More goofing around with watercolor pencils, on a postcard this time.

In retrospect I am relieved that she didn't give in on that one (mostly because there is no ending for that kind of story that does not involve stitches), but at the time I found it unreasonable. Of course monkeys were safe, I thought; otherwise they wouldn't sell them! I didn't see what could be wrong with having a little organ grinder monkey to ride around on my shoulders wherever I went. I fantasized about it.

Most importantly, it would be my little captive friend--smart like a person. I was familiar with Koko the gorilla. I thought I could teach a monkey sign language (after learning it myself, of course), and that this grand experiment would in turn yield the secrets of the universe to which I assumed all of the dumb animals had access. I didn't think Koko's keepers were asking the right questions. Who cares what a monkey wants to eat? Give him his stupid juice already and ask him if he believes in God.

As a reasonably intelligent grown-up I have (mostly) lost interest in asking monkeys what they think about God, because I'm convinced that, like most animals both human and non-human, monkeys are primarily concerned with meeting their immediate needs and being comfortable, and the thought of some purpose to life beyond the next banana doesn't even occur to them. I don't think non-human primates are capable of having an existential crisis. The child in me can't help but feel painfully disappointed.

But then there are apes like Kanzi, a bonobo whose aptitude in communication with humans is downright stunning. Language studies with other apes like standard chimpanzees and gorillas have met with limited success--even Koko's case is shady--but Kanzi, raised with a bonobo mother and a great deal of human contact, shows both a linguistic and emotional aptitude that is close to human. He learned a keyboard lexigram system by observing his mother's training sessions. He uses some kind of vocal vocabulary to communicate with other bonobos in his troop. I'm not sure if he understands syntax, but he understands the use of vocal words and visual symbols to represent a real object. He comes up with novel words for new objects. And he can manipulate fire and competently make Stone Age-type blades. Essentially, this non-human creature is like a primitive human, not because he evolved above other apes but because apes already had the capacity--he just had to be given access to communication with humans at a young enough age, and his natural curiosity did the rest. That's what is most striking to me. He learned language through observation of language use, like a human child would. This wasn't an animal coaxed with treats. He wanted to communicate with people, so he did.

I don't think we'll be having philosophical discussions with him any time soon, but I do wonder how complex his inner life is. I wonder how capable a bonobo is of understanding an abstract concept like religion. Do they want explanations for why things happen the way they do, or do they just accept them? Do the captive ones wonder what human beings think about? Do they think our customs are phenomenally goofy, or that we're kind of stupid compared to them? Or do the exceptionally clever ones like Kanzi want to be like us? I'm interested in the ape language studies, not so much for their own sake (though I do find the origins of language fascinating), but primarily because it brings us that much closer to answering these kinds of questions, and by proxy the ultimate question: How different are we from the animals, really?

There is a very cool RadioLab episode about this idea, including a segment about Kanzi. Listen here.

You may not be aware, but Neil Gaiman recently had a fairly public ordeal involving his little cat Zoe, who had cancer. He had her put down on Monday. I follow the gentleman on Twitter and read his blog because he's an author whom I like, and the whole sad affair with Zoe resonated with me profoundly. I have been in the same place so many more times than I ever wanted to be.

So I drew this on the back of a postcard and sent my consolations to him. Because it felt like the right thing to do, even though I don't know him. I'm not sure if it's creepy or if it's weird, but I thought the drawing might convey the kind of understanding that words can't. So off it went.

I was trying to take a picture of the artist trading cards on the Polaroid first, but for reasons unknown to me, it malfunctioned and spit two pictures at me instead. They are abominations:

And since I hadn't taken a picture of the dog for a while, here is Sadie.

I meant to finish this last year for a friend who was studying abroad in Australia, but it just never got done for some reason. But now here it is! Platypuses may be adorable, but they are poisonous, like every other animal in Australia.

Acrylic on canvas. 2.5" x 3.5".

Happy guinea pig.

Acrylic on canvas. 3.5" x 2.5".