After Audubon
Wings, skulls, feathers, skeletons, legs, specimens, live birds, bird paintings. I’ve got birds on the brain! To prepare for several upcoming workshops I am teaching on drawing birds, I’ve been brushing up on bird anatomy and biology, drawing skulls and bones, and watching and painting birds. Best of all, I made a trip to the New York Historical Society to see Audubon’s Aviary, John James Audubon’s original watercolors for the print edition of The Birds of America (1827–38), engraved by Robert Havell Jr.
At the New York Historical Society, NYC
Though I’ve seen reproductions of Audubon’s engravings many times, I was thoroughly taken by the beauty and mastery of the original paintings. Audubon used a combination of graphite, watercolor, gouache, pastel, and glazing to create hundreds of life-sized birds, each one rendered in minute detail. Among my favorites was a simple painting of a male and female dark-eyed junco and a clay-colored sparrow, rendered with no background.
Back home, I decided to finish a small study of an Eastern Phoebe using the highly detailed approach that Audubon used in his paintings. I applied layers of very dry watercolor with the smallest brush in the arsenal— a size 0 — to complete the details. Thankfully, the phoebe is a very plain bird– I can hardly imagine painting intricate feather patterns on hundreds and hundreds of birds, as Audubon did.
Compare this sketch with the much looser painting (below) of a phoebe and nest that I did several weeks ago. In this painting, I was trying to convey subtleties of color and light, rather than paint every detail.
Both styles have merit. I like knowing how birds are built; I like being detailed and accurate; but I also like the idea of jumping off from there, of letting some of the details go and allowing the wet paint to do the work. The later approach seems to be more evocative and engaging — and yet, just as elusive and hard to achieve as painting every feather.
Kiwi
I was initially drawn in by the fruit, but how could I resist the ungainly bird? It’s been 29 years since I went to New Zealand, tasted my first kiwi fruit, saw the national bird, and explored North and South Islands for nearly three months. I thought I’d get back there sooner, but the years and the miles have not allowed it. Isn’t it funny how a simple taste, smell, or touch can transport you to places and release memories from long ago? Is it any wonder that drawing (and eating) a kiwi after a prolonged winter and too much time close to home brought me nearly 10,000 miles to the other side of the globe?
One Glove
There isn’t a winter that goes by without losing a glove. Worst of all, I even saw this one lying on the ground as I got back in the car at a Thruway rest stop. “Geez, it’s too bad someone lost a glove. I hate that,” I thought, not recognizing that the glove was mine. Ugh! When I got home and realized my stupidity, it was too late. But for some inexplicable reason, I wasn’t able to throw out the orphan glove. It’s been sitting above our coat rack for three weeks—until yesterday. That’s when artist Laure Ferlita posted a fine tutorial on drawing garden gloves and it inspired me to memorialize my annual glove loss and move on. Thank you Laure!
Owl in Sneakers
And now for something completely different…
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I’ve been experimenting with developing this small, quirky character Owl in Sneakers. The basic features came to me late last summer, and I thought it might be fun to play around and see what he might become.
I figured out the body shape, eyes, pigeon-toed feet with red sneakers, and potted geranium fairly quickly. But making him move and do things and express emotion has been trickier. So far, I’ve been able to make him read and play hockey, and I’ve been test driving various concepts with my niece and nephew (who think he should play an instrument, like the tuba or trombone, and concur with me that he needs a red wagon and friend, perhaps an ermine). What comes next? I’m not sure. But I’m open to suggestions.
(Watercolor on aquaboard, 5×5”)
Painting in the Car
Outside: seven degrees, wind chill minus 15F, bright winter sun. Inside the car: warm enough so that I didn’t see my breath, warm enough so that the watercolors didn’t freeze, warm enough to take my gloves off. A temporary win. After weeks of being inside, I was determined to try my hand at painting in the car. It’s less than ideal by any measure, but not without merit. The end result is a little muddy and overworked, but not bad for an hour’s outing on a frigid day.
Great Blue Heron
A few years ago I found a great blue heron skeleton revealed under melting snow in a ditch near my house. I don’t know how it met its end, but the bird was almost completely decomposed and I decided to take the skull. As a specimen, it’s fascinating; as reference for painting, it’s quite useful. The colored pencil study here is life sized, based on the 9-inch skull.
