It's Spring -- Bless the Baby Birds!

I couldn't resist sharing a childhood experience with you. The story probably accounts for why I love birds and delight in painting them.

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He was pink, blind and featherless when I found him lying in the bright spring grass. His lifeless three-inch body brought back a rush of memory and I was eight years old again, looking down on another fragile baby bird.

"Tufted Titmouse" drawing

He had fallen so far from the nest that I convinced myself his mother would never miss him. Carefully, and with a modicum of shame, I scooped the tiny fledgling into my cupped hands. I would nurse him back to health and become his protector. In turn, he would be my friend, my pet. He could perch on my finger and I would teach him how to do tricks. He could sing for his supper. Surely mother would let me keep him.

"Courtship" pencil drawing

She shook her head when she saw him; a bad omen. But when she gave me an empty matchbox, I grew hopeful. We stuffed the matchbox with tissue and laid the bird gently on the soft white sheets. His head wobbled back and forth as his tiny body struggled to get up. The dark swollen eyes were closed, but the hungry beak gaped wide in a perpetual state of readiness.

My mother went for the “crumb jar;” the kind you fill up with leftover toast or stale bread until there are enough pieces for croutons or crumbs on a casserole.

We moistened a small chunk of bread in warm milk; and while mother left to prepare dinner, I dropped soggy snippets of bread into the bird’s open mouth. The feeding lasted until the tantalizing smells from the kitchen and the clatter of dishes distracted me.

"Berry Picking Time" 16 x 20 acrylic on panel

It was nearly bedtime before I remembered. I skipped to the back porch, half expecting birdsong to greet me. Instead, I slammed into a cold wall of silence. I held my breath and peered into the matchbox. The bird’s too-large head lay angled against the white tissue, his pale colored beak hung open. The bread I had pushed down his throat earlier was now stuck like a gummy wad of dough. I yelled for mother.

"Hut Two Three Four" drawing

She came quickly with tweezers in hand. “He’s too weak to swallow,” she said, making one final effort to remove the dough from the tiny gullet. “He’s not breathing,” she muttered to herself. And then seeing my tears, she added, “It’s not your fault. He’s too young, that’s all. His eyes aren’t open. He has no feathers.” In spite of her words, I cried. Sad lesson learned -- end of story, or was it?

Returning to the present and my adult moorings, I studied the baby bird at my feet. If I left him here, a neighbor’s cat or a hungry hawk would surely destroy him or a child’s bicycle could crush him unawares. Impulsively, I scooped him into my hands. I had to give him a second chance. Who knows? This time I might succeed; and, perhaps, redeem my childhood guilt in the bargain.

"Star Billing" mixed media on 14 x 18canvas

Of Cabbages and Kings, of Toilet seats and Things

Springtime in Fort Myers -- an Art Show -- 2013 Bell Tower Shops

Florida living provides me with an endless supply of stories and artistic material for painting. Every day I see a wide variety of birds, animals, plants, and aquatic life.

Take this morning. I wasn’t expecting to see a black racer snake devour one of its own on my front porch, but I did.  And I don’t enjoy cracking the door ever so slightly when I leave the house to prevent a lizard, or whatever else is out there, the slightest chance of sneaking in; but I do.

I’m reminded that living in the tropics brings its own special joys and surprises; like the time I was caught in the buff by a thirsty green frog that was perched on my toilet seat. I don’t mind sharing, but not in this case.

I coaxed my mini-intruder into a glass jar and transported him outside, unharmed. If I can, I prefer to save life, even a frog’s. Lizards are another matter.

When I first moved to Florida, I couldn’t bear to kill anything. But after chasing several lizards through the house and having them hide under sofas and chairs, or behind the bookcase where they die a slow death, I’m willing to exterminate when necessary. At least lizards don’t stink when they decay. Like withered old soldiers, they just fade away, leaving a crusty carcass behind.

Today a pair of pileated woodpeckers landed on our cabbage palm; their arrival a breathtaking flash of blink-bright red and black. Observing their skinny necks and hammer-shaped heads made me think of another time and place, when prehistoric birds of Jurassic Park proportions roamed the earth; ancestors perhaps?

The large 18” birds circled the tree, hammering the shaggy palm bark with heavy silver bills in search of insects and grubs. Both birds used their long black tail feathers for balance, leaning on them like old rocking chairs. Suddenly, one of the pair fluttered to the upper palm fronds exposing white under wing linings, a striking contrast against the black flight feathers.

Someday I will paint the pileated woodpecker. 

 Robin’s are not particularly fussy about where they build their nests. I’ve seen a nest cradled in a wreath on someone’s door, and a nest wedged between a light fixture and the bricks on a friend’s front porch.

My friend watched over the nest like a mother hen; protecting first the blue green eggs that appeared, and then the tiny newborns that followed. Each time he stepped out on his porch, the mother robin swooped over his head and dive-bombed him to protect her nest. Little did she know that he was a staunch ally.

The robins’ precarious nest-building habits are not without risk, and many a nest topples to the ground following a strong windstorm. But when it comes to parenting, robins are seldom outmatched.

My acrylic painting “Robin Hood” was inspired by the apple blossoms in the spring and the sighting of a robin’s nest. 

"Robin Hood" 16 x 20 acrylic on canvas

On my daily walk, I watched a turkey vulture swoop overhead and land on a hot tile roof a few feet away. The buzzard spread its wings to soak up the sun and rest while it digested its morning meal.

