birdspot

March, you cruel month, with your allusions to warmer times and intimations of brighter futures, you can not keep me down. You may keep me inside, even strand me there, but I have found a way out, despite having lost all energies for battling snow and wind chills and the desperation brought on by the paucity of all things interesting. No, Mom, I am not drinking too much. There is something about a long Northeastern winter that precludes such excesses - my wells are simply too deep for that, and those depths are scary. No, I have my own psychochemicals: a set of bird feeders, a picture window, some watercolors, and exquisite, perfectly formed Kolinsky sable brushes.

I have color back again, and have decided that other than random physical mishaps and frailty, and the occasional social gaffe, I am, for the time being, pretty much invincible. In my own head, anyway, and in a modest context, I have found a realm sublimated between a small room and a large window.

The thing is, though, that the scenarios that unfold before me through days of intense feeder gazing are not exactly idyllic. While I can easily achieve a Zen-like calm watching the flittings and the comings and goings (especially with a cup of tea and the radiator on my left), it doesn’t take much more than simple empathy to realize that birds are very serious about food in winter. The constant visits to the seed and suet are marked with frenetic energy, complex patterns of arrival, sudden emergency departures, and many, many high traffic encounters.

I have become particularly fascinated by inter-species interactions, and the ensuing hierarchies and opportunism. There is an awful lot of squabbling that goes on at a winter feeder, especially in the frenzies before a storm or after a snowfall has obliterated other food sources. Larger birds with bigger bills have the bullying advantage, obviously, and anyone with a feeder develops a snide dislike of House Sparrows, and perhaps less so but also of House Finches, with their sedentary ways at a feeder hole and their mob numbers. When the (potentially hundreds) of Common Grackles arrive, it feels almost apocalyptic. These observations are pretty basic, but ah, the subtleties around this are where things start to get really interesting.

I have to confess, I have spent much more time out in the field than at bird feeders. My own 14th floor aerie is completely unsuitable for this activity, and it took a concerted effort for me to visit one and force myself to sit still - an effort spurred largely by a commissioned drawing of said birds. Now I am completely addicted. From watching the savvy of the Black-capped Chickadees to starting to understand a larger picture of the webs of interactions across a whole day’s worth of feeding - the material is enough for a thesis, or a body of work, which is what I am doing now. Watching a White-breasted Nuthatch rear up, wings outstretched, dagger bill pulled back and pointed downward (exactly, and I mean exactly, looking like a Cobra) to fend off two idly perched House Sparrows, was like witnessing a righteous coup. The scene had seemed so innocuous - two fluffy sparrows on a branch, inching towards the feeder, one nuthatch, ahead in the line but much flightier. Then, in an incredible flash, rebellion and violence - and for once the nuthatch got to park itself at the food source.

There is so much more, in this tiny world, than meets the impatient eye. The symbiotic feeding between disparate species of birds (and the less peaceable kingdom behavior of closer competitors), and the arrival and timing patterns of different types of birds (the long swoop of the Tufted Titmouse vs. the skulking approach from the ground floor upwards of a White-throated Sparrow) are apparent to anyone who watches a feeder, or knows a little about the feeding habits of different birds. What I am floored by is the element of change and chaos in these patterns, and by the visual (visceral) reactions that I have to all of it. I now know the differences in structure and even coloration between a male and female Carolina wren, through drawing and watching. I can time an in-flight photograph (better, anyway) for different species, knowing how they tend to approach and retreat. I am insatiable for more understanding of things so seemingly insignificant.

Images, above, from top to bottom:
Carolina Wren studies, ink and watercolor on paper
Black-capped Chickadees in flight, ink and watercolor on paper
Red-bellied Woodpecker/Black-capped Chickadee, ink and watercolor on paper

Images below:
details of Carolina Wren studies

I have been having people into studio to rummage through my sketches, instead of organizing a bona fide open studio this year. In case anyone is interested, for the time being I have my boxes of preparatory, half-finished or fully finished drawings out and available.