I’ve also been doing gesture drawings of herons as a precursor to doing a larger painting. Since the ground here in New York is covered in snow and herons are long gone for the winter, I’ve resorted to the next best option: watching and sketching from nest cam videos. These videos offer a rare view of herons courting, mating, and raising their young. Come spring, you can watch them live, but for now check out the links below if you want a glimpse of these majestic birds.
Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Heron Highlights 2012
Behind the Scenes- Nest Cam
10,000 Hours
If the assertion that it takes about 10,000 hours to become an expert at something is correct, I’ve got a long way to go before becoming really adept at painting birds. Still, I’ve spent a good amount of time this winter studying and sketching and painting birds, and it’s good to see some progress. Painting birds well requires watching them a lot, studying anatomy, closely observing specific features like wings, feet, and bills and, of course, practice. After doing a number of quick sketches of red-breasted nuthatches at my feeder, I used my drawings and several photo references for this more careful study. Now if I can just find a few thousand more hours…
(Fabriano soft press 140lb watercolor paper; reference photo by Mick Thompson, 2014)
Experimenting with Tufted Titmice
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My journal proved a good place to experiment this week with tufted titmice, dark backgrounds, and text. These birds often visit my feeders in winter, providing good opportunities for study. I thought I would sketch a few birds in different poses as time allowed, but after painting the bird on the left, I decided to take a different approach. I wanted to add big text and see whether I could get a bird to perch on the letters. It’s a little tricky to substitute letters for branches, but the bird on the right seems fairly convincing. I also wanted to try a dark background, so I experimented with different shades of blue, making swatches on a test sheet and holding them next to the birds to see what worked best. In the end, this combination of ultramarine and burnt sienna with a bit of water sprayed into the wet paint created a nice wintry effect. The letters are the reverse color mix, with burnt sienna dominating and some blue floated in to add a little weight. My next step will be to try the same techniques in a more careful painting— stay tuned!
Collecting on Paper
I’m like a kid in a candy store when I step into the Pember Museum of Natural History in Granville, New York. Thirteen cherry and glass cases house more than 1,200 specimens of birds, 500 mounted mammals, and row upon row of insects, bird eggs, and nests. The collection is life’s work of a single man: entrepreneur and naturalist Franklin Pember (1841-1924). I love capturing pieces of this collection in my journal—but where to begin is always a challenge.
Click to view larger
As I wander from case to case, I look for things that strike my interest and add objects to the page throughout the day. Everything is so incredible that it’s hard for me to choose. I started this page with the ruff chick in the lower right, and then added the moths, followed by the eggs, and dragonflies. Except for the ruff, I sketched directly in pen to eliminate fussing and added a layer of watercolor in the museum, before running out of time. Later at home, I finished painting and added the catalogue from 1883 from a photo. It was easier to do the lettering at my desk than standing over a glass case.
In the end, the page is a tribute to a fabulous day spent with one of my favorite collections.
Unexpected Inspiration
I went to my local nature center yesterday seeking inspiration for something to study and paint. I was hoping there might be something new in the collection—moths, butterflies, birds, nests. So when the staff said they had a hoary bat in the freezer, I had to admit it wasn’t quite what I had in mind. Though I appreciate that bats play a crucial role in pollination and insect control, the only bats I’ve ever seen have been the little brown bats I’ve wanted out of my house.
Still, how often does the opportunity to study a bat up close come along? I spent the next hour-and-a-half getting acquainted with this once living, breathing, flying creature. Incredible, really. The leathery wings, visible bone structure, fine markings, grasping thumb and tiny feet. Now, I’m happy to have it live on here between these pages, reminding me to keep seeking, seeing, and appreciating.
(Thanks to Thatcher Nature Center at John Boyd Thatcher State Park in New York for warmly welcoming artists.)
A bit more about hoary bats: Unlike a lot of bat species, hoary bats don’t hang out in caves. They prefer trees and tree cavities, flying out after sunset to catch insect prey. They tend to be solitary, except when migrating. Northern populations make long seasonal migrations to warmer habitats in winter. Females give birth to two pups from mid-May through early July. Young stay with their mother for about a month, until they are old enough to fly. Though widespread, these bats are seldom seen.
Drawn In 