Unknown Bird

Out of the dry days
through the dusty leaves
far across the valley
those few notes never
heard here before

one fluted phrase
floating over its
wandering secret
all at once wells up
somewhere else

and is gone before it
goes on fallen into
its own echo leaving
a hollow through the air
that is dry as before

where is it from
hardly anyone
seems to have noticed it
so far but who now
would have been listening

it is not native here
that may be the one
thing we are sure of
it came from somewhere
else perhaps alone

so keeps on calling for
no one who is here
hoping to be heard
by another of its own
unlikely origin

trying once more the same few
notes that began the song
of an oriole last heard
years ago in another
existence there

it goes again tell
no one it is here
foreign as we are
who are filling the days
with a sound of our own

By: W.S. Merwin

I reach for you under my hands but you are not there
my back is heavy with all of this weight
as you look at me and I am endless
today is just a moment
when death stops in to come calling
I cannot lift my head
To spend another week on this routine of emptiness
when I ask who will catch me as I fall?

work anyway, paint anyway

more fiction.

Oh my clueless heart searching for some small measure of hope.
She was beauty, so young and fresh with wide blue eyes.
I took her hand and hated her youth
I squandered mine so easily on baggy clothes and feminism.
He danced around us watching as we spoke.
Draw my eyes down, along the edges of your jaw and to the flat plane of your cheek.
I place a pencil on my lips in echo of my longing
lips curling tenderly over it as we speak

She will not write this to you
or crave the soft brush of your fingers
as I give you a hundred colored honeycombs
In my new city will you sit
your back winged among the mass
surrounded by a thousand reflections?
throw them in the air and let them land
colored non pointed stars fluttering falling
all of the colors I find dancing in your eyes
as they fall on me

-by the Corby

Go get her hawk

the hawk

There is a story about rabbits I have been told. It is about how a rabbit yelled and yelled, "Oh hawk do not eat me, please. Do not eat me!" so loud that the hawk heard it and decided to eat it. So today I am stuck on what happened earlier on my hike. I found a rabbit in my path laying prone on her side. Her mouth was covered with saliva and her eyes were clouded and dry. Her body contracted over and over as if she were desperate to get away from me. The motions of her running was punctuated by her rhythmic screams. It was horrible and has haunted me all day. I could not help her. I was afraid to touch her for fear of zoonotic diseases and she was beyond any treatments. It was hard to leave her to her death but it felt like it was more merciful then carrying her off to a vets office. In this case I hoped that a hawk would hear her. The hawk would end her suffering and would not contract her sickness. Ironically a little later a hawk hunted over me and I watched him eat and catch mice. So it haunts me that sound and struggle and I worry over it, wanting to find meaning in it. It was really horrible and heartbreaking to see. Sometimes I want to close my eyes and my heart, actually lately I want to do that allot.

woven

Of course it is not easy to go one's road. Because of our education we continually get off our track, but the fight is a good one and there is joy in it if there is any success at all. After all, the goal is not making art. It is living a life. Those who live their lives will leave the stuff that is really art. Art is a result. It is a trace of those who have led their lives.

Robert Henri -The Art Spirit

-Sometimes we have to take the risks or else our story ends and nothing is gained from living it.

plod, plod, plod, plod...
Here I am in my studio trying to get this drawing right for the painting it will become. It seems to elude me this evening. There is a mass of rubber bits stained with charcoal around my easle from all of the frustrated work that is not getting done, even though I am toiling at it. These ones are tricker paintings taking some sweet time even to be lines of charcoal dust on canvas. They do not even have the form of paint yet. They have to be perfect first, the right sweep of a hand or a wing in relation to the other parts. Both of them are large and composed of other pieces. I always have hope for them when they begin but I want the feel of complete satisfaction with the drawing. It comes as a rush when I look at them and all of the parts fit. Until then I erase, rework, resize, redraw and push until they fall into place. It has to be right now or I will fight it the entire way. I am not afraid to erase even an almost completed drawing if it just isn't the way it should be. Many hours of work gone in a few moments and more shreds of lines below my feet as I work.

Some fiction perhaps...

