Sing a Songbird

It is interesting that the sounds emitted by certain birds to establish territory and mating intentions are perceived by humans across different cultures as song. If they were named holler-birds instead I wonder if poets like Keats and Shelley still would have exalted the late-night shouting of a nightingale and the early wake-up calls of a skylark.

In any case, they are called songbirds, whose melodious chirps have inspired a many pieces of poetry and music; songs have been written about the singing of blackbirds, bluebirds, robins, larks and nightingales. Music really is universal.

The first bird I chose for my Songbird series of ACEOs was the Common Nightingale, appearing in thousands of poems since ancient Greece as a bird of love, night, spring and mourning. In Ovid’s retelling of a myth, the princess Philomela (Greek word for nightingale) is violated by her sister’s husband Tereus, who then cuts out her tongue to prevent her from speaking and locks her in a cottage. The story gets even more violent, so let’s skip to the end – she escapes by turning into a nightingale. Thereafter, Philomela sings of her tragedy as this songbird of the night. Learning this story give me greater appreciation for one my favorite songs “Nightingale” by The Reign of Kindo. The narrator in the song laments how he must watch his love go away with another man after he is left paralyzed from a car accident – if he could “muster a sound, [he’d] sing these words out loud/ Like a nightingale.”

My favorite part of making these bird cards is reading the stories they inspire. But here is the artwork:

I always start with sketches and color tests. I worked on the Superb Lyrebird alongside the Nightingale, and learned some fascinating facts about the Lyrebird too!

Choosing only five was difficult because there are a few thousand species of songbirds – there’s a nice sketch of a Red-Winged Blackbird that I was reluctant to abandon. The other birds I painted are the Eastern Meadowlark, the Red-Whiskered Bulbul and Hermit Thrush.

The Hermit Thrush is also known as the American Nightingale (the Common Nightingale is native to Europe), whose myth is the perfect way to conclude the songbird series. I had to trim down the story to fit on the card but since we have more space here:

The Oneida people tell us that long ago, the birds had no song; only humans had this gift. Each day the birds would stop to listen as the humans sang a beautiful song of greeting to the sun as it rose and one of farewell as it set. The Creator noticed this and decided that the birds should have this gift as well. He called all the birds to a great council and instructed them on how to receive their individual songs. The Creator told them that the next day, they should all fly upward as far as they can. At the limit of their flight is where each will find their own song, and the bird to attain the highest flight would receive the most beautiful one. All were excited except for the little brown thrush – he looked at the eagle and despaired, for he had no chance to compete with such a large bird. While the eagle was distracted, the thrush buried himself inside the eagle’s feathers. The birds began their flight at dawn and filled the skies. As they tired and returned to the earth, they each learned their songs. The hummingbird was the first to fall out of the race. Eventually only the eagle was left, and as he started to turn back, the little thrush jumped out of his feathers and continued to ascend. The eagle saw what had happened but was too exhausted to stop him. The little thrush flew until he came to a hole in the sky and entered the Land of Happy Spirits. He stayed there and learned the most beautiful song. Eager to return and show it off, the little thrush flew back to the council rock. As he approached, he saw the eagle and the other birds glaring at him. Unable to face them, the thrush flew off into the deep woods and hid, wishing never to be seen. However, he could not refrain from singing his song from the Spirit World. When he does, all the other birds fall silent to listen to the song that causes the sun to shine upon the hearts of those entering the dark forest.

This will be the last set of bird cards for a little while, since I sent these out to Snail Mail members for May and June. I will be adding all Bird Art Cards to my Ko-fi shop very soon and finding frames for the originals – so don’t forget to subscribe for updates. I recorded processes of these all paintings that you can watch on my Instagram (I am still in the process of editing the footage).


Here is the great song Nightingale by The Reign of Kindo. You’re welcome!

Flattening of Time

I don’t usually record my paintings because having to work around the camera is awkward and editing footage is tedious, but for the last couple of small paintings, I fortified my mental faculties and set up to document the process. Since I don’t have the best recording equipment, capturing the glorious battle between bold brushstrokes and performance anxiety had to be done at the very edge [of my desk].

