Apr. 16, 2012 (ShapeShiftas) -- Out back, this time of year, we have a lovely pond.
It's really a large hole in the ground with a couple of picturesque boulders that fills up with snowmelt and run-off from the hills above. In the spring, this hole is filled with sparkling clear water and tadpoles of the frogs that overwintered by digging into the muddy bottom. The first day of spring for us is that day in March or April when all these "peepers" suddenly thaw out and start to madly chirp. We imagine they are all calling out -- who made it through the winter? -- who wants to go make some tadpoles?
The pond is full in the spring, dry in the summer, lumpy frozen snow (usually) in the winter. It's technically a "vernal pool," and since there are no fish to eat the eggs, it is a great place for frogs and salamanders to breed. We first looked at our house in the spring, when the pond was full and sparkling. The girls caught tadpoles in jars while we discussed the terms of the sale, and I imagined moonlight swims (despite the slimy things) and skating parties (even though I hate to ice-skate). The blue sky reflected in the waters of the pond was the same color as the eyes of the Vermont builder who was selling the house...
Well, by the time we finally closed on the house and actually moved in, the "pond" was a dusty hole in the ground (still with picturesque boulders -- now for climbing!) Friends of the previous owners joke about filling up the pond with hoses right before we came up to look at the house for the last time. Once the leaves on the trees and the plants on the ground come up, the run-off doesn't make it to the pond, so it dries up through the summer, leaving behind a mucky surface and millions of mosquitos. Not quite the private swimming pool I was imagining.
Still, in April, the pond is at its loveliest. My favorite part is the migrating ducks and geese stopping by on their way to Canada. They seem to always arrive in a pair, perhaps they are looking to nest, but the dogs eventually chase them off. These wild ducks and geese seem so different from the ones our neighbors keep for eggs, or the ones in the ponds in Central Park or the fake lakes in the suburbs where Canadian geese sometimes form huge flocks that block traffic, attack little children, and take over the water hazards on golf courses.
These suburban geese don't bother to fly South for the winter, since they already live on a golf course!
The Canadian Goose, by the famous John James Audubon.
A much more majestic bird than its golf-course-dwelling descendants.
Mallard ducks, by Audubon, like the visitors in our pond.
The waterfowl that have visited our pond are very beautiful, and very wild. I can't imagine them in a city pool or strip-center creek. I can imagine devoting your life to depicting their images in your art, as did John James Audubon. He spent years in the wild, studying his subjects and their habitats, and cataloged and drew more than 700 bird species, including 25 that he discovered, for his work, The Birds of America.
Is this book (really a series of lithographs) an artwork or a scientific treatise? He was a gifted draftsman and an exacting, though amateur, scientist. In the field, he sketched and took copious notes, but he mostly painted from dead birds that he propped up with wire into the life-like poses that he remembered. His Birds are remarkable for their alive-ness, and the artworks are compelling and inspiring today. The Birds of America is also a valuable scientific resource; the habitats are correct, the markings are exact, the behaviors believable. Six species he painted are now extinct, alive only in his work.
The Passenger Pigeon, by Audubon, still alive in this print.
Creating The Birds of America was in part a commercial venture. Audubon sold the prints as a subscription series, oversaw the production line, and gave lectures to promote his work. Today, Audubon has become a brand name, and everyone has seen his work, especially his famous Wild Turkey.
The images have been reproduced on pillows, T-shirts, coffee mugs, and coasters. Next time you have a chance, though, check out the (species-sized) paintings, and reconsider his prints just for the art that they are. Of the many artists who have tried to depict our feathered friends, his is still the ultimate achievement.
This arm-rest is called Feathered Friend, a special limited-edition pillow from ShapeShiftas, available here.
It costs a bit less than a first-edition "Wild Turkey" ($265,000, above.)
peace, Deborah