So a hypothetical woman walks in. She has a terrible crush on hypothetical man and walked into a room of people where he was. She was not sure what he was thinking, some days she was optimistic about her chances, other days she knew there were to many insurmountable obstacles and it was an impossibility. She knew she was being foolish but still she made sure she looked good anyway. He stood behind her as she sat down. She loved when he did that. She could sense his warmth behind her and smell him. There was something about the hypothetical man that made her senses more clear. She looked up at him and could feel herself staring at his face. Her eyes wandered over him and desire flooded her. Then she became self-conscious as if he could see desire clearly on her face and would be horrified. Her fear made her move away so that she could breathe again. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her neck flushed bright red. She could not look at his face and feel so strongly. As she busied herself, she wondered on how his lips would taste, what his hands would feel like on her, and how wonderful it would feel to run her fingers over his skin. She could not look at him, even as he sat behind her. She made way feeling him again, so close. She found she was always doing the opposite of what she wanted. Running away when she wanted so badly to stay, remaining silent when she wanted to tell him everything, and not looking into his eyes because he would then know everything.

oh but I am a fighter

after García Lorca

Once I wasn’t always so plain.

I was strewn feathers on a cross

of dune, an expanse of ocean

at my feet, garlands of gulls.

Sirens and gulls. They couldn’t tame you.

You know as well as they: to be

a dove is to bear the falcon

at your breast, your nights, your seas.

My fear is simple, heart-faced

above a flare of etchings, a lineage

in letters, my sudden stare. It’s you.

It’s you! sang the heart upon its mantel

pelvis. Blush of my breath, catch

by Lorna Dee Cervantes-Love of my Flesh, Living Death

Sometimes reality just plain stinks. For a bit I could dream of it, hold it as a means to try to excel. I would create so many scenarios, wonderful and full of freedom. Of course I knew that reality would come back and take hold, but there was a secret part of me that held onto hope. It does now in a strange way but it is a bittersweet sort of hope. One that everyday feels more and more like an illusion and all of those things I thought I saw were not colored the way I believed them to be. The unexpected part is the sadness and pain of it. I hadn't expected it to hurt quite as much as it does. There is something to the loss of it that marks the end of some possibility that is just not easy to let go of. I know, in the hours with nothing that it is my own little illusion and it is not shared. The disappointment of the inevitable has broken my self-esteem. I wish I were so many other things (thinner, prettier, smarter, more able to be worth all of the risks I was willing to take)...So in that sense bloggers I have lost my desire to say anything here. I have nothing more to add other then I hate the real tonight, I want so badly to dream again even though it is a reckless course. It was the eyes and the hands, magnificent, but I accept that I will remain silent on the edges with the hope I hold failing me a bit more each day. My heart furiously rebels.

Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

To His Coy Mistress -by Andrew Marvell

What do we leave, living like a nest
of surly birds, alive, among the thickets
or static, perched on the frigid cliffs?
So then, if living was nothing more than anticipating
the earth, this soil and its harshness,
deliver me, my love, from not doing my duty, and help me
return to my place beneath the hungry earth.

We asked the ocean for its rose,
its open star, its bitter contact,
and to the overburdened, to the fellow human being, to the wounded
we gave the freedom gathered in the wind.
It's late now. Perhaps

it was only a long day the color of honey and blue,
perhaps only a night, like the eyelid
of a grave look that encompassed
the measure of the sea that surrounded us,
and in this territory we found only a kiss,
only ungraspable love that will remain here
wandering among the sea form and the roots.

Pablo Neruda -an excerpt Love for This Book

The back of me

"Sing to me," she said. "That would be valiant, to raise your voice in this dark, lonely place, and it will be useful as well. Sing to me, sing loudly- drown out my dreams, keep me from remembering whatever wants me to remember it. Sing to me, my lord prince, if it pleases you. It may not seem a hero's task, but I would be glad of it."

-The Last Unicorn Peter S. Beagle

The board bridge I crossed

The show went very well, despite the complete lack of publicity. Many of the people I invited were there and it was an enjoyable evening, that is pretty much it in a nutshell. I am not sure if it was worth the stress and work, but it is hanging now. Tomorrow I am taking the day off and spending time with my family, I think it will help work things out. Everyone else can wait for the work I owe them. My new paintings call me, I can see their forms taking shape ready to be born. They will have a greater life than the others.