As I was editing the video clips, I thought of how much of the painting is unseen as layers are added with each touch of the brush. There is always that ugly stage to fight through, where I have half the mind to scrap the piece. It’s not like an oil painting where an x-ray radiograph can reveal the actual layers of paint to show the stages of work. With watercolors, the color settles into the fiber of the paper and dries in the way those pigment particles happen to be suspended in their puddles. Sometimes the pigment might float up and move again if reactivated by the water. Thus, a watercolor painting is a flattened record of time – a design of color stains timed to lay in a certain order. Viewers only see the end of the recording since the last brushstroke was made; they will never see the point where the painting might have been brought back from the brink of disaster.

Speaking of disasters undocumented, this painting is one:

I was horrified at the ways some of the colors settled onto the paper but in the end it all came together. To prevent the colors from losing vibrancy from too much mixing, I used only two paints: Ultramarine and Burnt Sienna. As I was painting the buffalo I realized I needed the watercolor to act more like ink – so that the color would stay still if I went over it with more layers. The unintentional splotches made interesting textures though.

Lately I have been fascinated by floral cloisonné artwork – which is made by bending and soldering thin strips of metal that act at walls as color is added by filling each cell with either glass or enamel. I incorporated closed shapes in the design as actual cloisonné would require, but instead of filling the pattern with color I wanted the linework to shine by itself. I used a tiny paintbrush and needed to keep thinning out the acrylic gold paint with bit of water to get a smooth even flow. I went over each leaf and petal several times to get good coverage – similar to how we need multiple coats of nail polish to get the color to look solid.

The calf is the star of this image, but she looks lovingly towards the mother, to whom every child at one point in her life, is the most beautiful being in the world.

It’s Mother’s Day on Sunday – remember to call your mom this weekend and tell her she is beautiful. Happy Mother’s Day!

Thanks to my mom who went with me to the first art supply store I’ve ever been in and bought for me the set of professional watercolor brushes over 20 years ago that I still use today and for this very painting.

A Parliament of Owls

Following the ACEO series of winter birds I started last year, I completed another set of art cards featuring owls. Collectively, a group of these birds is called a hoot, or a parliament of owls.

Owls have fascinated and frightened people for centuries – because most of them are nocturnal they were associated with the supernatural. It was common superstition in the olden days that an owl landing on your house was an omen of imminent death. Nowadays, many people see owls as symbols of wisdom and great knowledge. There is so much folklore surrounding owls across different cultures, some of which pertain even to specific species.

To chose five species to illustrate this for this series, I picked ones that were visually distinct, and planned for each painting to have a different color scheme so that the entire set displayed well together. Owls camouflage with their environment so their feathers are just varying degrees of grey, white or brown. Therefore, I had to invent more vibrant versions of them while keeping the colors feeling natural. Here are some preparatory sketches and paintings.

The most difficult part of each painting were the eyes – inaccurate brushstrokes on their avian eyeliner or an off-center pupil made the owl look goofy. These paintings are 2.5″ x 3.5″, so their eyes were tiny – which is why I practiced painting the Eurasian Eagle Owl twice before doing the real one – black and white eye makeup and eyebrows!

Next came the task of researching and writing the short pieces of fact and folklore for the backs of the printed cards. My favorites are Duncan and Flaco.

The whole point of making these art cards is to share my artwork in a portable physical format, so I sent out these Owl cards to my Snail Mail Club members. For the next series I am planning to do songbirds. You can learn more about the monthly subscription below:

For the first time ever, I brought my bird art cards to the public at a local market event. I was so happy to see that they made people smile and that the extra writing on the back of the cards were appreciated as well.

Framed artwork of the Snowy Owl and Eurasian Eagle Owl
These two owl originals flew off to new art collectors at the Buffalo Makers and Shakers Easter Market.

Thank you to the folks who brought pieces home and also to you for being part of this newsletter.

I would love to know which is your favorite owl or if it’s one that I slept on (in case I decide to make another hoot of owls in the future)!