SCI FI ARTWORK PART TWO: The Amazing Original Artwork of Frank Herbert's DUNE

As promised, here are the uploads of the original art of Dune, as featured in Analog magazine.



 

 

 The Cover of the Analog Issue That Had the Very First Version of Dune in It:

 

The Prophet of Dune was actually a continuation of the serialization of Dune, I think.

 

 

I freaking love this one. Below is a scan of one of the most iconic illustrations of the Dune Series.

 

 

The Sci Fi of the 60's was really interested in Geopolitics, mostly because the Cold War was the main popular ideology of that time:

 

 

 

 

The Reverend Mother with her Gom Jabbar. I like this illustration a LOT more than any that came along after it.

 

This is part of a two page spread. I only opened this one page, though.



 

 

The Baron



 

 

 

This Reminded Me of the Style of Zen Ink Painting. Note the Use of Space...

SCIENCE FICTION ART, PART ONE: The Amazing and Astounding Artwork of Analog

During one of my despondent nocturnal perambulatory meditations, I happened to find myself between the musty, forgotten stacks upon stacks of UNCW's journal archives. As I meandered between walls of paper and letters, my movements loosened a small quantity of paleolithic dust which took to the air for (perhaps) the first time in centuries. It danced across my line of sight and I inhaled it, causing myself to release a sneeze that in turn unleashed a sandstorm of the stuff. I spat into my t-shirt and covered my mouth with the wet cloth in order to protect myself from what seemed like inevitable asphyxiation, but, as luck would have it, a draft caused by a subtle change in upper-atmosphere temperature began to blow, clearing away the thick cloud that had threatened to suffocate me. When I had finished blinking the dust out of my eyes, I noticed the section of the Archives to which Fate had led me: this was the section where the fossilized remains of previous issues of Analog had been deposited by the receding tide of academia. 

The imperfect medium of prose cannot convey the excitation I felt then, nor can I express with any accuracy the loudness of the roar of delight I gave that nearly caused the librarian to kick me out of the building. Instead, let me here put forth images of some of the beautiful things I found.

Below are some of the covers of Analog; I included the ones that I felt were the most suggestive or had the most artistic merit. They are wonderful artifacts from the most prolific era of American SF. These lonely compositions speak to the mythos of American Individualism (as spun in the popular SF mag) as well as reflect the poignant alienation of the period. Additionally, they are notable as exemplars of the period SF art that was not dependent on computer assisted imagery.

But these images aren't all. Among the Archives I found something even more fascinating, which I will reveal next week. Let's just say, it involves a sandworm.

Journal of 2012 Trip to Washington

I took a trip to Washington/Oregon from aug-september 2012. I recently found some of the notebooks that I wrote in during the trip. They're really stupid, but here you go anyway.

Preparing for the wedding:

What we played:

The long road trip to Cle Elum:

Coming back from the wedding:

In Seattle: Then, Portland:

On the Amtrack from Portland to Bakersfield (which took quite a while):

Salem, OR:

The Amtrack Got Stuck Somewhere in the Middle of Oregon:

Haibun of 25th Year (Part 1)

I

Apparently, no one who lives in southeastern North Carolina knows how to make good coffee. There used to be a good coffee place, where I could down macchiattos until my vision blurred, but it closed one year ago (a lesson in impermanence).  Now, Bryce does a coffee tasting, making pourovers with beans roasted out West. But too often my desire for caffeine compels me to seek out less appetizing alternatives:

sitting in starbucks
          am i drinking coffee? sour
                      like tar, but weaker.

But sometimes I feel guilty for being so critical:

sipping shoe polish--
      those poor children somewhere, though
don't even have that

II

North Carolina has beautiful fall days. The blue skies distract me from completing anything and the cool wind finally lets me wear a fashionable coat after I have spent three unbearably humid summer months in obligatory partial nudity.

carolina blue . . .

     does it reference this sky, or

this melancholy?

In elementary school, falling off the Earth seemed a possible concern. Now, in my 25th year, it's difficult to convince myself of the reality of this problem. Everyone suspects that gravity is someone's whim, though, even philosophers. 

III

On my way to a class I didn't prepare for:

i love learning so
              why do i watch so much porn
                                   and forget to study?

Lately, the stress of my own idiocy has worn me into a rather disappointing groove. I focus on one class or another, never able to get all of my work done. Anxiety then makes my work harder than usual. I have to struggle against my own embarrassment in order to make it to class, but, inevitably, attending class reminds me that yes, I actually do love what I'm doing; I love talking about ideas, especially obscure ones.

even sweating like
       a twisted wet sponge, i love
to babble theory