I should be giddy with anticipation on the eve of my first ever solo show. Instead I am faced with crushing disappointment, the gallery director assured me that they would take care of the press for it and it is not listed in any of the local papers at all. I should have done it myself and I now know better. It is the general people suck factor that I always forget will come into play.
Have a lovely evening.

I hung my show today and should right now be feeling a sense of great accomplishment. I did for a while, felt the glow of pride, that I have done this thing. It is my very first solo show in a tiny little venue but I have 10 paintings and they look good. It is a milestone for me.

For tonight I feel poetry so I will post some since I found a little time and someone told me to take 40 minutes for myself this week. A reward for all of my work and to fight the temptation of getting sucked into the vortex of the work of the future.

The Opening

I knew this was coming
as the young boys
in their black and white
shout out to the evening air
I clasp her small hand
to keep from falling
they are our future
and I am already past.

One boy looks out
from the window
we pass by
my head low
I look up once
and remember such days
of endless promise.

Only the young do not know this
their bodies not fixed
on an axis
behind me a purple sleeved jailer
walks on
our procession endless
direction less.

My heart left already
on the soft smile your face held
it will not be returning.

It bounded on her
white deer memories
the way our eyes met
and my eagle talons heavy
wanted prey
but the sun set behind us
glowing the windows.

My heart left already
on the last light
of new year's hope filled day
our darkness endless
direction less.

-By the Corbyhawk herself

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle -
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?



-Shelley -Love's Philosophy

Outraged Ring-Billed Gull

Hello all,

This week is going to be extremely busy. I hope to find pockets of relaxation time, but there are many demands on me right now.
Today I got out anyway for a bit. I went to the waterfront which in my city is full of industrial waste and a new wind farm. I did not see many migrants, other then some white-crowned sparrows and one lonely killdeer. The killdeer had a broken leg and did not suffer long. An immature peregrine falcon flew past at warp speed and caught himself a killdeer breakfast. I am working with an older extended lens for photography which is no where near the clarity of my newer one that is being repaired. (yes that whole water issue) I did manage to sneak in some terrific shots of a group of turkey vultures who practically posed in front of the wind turbines for me. Lovely and very paintable and so not seen on this blog. (I do keep all of my best photos to myself so that I can use them as references)

I rescued a ring-billed gull that had gotten stuck in the muck on the waters edge. He was very emaciated and did not put up much of a fight. He is hopefully getting the treatment he needs at the vets. I do not have the time anymore to care for them myself. I miss it and rather enjoyed having a rescue today, although I have great sympathy for the injured bird. It is always a thrill to hold a wild bird.

One backing the other

I have had a good chance to reflect on some of my paintings. Normally I race on ahead to the next one and leave the others, finding the flaws in them so apparent. So today I framed them for a show and lovingly patched any scratches. I got a chance to see them again as I had when I danced my brush over them. I felt the space they were born in as they grew out of lines on canvas. I took some time to look over the discoveries I encountered in them and remember the magic I felt as I reached a new level with my skills. These little moments are caught and go to be displayed. Perhaps someone else will discover something in them and give them a new life away from me.

The O'Keeffe Crib

I don't have much tonight, I have work to get to. Do know I have my first ever solo art show (it is at a tiny venue, but still)... So I am busy getting my work ready for the set-up day. It seems my art career is slowly leaving the ground. Otherwise I have been generally not so comfortable since I am dealing with a serious bout of poison ivy. This is bad timing as I want to look decidedly fabulous for my show and will have some lovely rose red patches on me in some not so easy to hide places. I am not overly vain, but it is slightly disfiguring and I want to look damn sexy. It is difficult to type with a cat laying on your arms and part of the laptop. So off I go, trying not to scratch but so badly wanting to.

