denomination and the name of the animal. In
those areas there couldn’t be any dark shapes or
busy detail.
Furthermore, the outer areas of each stamp
had to be kept light in value and warm in color
so that the helicon areas would read. Helicon
is a security feature consisting of a phosphor
material printed on the front of stamps which
helps automated machines identify the presence
of a stamp. I learned about the helicon requirement after doing the comprehensive sketch, so
I had to do away with the dark values between
Qantassaurus and Australovenator.
RR: Do you have any advice for aspiring illustrators who might want to specialize in a field related to
science?
JG: It’s important to be able to read the scientific papers yourself, and not to have to rely
on someone to interpret them for you. Sketch
constantly. Be alert to living analogues as inspiration, and watch a lot of wildlife videos. Paint
outdoors. It’s the only way to understand lighting and color. Think about behavior at least as
much as morphology.
RR: Your blog, Gurney Journey, is fascinating and
quite extensive. How do you find time to update it?
JG: Thanks. I’ve been doing my daily art blog
since 2007, and have logged in more than 3,000
posts about art technique, theory, and history.
I work on new blog posts in the kitchen each
morning while the coffee is brewing and while
my wife is making breakfast. By the time she’s
got the oatmeal on the table, we’re proofreading it and sending it out into the world.
RR: Also, how do you think of topics?
JG: l have dozens of ideas that are in the
works. I have a folder where I put images that
intrigue me. And I have a collection of links,
quotes, notes, and musings that I sift through.
Sometimes people send me ideas. Or there’s
news breaking.
funny stories, obscure videos, geeky fac -
toids, and practical studio tips.
• Stay positive, or at least neutral. If I
must criticize, I try to be constructive.
RR: I also have one more, wide-ranging question:
what are your thoughts about the relationship of science and art? Can one inform the other?
JG: I come from a Renaissance mindset where
science and art are very closely allied. At its
most interesting hypothetical core, science is
a powerfully imaginative discipline, where the
ability to visualize and to draw connections
between disparate elements allows for great
leaps forward. A similar kind of imagination,
informed by fact, and tempered by skepticism,
makes for memorable art.
Painting a dinosaur is a lot like finding a fossil
in the ground. You pick up broken fragments
out of the dust. You fit them together and fill in
the missing pieces as well as you can. Somehow,
out of the decay of deep time, an image begins
to form. Something long dead lives again. The
bone grows flesh and skin and a living creature
steps from the shadow into the light, and we
can almost feel its hot breath on our necks.
Dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures live
in the boundary zone between imagination and
reality. After a picture leaves my easel, it begins
its journey to the printed page. It will be published alongside the scientist’s article, and will
reach potentially millions of people, and shape
the way they imagine a world that they will
never see with their own eyes.
My step in the process is to try to try to take
a snapshot of world that we know once existed,
but that no one has ever seen. This is why I love
painting dinosaurs. It puts me on the knife edge
between knowledge and imagination.
I don’t have a mission statement or anything,
but I try to follow three rules:
• Don’t waste people’s time.
• Vary the approach. Switch between
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