A startled mocking bird stopped in mid-flutter to bombard the huge bird, diving at it with angry squawks and stabs of its beak, despite the fact that its enemy was ten times its size.

The indifferent vulture pulled in its neck, tucked its small red head between gangley wing blades, and stubbornly ignored the mocker’s tenacious thrusts.

Not to be outdone, the gutsy mocker continued to swoop and dive, until finally the exasperated vulture lifted its dark wings against the sky and flew off in search of a new perch.

I enjoy the antics of the Florida mocking bird, a slightly browner version than its northern counterpart. Its uproarious songs and saucy attitude inspired my acrylic painting: “Berry picking time.”

"Berry Picking Time" 16 x 20 acryllic on canvas

What drives your engine, propels your motor, and keeps you going?

"Brown Thrasher in Sunlight" 16 x 20 acrylic on panel

We are all like boats, bobbing around on an ocean called life. Sometimes the sea is calm, and sometimes it’s frantic with overwhelming waves of anxiety and trouble. Sometimes we are crushed by grief, by loneliness or failure. We may be overcome by tragedy, death, or guilt. The only way to steady the boat is to have an anchor; a tool, a mission, a purpose or a hope to hold onto.

These items are the opposite of their replacements: addiction, escapism, self-indulgence. Why are they different? Because tools stabilize our lives when the waters get rough. A mission or a purpose keeps us from capsizing, drowning, or giving up.

"Sandhill Cranes at Twilight"  24 x 30 acrylic on canvas

Faith is another component that many people want to ignore. Faith is simply a belief in something larger than yourself which gives you strength and stability. If your faith is anchored on a solid foundation of knowledge and truth, you can withstand the outside forces that come up to battle against you; the “waves,” as it were, of difficulty and rejection.

“I believe with all my heart that standing up for America means standing up for the God who has blessed our land. We need God’s help to guide our nation through stormy seas. But we can’t expect him to protect America in a crisis if we just leave him over on the shelf in our day-to-day living.” Ronald Reagan

"Americana" 16 x 20 acrylic on canvas

The same holds equally true in our own lives. If we leave our higher power, our anchor on a shelf, how can it help us?

Many people have enough faith and trust in themselves that they feel no need to go beyond their personal or extended knowledge. I’ve often admired people like this who have greater ability and greater strength than me. I’ve also seen these seemingly confident and talented people crumble over things I consider trivial.

I’d really be interested in finding out what gives your life strength and purpose. Your suggestions and your perspective might help someone else.

"Robin Hood" 16 x 20 acrylic on canvas in barn wood frame

To get you started, here is a story about someone we all know: Lady Gaga; just click the link, and then please come back:

http://99u.com/tips/7251/How-Rejection-Breeds-Creativity?utm_source=Triggermail&utm_medium=email&utm_term=ALL&utm_campaign=MIH%20-%20December%2012&utm_content=Final

Featured Artist
I’m sharing a video from Jon McNaughton, a magnificent artist, who illustrates the meaning of Christmas with his gift.

Love can’t be stored or saved; it’s best when given away!

Vikeholmen Lighthouse II, oil on 16x20 canvas

My dear friend Dorothy baked bread for as long as she was able. “Just like my mother used to make,” she lovingly boasted. Whenever I’d visit, she’d plop a fresh warm loaf in my hands and send me away with a smile and a part of herself.

I loved her recipe. You could make it at night, and let it rise in the refrigerator until the next day. Once, I put too much dough into my Tupperware bowl, and the yeast caused it to bubble up, open the lid, and spill onto my shelves and bottles.

Seeing the mess, made me think of a story about the girl and the porridge. She received a magic soup pot from a woman in the forest who told her what to say to start it cooking and to get it to stop. She would never be hungry again! But when the porridge was cooked, the little girl forgot the magic words to make it stop. The porridge spilled over onto the floor, out the front door, and into the streets of the village.

Love and creativity are like that, too. If you smother the urge, the inspiration, and try to keep it all to yourself it will find other outlets. Like yeast dough spilling from Tupperware or the magic pot bubbling over with soup, creativity (another form of love) spills over with sometimes unexpected consequences.

"Robin Hood" 16x20 acrylic on canvas

My coffee blog a few days ago is a good example. There are people who go to coffee houses and then create art or doodle with their coffee, drawing admiring crowds. These entrepreneurs paint with their fingertips and Stir Styx to create wonderful scenes in the chocolate and whip cream swirls on the top of their coffee. Creativity – you can’t hold it down.

When I lived in Kansas City, our favorite restaurant was Stephenson’s Apple Farm. An old apple cider barn and orchard made room for a wonderful dining spot full of antiques and dried apple dolls. Rather than let those withered apples rot when they fell to the ground, “creative’s” ingeniously made them into dolls. The withered apples became the heads after first carving a simple face into the pulp. As the apple dried, the features twisted unexpectedly into either smiling or snarling faces. 

They were so ugly, they were adorable. Each face had its own personality. Coming from an old Pioneer art form, the dolls attracted many tourists to the restaurant. Of course, their home style brisket, cinnamon apple slices and broccoli cheese casserole didn’t hurt their business either.

(In Progress) bird house; acrylic on 16x20 panel

Some people claim to have no creativity. I don’t believe it! You just haven’t discovered yours yet. What are the things you love? What do you enjoy spending your time doing? In most instances there’s a creative component, whether your joy is cooking, decorating, or having a flare for the dramatic. Capture your love and express it!