Pike Skull

I am so eager to keep on under the influence of what is round me here-and develop myself-I know it will be worth it to myself and to anyone who may be interested-I am past the point of having ambitions other than for my work-I have but the one object and I have learned economy through experience and do not interest myself in the game of being the well to do artist. I merely want to prove my right to what I venture to believe mat be true-and what you yourself generously say, that I am an artist. I do not as you know also-aspire to greatness or outward success-I merely aspire toward perfecting myself-and I can do most toward this end at this time here where the atmosphere and general conditions are conducive to growth.

-Madsen Hartley in a letter to Alfred Stieglitz from the book, My Dear Stieglitz

Someone had a wonderfully calm way of making the craziness of today seem to vanish for a few moments.

I really needed this today- it is a rather funny video I found on Udge's blog.

Slicing Ginger

Not sex. Not sex,
but sexual: the way
the weather hangs
at the edges of sight,
the way the paring knife,
pressed and warm as any
lover to my hand, slides
just under the soaked
brown skin, opening
the earth of it, opening
the undiscovered, white-
fleshed seam in the scarred
and sacred earth:
lemon-sweet, lemon-
sweet ringing of bodies
through the room.
Plumes of longing bleed
in my hand as the small
blade pares into the
mole-blind, uprooted,
incantatory fruit-the
slices hitting the
hot oiled iron with
a singing of fire on
wet wood, and the tiny
suns exploding there:
huge and redolent and
almost human.

By Frank Black from Turning Over the Earth

The last day of summer bumblebee

Unrequited

Bury it under layer over caustic layer
the small jewel of the center
it's memory sweet
as it's old illusion
and as you look into it
you can dream
but covered well
it survives harbored
under a thousand old wishes
impermeable in it's centered shell
as it waits for other lifetimes
the core is pure
it can stand the weight

-By the Corbyhawk herself

Now the fact is
that there is hardly
a roadside pond or pool
which has not as much
landscape in it as above it.
It is not the dull,
muddy, brown thing
we suppose it to be;
it has a heart like ourselves,
and in the bottom of that
there are the boughs
of the tall trees, and the
blades of the shaking grass,
and all manner of hues,
of variable, pleasant light
out of the sky; nay,
the ugly gutter that stagnates
over the drain bars,
in the heart of the foul city,
is not altogether base;
down in that, if you look
deep enough, you may see
the dark, serious blue
of far-off sky, and the passing
of pure clouds.

-From John Ruskin Considers the Nature of Water, Circa 1842
-found in Ruskin's Modern Painters discovered by me in Ralph Black's book Turning Over the Earth. He is a poet I met yesterday evening who read to all of us which is always delicious to the soul. I will be posting some of his work soon.
My life, well it is utter chaos lately.

Notched

I feel like my life is suddenly on fast forward and I am unable to catch up. All of these things are happening around me and I cannot seem to get enough done. It is all good stuff but I am overwhelmed. I have this funny feeling that it is not going to slow down any time soon and this hectic pace will become the norm. My emotions are just as chaotic under the surface.

This bird can really travel, check it out here

Darkness, Darkness
Be my pillow
Take my head
And let me sleep
In the coolness of your shadow
In the silence of your deep

Darkness, Darkness
Hide my yearning
For the things I cannot be
Keep my mind from constant turning
Toward the things I cannot see now
Things I cannot see now
Things I cannot see

-From Darkness Darkness performed by the Cowboy Junkies written by Jesse Colin Young

When I woke up today I felt better and wasn't as sad as yesterday. I can't really explain why since reality has not changed in the least. I guess it just is as it is and that is ever all. I also had a really good day on my work and KNOW it is what I should be painting.

in the darkness

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:—
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

-From Lord Byron "When We Two Parted"

Dead head deer

It is self-understood that you have made progress. My faith in you as an artist has never wavered for one instant as long as I have known you. That really means that I know that you must develop as you grow. In other words you cannot but help be yourself. That is all that means anything to me in anybody.