Chicken studies, plus details, pen on grey paper, 16 x 9″

halloween sketches, scratchboard, 8 x 11″

The temperature has dropped, seemingly all at once and surprisingly, though in actuality it has been creeping downward rather steadily. I, too, am crawling out of this season, counting days as the hours shorten and bird migration slows, meandering when I might prefer to be beelining. Enough of slow changes and floating between seasons. I stamp my feet (figuratively and literally - now, in my favorite Converse, my toes are cold), and my impatience borders on impertinence. Bring on winter and get it over with.

Last week I spent a day in Central Park with three esteemed bird photographers, combing through Sparrow Rock and Maintenance Meadow in an altogether different fashion from my usual fall migration mania. David Speiser kindly invited me along to photograph with him, Lloyd Spitalnik, and Harry Maas. The sheer heft of serious photography equipment has kept me from sacrificing everything else I own in order to buy 800mm lenses and flashes and video tripod mounts, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t drool over really nice optics and gadgetries when I see them. I chose my own 300mm Canon lens (amazing within its range) for its mobility and hand holdability (is that truly a word?). The gear that these guys trot around the park commands a different respect, and demands a certain level of physical deliberateness. Add to this the Sisyphean challenge of trying to get amazing shots of tiny, active migrant songbirds, and you start to get the idea that this endeavor requires a level of patience and intuition not possessed by many.

I had a sneaking suspicion that these three characters might make up for hours of grey chilly weather and the near-useless, half-blurred warbler photos I would inevitably produce in such circumstances. I had the idea that witty banter would be flying, and I sincerely hoped that at least they were the sorts to have a nice sit in the Boathouse, because generally when I stay in one place for a long time the only thing I really want to do is eat. They do eat (and banter), of course, and then some, and the day I spent with them was fantastic. I didn’t pester them too much with questions on technique or exposure settings (they offer excellent classes for such things), but I did watch. I took about a hundred photos of this first-year Blackpoll Warbler, in between repartee and Central Park folklore.

Like all migrating birds, this warbler was hungry, but in this obvious fact, there are degrees to hungry. There is hunger, and then there is hunger tinged with desperation. As we clicked away (unobtrusively, I would like to state), I began to feel like this bird was experiencing the latter. It spent an unusual amount of time out in the open, along a wooden and wire fence. It returned to the fence over and over, even when it seemed impossible that any tiny living creature could possibly be left on it. This drew growing sighs of exasperation from the photographers, because if the Blackpoll were to alight on the stunted pine tree nearby, the shots would take on an instant, almost Japanese beauty. It did not prefer the pine, however, for the simple reason that there were more insects to be found on the fence. I took many partially obscured and strange rear view shots. The bird flew well, but held its wings drooped slightly, and after maybe ten minutes I realized that the left wing was drooping lower than the right. This was consistent the entire time we viewed the bird (like 16 hours, judging by how cold my feet were. well OK, not really 16). It was definitely favoring its left wing. This was a subtle observation, not an obvious tragedy in the making, but one I may have missed from a shorter encounter. The bird did, finally, fly in to us at the pine tree, the sun broke out a bit, and good photos were had all around. Followed by hot soup and coffee.

Two studies of a Blackpoll Warbler, pencil on paper, 11.5 x 11″
David Speiser’s photo of the same bird: http://www.lilibirds.com
Lloyd Spitalnik’s photo of the same bird: http://lloydspitalnikphotos.com

On Tuesday, September 29th, NYC Audubon is hosting their Fall Roost gala and auction at the Central Park Boathouse (home of great martinis on the veranda and terrible burgers on the back patio), and yours truly has humbly created a drawing just for this event. This has been fulfilling (in ways other than financial) for me, and as such I do not mind putting a huge plug on this decidedly non-commercial blog for the drawing and the event. Proceeds from the gala and auction go to much needed conservation and educational programs here in New York City.

The drawing is pencil on paper, 22 x 18.5″ and is signed and dated on the back. It will be framed by the auction date. *UPDATE* auction over, drawing sold.

running running running.
Husonian Godwit, pencil on paper, 10 x 7.5″
this one is taking me a while; I think I might post it in stages, like I used to. I’d like to see one of these “finished.” this risks ruining it, of course, and do I really want to draw all of those spots?? why yes, actually, I think I do.

Words like attenuated, decurved, and gonydeal angle are running through my mind and threatening to come out in casual conversation.

Study of a Greater Yellowlegs, pencil on paper, full sheet about 14 x 11″