a shadow on Bromenshenk’s work by revealing his close ties to Bayer CropScience, the manufacturer of a pesticide highly toxic to honeybees.
Interestingly, while the poorly reported Bromenschenk story and other tidbits probing the bee mysteries have hit big, a parallel story, a more human story, and in my view, a more truthful story with darker implications is struggling to rise up. In December I pointed you toward a press release about a newly uncovered EPA memo that disclosed the deeply flawed research behind the approval of clothianidin. (Clothianidin, a.k.a. Poncho, is one of several new pesticides that a growing number of beekepers suspect are linked to colony collapse.) In a surprising move, a group of commercial beekeepers followed up on the disclosure by asking the EPA to take clothianidin off the market pending new research. This represents a big shift in strategy by the community of commercial beekeepers who, for the most part, have taken a cautious approach to colony collapse – first looking inward at beekeeping practices (National Honeybee Advisory Board member David Hackenberg has wondered out loud, “Am I a bad beekeeper?”) – and then beseeching the scientific community for leadership and answers. This is the first time a national beekeeping organization has stepped up to say what many of us have speculated privately; that the new pesticides are suspect; that they were rushed onto the market without proper testing; and that the science that led to their approval is flawed.
The National Honeybee Advisory Board has asked the EPA to remove the popular pesticide clothianidin (also known as Poncho) from the market based on a leaked agency memo that discloses flawed research. You can read the full press release here.
Are you letting your dandelions bloom? I hope so. And if not, I invite you to at least think about it. Not only are they responsible for an enlivening burst of yellow each spring, dandelion pollen provides an important early source of protein for growing honeybees. And they’re effortless to grow (at least, that’s how it seems).
American lawn tastes are changing, and those who welcome dandelions represent the vanguard of a new aesthetic. Read more in this article by a self-proclaimed Dandelion King.
At our house we don’t use herbicides. Dandelions bloom though we try to trim seeds before they scatter. It’s a little futile. But there’s something happy about it. I do like yellow.
Thanks to Derek Friday at Finndustry for the Dandelion King link.
In a tender new discovery scientists have learned that the solitary O. avoseta queen bee works alone to make these petal nests for individual eggs and larvae. More wonderful pictures on NPR. And nice story on eurakalert.
Two jars of honeybee propolis dissolving in rum, 3/1/2010
Honeybee propolis ranges in color from dark brown (almost black) to rusty red, gold and green depending on what plants the bees who made it foraged on. Raw propolis is changeable, taffy-like stuff (stretchy and sticky when warm, brittle when cold) made from trees by bees. You can read more about it and see another picture here.
The colors that rise up during tincture making are breathtaking. I’ll shake these jars a couple of times a day for the next two weeks and will get a hit of warmth every time I see that red. I wonder if it will change with time or stay the same?
It’s an honor and a pleasure to announce that Sister Bee is screening in St Louis, Missouri tonight, January 26th as part of the Slow Food St. Louis Urban Homesteading Series.
Those of you charmed by bee imagery should check out Bees in Art, a virtual gallery of lovingly rendered images of honeybees, bumblebees and other Hymenoptera.
Worker Honey Bee, mezzotint engraving by Andrew Tyzack
Curator, artist and beekeeper, Andrew Tyzack, has assembled a collection of vintage books, paintings, drawings and prints that enhance his dramatic paintings of beekeepers at work.
Honey Farming, oil on linen by Andrew Tyzack.
The collection has a storybook quality that’s earnest and sweet and not at all didactic.