-Alfred Stieglitz in a letter to Madsen Hartley from My Dear Stieglitz

I had the most amazing dream last night. I was walking through a huge field of jimson weed flowers which I always think of as moon flowers for some reason. They were beautiful and I was searching for the perfect one for a painting. There were colorful birds everywhere and the sun was full and bright. I was walking with someone and all of a sudden the sky changed into a sunset with puffy clouds. Suddenly huge birds flew over us. I grabbed the persons arm and said grus americana! (Ok I am a total bird nerd because I used the latin name in my dream) They were whooping cranes! Of course the dreaded alarm went off right then, but the great feeling of the dream lasted into the day.

star crossed
and one fell blazing
unable to meet his eye
molten core exploding
and all for him
shine shine shine

the universe is great my dear
his wise mouth would say
age had taken him
and left him hollow
still for him
shine shine shine

am I bright enough
worry worry away
does he see my hunger
go home go home
don't be weak he'll know
still for him
shine I try shine shine

star crossed silly girl
you scare them all
bright burning
one by one we fall
still for him
always just for him
write write write

Landscape near Ghost Ranch

Don't fade away
My brown-eyed (man)
Come walk with me
I'll fill your heart with joy
And we'll dance through our isolation
Seeking solace in the wisdom we bestow
Turning thoughts to the here and everafter
Consuming fears in our fiery halos

Say what you mean
Mean what you say
I've heard that innocence
Has led us all astray

But don't let them make you and break you
The world is filled with their broken empty
dreams
Silence is their only virtue
Locked away inside their silent screams

But for now
Let us dance away
This starry night
Filled with the glow of fiery stars
And with the dawn
Our sun will rise
Bringing a symphony of bird cries

Don't bring me down now
Let me stay here for awhile
You know life's too short
Let me bathe here in your smile
I'm transcending
The fall from the garden

Goodnight
-Dead Can Dance Don't Fade Away

Killdeer

We were like two amazons of old and I can stretch to my full height beside her. Unafraid we walk in pace effortlessly and I want to carry a bit of her strength and knowledge of her own power. Ah, I am SOOOOOO tired that I cannot be poetic, just simple tonight.
A little red haired girl with thick glasses drew a picture of herself and did not show me. She whispered that she looked kind of weird in it and her little cheeks flushed. I pointed to my example and whispered back that I look kind of weird in mine too. She nodded and promptly picked up her picture to join the others. Ha! I adore her already!

A silly time waster but some are crazy funny.

Animals have problems too

Crimson Star Adenium

Won't you walk me through the Tiergarten?
Won't you walk me through it all, darling?
Doesn't matter if it is raining
Won't you walk me through it all?

Even if the sun, it is blazing
Even if the snow, it is raging
All the elements, we must conquer
To get to the other side of town

I have suffered shipwreck against your dark brown eyes
I have run aground against your broken down smiles
Believe me when I tell you I have no place to go
But to go where the wild flowers grow and the stone gardens bloom.

Won't you walk me through the Tiergarten?
Won't you walk me through it all, darling?
Doesn't matter if it is raining,
We'll get to the other side of town.

-Tiergarten by Rufus Wainwright

The day sucked. Work drama and heartache leading to intense frustration. Then I got a call that was a clear beacon in an otherwise murky day. I know I am being obtuse but I won't give it all away. That would be silly. Some people should work a bit and they would see the same thing below the surface which is not so easily hidden. DREAM and DARE and TRY and HOPE it can be despite the obstacles.

Georgia's Tree

One of those stumbling over myself days and I wonder why I just cannot be more, well more something. Only little me though, see this is what it is and that is about it.

Round Goby

I have been having such strange and rather startlingly accurate dreams. In one I was having a conversation with a fish. All kinds of conclusions were reached, what is real?

Broken Butterfly

Hello my fellow bloggers, I will be away from technology for a few days and then very busy, so my blogging will be a bit interrupted. Have a good weekend all and dream BIG

Love has got to stop somewhere short of suicide.

-Sam Dodsworth from the movie "Dodsworth"

Sunset lily

(no alterations to this, the light was great, damn I miss my camera...)

We've also used and abused water and soil so that there's a lot less of each, and trampled thousands of species that probably aren't coming back. Our world, some respected voices warn, could one degenerate into something resembling a vacant lot, where crows and rats scuttle among the weeds, preying on each other.

Alan Weisman from Audubon magazine's July/August issue titled The World Without Us.

