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.
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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.
Winter Birding at Gooseberry
I had to great fortune to visit family in Westport, Massachusetts, over New Years— which gave me the rare opportunity to visit the ocean in winter. On two consecutive mornings, I headed for Gooseberry Neck Island, a small spit of land jutting out into Buzzards Bay.
Wind roiled waves crashed over the jetty at high tide, sending a spray of surf over the road. Fooled by the low arc of winter light brightening the day, I left the protection of the car to scope the beach for shorebirds. Gulls and sandpipers foraged in the wrack line, unearthing mole crabs and bickering over the scraps. Two resting sandpipers caught my attention, heads turned backward and bills tucked under feathers; they stood motionless for several minutes before returning to the waves. I soon retreated to the car, where it was easier to scan for birds while protected from frigid wind and blowing sand.
It’s hard to fathom how seabirds manage in winter. But there they are: gulls perched on windswept piers; tiny sandpipers dashing at the edge of each retreating wave; bufflehead, eiders, common goldeneyes, and grebes diving into heavy surf.
Though I sketched a bit on site, my down jacket, alas, proved no match for winter birds. So I finished drawing, painting, and research indoors. The map text is copied from a 1707 map and survey of the island.
Ode to Joy
I have many fond memories of sledding as a kid: steep hills, thrilling descents, and inevitable wipeouts were all part of the fun. Sledding is great, in large part, because it packs so much emotion: anticipation, fear, exhilaration, wild abandon. I felt especially challenged to capture some of that experience in this small painting, which I did as part of a Christmas book commissioned by my cousin for his daughter. Sledding is one of the things they like to do together– so although I don’t typically paint people or snow, I resolved to illustrate the scene. My reference was the view from their backyard; the rest I had to imagine.
Wishing you a sense of wonder and bit of wild abandon in the New Year! Thanks for following!
In the Bleak Midwinter
I finally cut down the last of my baptisia pods, which were attractive in the fall, but had become bent over and forlorn since the last snow. Still, I liked the shape of this stem and decided that a stark portrait might be fitting for the first day of winter.
Christina Rosetti penned In the Bleak Midwinter as a Christmas poem in England sometime prior to 1872. The entire poem was later set to music and published as a Christmas carol in 1906. The script is based on Italics from the Treatise on Hawking by Italian scholar Francesco Moro, penned in about 1560-1570.
Note: I’ve finally updated my blog header and added a few new sketches to the journal section. Check them out when you have a chance and let me know what you think.
Nest & Eggs
Yes, this is a completely unseasonal piece given the temperature outside (36F), the snow and barren branches, and the fact that the wood thrush that made this nest is far gone to Central America for the winter. Still, it’s good to remind myself in the year’s darkest days that we are riding on a fantastic, revolving planet– which, after a little more travel around the sun, will bring us to spring once more.
Appreciating Craftsmanship
New Hampshire craftsman Peter Sabin has been making pottery for more than 40 years. His exquisite stoneware is simple, elegant, functional, and flawless. I consider myself fortunate to own several pieces. But after a recent visit to a shop where he sells his work, it occurred to me that he isn’t getting any younger. The day will come when he is no longer making pottery. I’ve never met Peter, but it seemed high time to say thank you. After all, I take pleasure in using the result of his labors and craftsmanship nearly every day.
I painted this as a small gesture of appreciation and mailed it off with a note of thanks. It isn’t much, but I hope it conveys my gratitude for things made well and made beautifully.
Undesirable Beauties
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I was drawn to the golden orbs of the horsenettle while hiking last week in an old field on the edge of an orchard. Bright spots of yellow against faded, brown grasses and dried wildflowers, I decided to take a stem home to paint. Upon identification, I was not surprised to learn that the plant is invasive and unwanted, as are many plants that grow in the weedy margins of fields.
Still, I love the way the fruit drapes from the tendrilous vines and there is something ironic, yet masterful in a poisonous plant that protects itself with thorns. Once I painted the horsenettle, I wanted to round out the page with other undesirable beauties of fields and orchards. This trio of moths is found in the Northeast: the yellow-necked caterpillar moth is destructive to apple trees, the larval grapeleaf skeletonizer does just as its name implies, and the fall webworm caterpillar, while not particularly damaging, forms unsightly nests on tree limbs.
Sketchbook detail
Sage Advice
“Day after day never fail to draw something which, however little it may be, will yet in the end be much.” — Cennino Cennini c. 1390
It’s comforting to know that people have been struggling to draw and paint well for centuries. Cennini’s advice is just as true today as it was 600 years ago. I’ve spent the last week watching, drawing and painting chickadees, trying to capture the shape, color, and spirit of this little songster. It isn’t easy.
Chickadees are not very cooperative subjects. Unlike finches, which will perch at a bird feeder and eat, chickadees never stick around. At my feeders, they flit to a nearby branch, survey the feeder, swoop in–pause for a second—grab a seed, look up and fly off to eat elsewhere. The whole maneuver takes about six seconds. But to their credit, chickadees are bold. When I stood three feet from the feeder to photograph them, chickadees were among the few birds that continued to feed.
I did these sketches and the small painting below from life and from photos. I have more to do to really capture the bird to my satisfaction, but I am taking Cennini’s advice to heart, hoping that yet in the end, all this practice will amount to much.
Drawn In 