Karen Carr is one of those artists whose lack of presence on this blog seems to defy explanation; originally from Texas (but now living in New Mexico), she has a huge palaeoart back catalogue, with work featured in a wide range of institutions and publications. Go and check out her website for just a taste. She’s chiefly a natural history artist, although that’s definitely underselling the diversity of her art, which ranges from murals to sculptures to maps. Of course, it’s depictions of dinosaurs that we’re most interested in, and where better to begin than 1995’s Lone Star Dinosaurs, one of her first collaborations with Texan palaeontologist Louis Jacobs? Finally, a book that dares to stick Tenontosaurus on the cover without a Deinonychus in sight!

Huge thanks to Agata for finding this one in a shop in Arundel (nowhere near Texas).

Carr’s dinosaurs from this period have a quality that I’m tempted to call ‘willowy’, with the Tenontosaurus on the cover exemplifying this. We’ll return to this painting later, but it’s striking how it makes such an effective cover without the need for exaggerated drama or a slavering theropod – the lively, vibrantly striped ‘hyspilophodonts’ (Zephyrosaurus, I’m guessing) contrasting with the drabber, stoic Tenontosaurus that towers over them. I like it.

While the bulk of the book examines Texan Mesozoic life in chronological order, Jacobs naturally appreciates the need to first grab the reader’s attention. As such, the first chapter begins with a day-in-the-life story of some sauropods, Pleurocoelus (which might be a junior synonym of Astrodon, unless it isn’t), crossing tidal mud flats to reach a bountiful feeding ground:

“On the other side, they saw the tall, spidery-leafed conifers, erect on the flat landscape. Dark green cycads and ferns grew in the understory. Flowers were small and grew in bashful patches. With all the trees to hinder their way from the shore, it is no surprise that the dinosaurs chose to walk on the broad tidal flat…the flats provided a comfortable highway, an easy walk with a clear view. The water felt good as it dripped from their rotund bellies and splashed their columnar legs.”

As you might have guessed, this “fleeting moment” in the Cretaceous transpires to be “one that time did not forget”, with the dinosaurs’ fossilised footprints being unearthed by humans over 100 million years later. It’s an effective way of immediately linking the past to the present and bringing it to life, and is hugely enhanced by Carr’s rather beautiful painting, as seen above. You’ll note that the animals have the wrinkly pachyderm look very typical of the period, along with rather nondescript ‘generic sauropod’ anatomy and heads, although that would appear to be somewhat justified given how poorly known they are. They also appear convincingly hefty and enormous, thanks to a combination of masterfully executed shadows and a human’s-eye-view perspective. And just look at the clouds! Retro sauropods or not, this is lovely work.

Anyone somewhat familiar with Late Triassic beasties will immediately recognise Desmatosuchus in the above piece (the armoured creature hanging out by the water’s edge). Most of the other animals here aren’t named, although they obviously represent phytosaurs, temnospondyls and fish variously. The creatures crawling over the rocks (beautifully lit by dappled sunlight), though, are harder to pin down. They are apparently intended to be Postosuchus, although to me they look more like early attempts at dinosaurs from some fantastical 19th century depiction of the Antediluvian World. These are certainly unusually ‘lizardy’ interpretations of the famous pseudosuchian, and make me wonder about the type of reference material/advice that Carr had access to. The painting’s very beautiful regardless, of course, particularly in the transition from the terrestrial to underwater realm, and that gnarly tree trunk over on the left is just showing off.

Carr’s painting of Acrocanthosaurus is equally beautiful in its depiction of a lush, humid forest, with sunlight breaking through the canopy and diffusing in the mist. However, the creature itself takes on a slightly goofy appearance that all of Carr’s theropods are afflicted by in this book, to some extent; its head has a slightly cartoonish appearance, and quite what it’s doing with the fingers on its right hand, I’m not sure (it looks uncomfortable, but then the animal could hyperextend its digits, so…I guess they were flexible?). I should point out that Carr’s more recent depictions of theropods are much, much better than this, but as of 1995 she was certainly much better at the ol’ ornithischians (which did mean that Tenontosaurus finally got to be a star).

Deinonychus, appearing in a smaller supplementary illustration, looks just as goofy as its allosaur counterpart, but fortunately shares this piece with some quite lovely little “hypsilophodonts” and wonderful picture-book scenery, including that eternal LITC favourite, the Picturesque Fallen Log. Hooray for fallen logs! The murky, swampy colour palette here is quite wonderful, too. The more vibrant greens of the herbivores help emphasise the manner in which the predator is able to blend in with its environment.

And speaking of lovely vibrant herbivores, Tenontosaurus and its probably-Zephyrosaurus friends appear again inside, luxuriating over an entire spread and effectively forming the book’s centrepiece. For all that this piece is dated scientifically and in terms of it following contemporary palaeoart trends, it remains a very beautiful artwork and fully deserving of its pride-of-place position in the book. It’s a wonderfully composed fragment of the Cretaceous world, and the way that the dinosaurs’ ecosystem emerges from the mists at the centre of a dark void gives it a dreamlike quality that’s rarely evoked by palaeoart. This is very much a case of a work being art first and foremost, and a ‘functional’ depiction of dinosaurs second. In that sense, it’s very much ahead of its time. And I do still really like the contrast between the red stripy “hypsilophodonts” and the Tenontosaurus, which takes on a rather noble, statuesque appearance. What a wonderful change to being torn apart by Deinonychus.

Tenontosaurus further appears in a nightime scene, in which two individuals are seen drinking while a herd of sauropods (whatever you’d like to call them) look on. This might be a slightly crummy scan of a less-than-optimal reproduction in a book, but I still want to reach out and run my fingers over the paint here; that water looks positively tangible. One must also admire the dappled, textured skin on the tenontosaurs, which have also been depicted rather well from a tricky perspective. Who needs to be photo-realistic when it’s possible to be this evocative? And speaking of which…

…I didn’t pay that much attention the above painting of the nodosaur Pawpawsaurus when I first flicked through this book, but it definitely rewards closer inspection. It resembles a landscape painting from a time before dinosaurs were even known about, that impossibly happens to feature a trio of nonplussed-looking nodosaurs (I’m reminded of that one John Conway book). That said, the animals are still entirely of a piece with their surroundings, becoming a part of the whole, contiguous with their environment rather than separate elements placed within it. Or maybe I’m just getting silly because I’m really, really impressed by how the water’s been painted. And look, little turtles! The nodosaurs themselves are a little Kishian, but that’s no bad thing for 1995.

And finally (for now)…drowning Pawpawsaurus! This one’s inspired by a real fossil specimen of a “scuteling”. Carr need only have bothered to depict the animal sinking into the sea with a few fish swimming by, but I suppose she couldn’t help but add the snails, urchins, coral, crab etc. The crab, seemingly curious at this alien creature plunging down into its environment, is a very nice whimsical touch. Beautifully done, again.

More to follow!