(note: yes notice my cheery posts lately...sorry....also I do take issue that crows are not a junk species by any account, this is also true for rats. We just tend to dislike species that do well in our wake (i.e. gulls, pigeons, house sparrows, starlings, etc etc)

Help birds, go to Audubon's new page on their website. Every bit of habitat counts.

"Perhaps the only entirely new and probably the most important aspect of today's language of forms is the fact that 'negative' elements (the remainder, intermediate, and subtractive quantities) are made active." _Josef Albers

Shedding Skin

updates,
The camera is working, so the camera store gentleman told me to let it dry out completely and hope for the best. Hopefully it will not just randomly decide to die at some inconvenient time as water logged cameras tend to do.
The lens was not so lucky and had to be sent to get cleaned out. It is of course not covered under warranty and will be a bit expensive.
My dog is indeed going blind and has trouble at night.
My other dog's facial growth is going away of its own accord so that is very good news.
I have been in a funk, but am better today. I expect blogging will become more sparse as my freedom disappears.

The world was believed to have been formed out of a bird's egg exploding. The sky was believed to be the upper cover of the egg, alternately it was seen as a tent, which was supported by a column at the north pole, below the north star.

The movement of the stars was explained to be caused by the sky-dome's rotation around the North Star and itself. A great whirl was caused at the north pole by the rotation of column of sky. Through this whirl souls could go to the underground land of dead, Tuonela.

Earth was probably believed to be flat. At the edges of Earth was Lintukoto, "the home of the birds", a warm region in which birds lived during the winter. The Milky way was called Linnunrata, "the path of the birds", because the birds were believed to move along it to Lintukoto and back. The Milky Way is still called "Linnunrata" in Finnish.

Birds had also other significance. Birds brought a human's soul to him at the moment of birth, and took it away at the moment of death. In some areas, it was necessary to have a wooden bird-figure nearby to prevent the soul from escaping during sleep. This Sielulintu, "the soul-bird", protected the soul from being lost in the paths of dreams.

From Wikipedia on Finnish Mythology

The only whooping crane you may ever see...

will be in a glass case like this one.

Ok, as you may have guessed that I am just completely angry about the development proposal, only to find out there is more. When I figure out who to contact I will post it. I am so depressed about this. How about we repeat the mistakes of the 1940's sisss booom bah... because we have learned NOTHING, (a groan is emitted here). Reason stands that yes, we have helped the cranes come back from the brink and they have reached a staggering 240ish number, which is a far cry from 22. Do realize that 240 is not that many, since that is all that exist in the entire world. Oh, by the way this will also impact the Aplomado Falcon (also endangered). I wish I could do more and consume less resources.
A really well thought out argument against it here

680 acres of development adjacent and with an easement on the ONLY WILD population of whooping crane's critical wintering habitat. Yes you can drive your damn boat, fish, pollute, well just piss yourself in suburban joy on the habitat confirmed to be used by whooping cranes and well USF&W will just charge them a paltry fee of $200,000 towards the cause of the birds they will extinct with such complete stupidity. I am ashamed of my species and their need to swallow up every inch of waterfront for luxury homes and the fat ass pockets of the developers. Oh did I mention that there are about 250 or so of these amazingly wonderful birds left? A mowed buffer? I mean really people, can we tell what administration is in power? USF&W you have sold your soul.
Read for yourself here

Expecting the worst, you look and instead,
here's the joyful face you've been wanting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.

-Rumi from Mathnawi, III, 3769-3766 translated by Coleman Barks

Black Bellied Whistling Duck

Bird meme

1. What is the coolest bird you have seen from your home?
A male Pileated Woodpecker would rank "coolest" he comes to the suet feeder. I have also enjoyed some Green Herons that live near me, a resident Cooper's Hawk and a Great Blue Heron once was eating the bullfrogs in back during a really wet summer.

2. If you compose a list of bird species what is your favorite list and why?
My favorite list is my life list of about 600 bird species, it is the only list I keep.

3. What sparked your interest in birds?
When I was little my father once had a tree swallow that would come really close to him. He claimed to have helped a tree swallow once and that is why they were not afraid of him. I thought it was magic and was very proud to have such a special dad. He had several bird guide books in his workshop and I would spend hours looking at the pictures and marveling at all of the different birds. It was the birth of my obsession with birds.

