Escape and fly away!

Birds are one of my favorite subjects. Perhaps it is because I see them everyday: visiting my bird feeder, nesting under the eaves of the garage, perched overhead on electric wires. Maybe it’s the way their quick movements can catch my attention, or how they fill the air with cheerful bursts of song.

It could be something else altogether. Perhaps it is because they represent escape. When they fly off, far into the distance, they head to another world. Their wings lift them high into the sky, leaving earthly problems behind. I imagine their wild home in the crevice of a tree, a muddy marsh, a rock cliff overlooking the sea. They break free with wings and feathers.

The first two birds in my series of herons are depicted at the edge of land and water. Constructing them allowed me to escape in two ways: one through the materials of anger and grief, the other through the imagery of water and sky.

Escape in the studio

The green heron is prevalent throughout North America. Less prominent than its taller cousin, the great blue heron, the green heron often hides on the edge of wetlands. I have seen it in these liminal areas in Quebec, Massachusetts, and Florida.

The green heron can stand still for long periods of time. With its characteristic pose, its neck scrunched up, it will suddenly reach out to catch a fish or frog. I placed the first heron in a crouched pose, ready to tackle its surroundings. I worked on the bird’s surroundings in March 2020 as the reality of the Covid-19 pandemic set in. The pandemic clearly influenced my choice of materials, as I cut strips of black rubber inner tubes to make the bird’s habitat. Working a crochet hook around the rugged strips to fashion a pool of water, I pulled anger and anxiety out of my body.

As March turned into April, I turned my feeling of loss into action. I retrieved my sewing machine from the basement and set to work making masks for members of the community. Since the machine was hounding me, I used it to stitch fabric to make a background for the marsh. 

To top it off, I turned to the garden where I had retreated one warm afternoon. Pulling up dead day lily leaves, I brought them into the studio and sewed them onto the fabric surface, creating a tangible tangle of grasses.

I am sure the abundance of materials in this sculpture was a response to the numbness of the physical isolation imposed by Covid-19.

Escape to other worlds

By the time I set to work on the surroundings for the second heron, I was thinking of another type of escape. My thoughts headed in a more meditative direction. I set this second heron on a branch over the water. This bird is still and at ease. The water reflects the grey sky, catching the light and clouds above. From where I stand on land, I imagine the bird’s escape to the sanctuary of the sky.

I used silvery linen fabric to capture the water’s surface. The layers of wire mesh placed on top of the fabric catch the light, creating an impression of reflected clouds.

The bird is at home here on the edge of water and sky. Unlike me, she needs neither boat nor airplane to navigate these worlds. Her feathery wings propel her great distances. On wings of green and gold, the heron can escape. For a time, it leaves the muck on the land and flies far into the sky.

These herons are destined to be part of a larger work about gerrymandering. I wrote about my thought process behind the work when it was just an idea here.

You can see other birds that have emerged from my studio here.