4. If you could only bird one place in for the rest of your life, where would it be and why?
I would probably bird in Sierra Vista, Arizona. They get many different kinds of birds, including wanderers from Mexico and tons of hummingbirds. They also get many raptors in the winter and have generally good weather for people.

5. Do you have a jinx bird and if so why is it jinxed?
I have two, but the most elusive has been the Ferruginous Hawk. I have driven for days in the Hawk's territory on more then one trip and have only had a "I think that might have been" look. I would love a good solid look and some time to enjoy the bird. I think they are in a rapid decline or I am just not lucky with them. I also have trouble with the Black Bellied Whistling Duck. I have only had a flyover despite some spots where they are bird you cannot miss. I have missed them, though.

6. Who is your favorite birder and why?
My favorite birder, that is a tough one. I like the Stokes, and enjoy reading their blog. I also really have enjoyed meeting George West, he was very nice and really informative when I met him. See his hummingbird work here. As for the birders of the past- George Misch Sutton and Louis Agassiz Fuertes.

7. Do you tell non-birders that you are a birder?
Yes, they may think I am crazy at first but usually they get curious and start asking you any question they have ever had about birds. It is a great way to show enthusiasm for the natural world and hopefully hook others with your passionate zeal. Birding is a great hobby and it is just fun to get out and look at nature.

A bit of cheer on an otherwise dark day.

This may be one of the last photos my camera will take. I was on a boat and managed to give it a good soaking in river water. The lens is full of water and the camera is drying. It is a digital so I may be out of luck on its recovery. I am not optimistic and as you can see from my previous post it has not been a good couple of days. I am home early to attend a funeral tomorrow. Life is short, live, live, live.

Death has come into the house
throw open the windows at its arrival
weep and pull your hair
cover your face in ash
and mourn the loss of a great generation
we stand as silent witness
milling around the viewed body
devoid of soul
all knowledge buried
the world has lost it's wealth
in close eyed slumber
goodbye goodbye
the demons that ate at your body have won you
your soul has quietly slipped past
and takes the stairs two at a time

-Goodbye Great Uncle Bill you are missed

Blind Dog

In other news, I found out that my dog is going blind and my other dog has a mystery lump on his face. Hopefully it is just a an abscess or some other non-malignant growth. I will know soon, after the test runs. I will be out of internet range for the next few days. I have a presentation to do on my paintings. Be well.

I am a little late in finding out that artist/painter, Elizabeth Murray has died of lung cancer this past Monday. Read the NY times article here
A good resource on her is at ART 21, a series about art by PBS which is generally excellent and a good teaching tool. See that information here

longing...night longing, sad little dream longing

Night Study

a bit foggy of an image of a study I did on mylar with graphite

The key for the artist is that we are not so much copying nature as studying nature's creativity, its energy. So you look at how nature draws. It draws ruthlessly, fearlessly. You must draw like that-like the wind carving rock.

-Tim Hawkesworth

June Bugs in August

What is the architecture of falling?
Is it built on the curve of your lip?
A landscape my eyes follow
over nose to waiting brow.

Face that holds skull retreating
into fissures and dark worlds
containing all that you will ever be
the unreachable temple of soul.

I drag my gaze up
over plains of skin
towards the air of our pause.

The swirling, spinning, dance of breath
and feel the plummeting depths
of a pounding heart love.

Hammering ramparts to empty hope
these buildings do not meet
go upwards ever reaching
until the foundations cannot hold.

-By the Corbyhawk
*these are copyrighted just in case you are wondering

I had the distinct honor of showing my portfolio to Emily Eveleth, a painter I respect and admire. I was lucky enough to be in her class this past week and I am still grappling with the changes that I feel will be coming in my work.
Read about her here,
See her amazingly beautiful work here

I have had nothing to say lately. I am in the silence of the deep woods and am waiting for the universe to make some kind of answer. I can't paint the same way I did a week ago, everything is changing and I want someone else to make some noise. I am empty.