Familiar has a double-meaning in this case. Barry Van Dusen said a smart thing the other day, that if you wish to successfully draw a bird, draw that bird over and over until you assimilate its form. Stay within that bird family long enough to grok it. If you draw warblers and then switch over to herons you’ll have a bit of disconnect until you get the hang of long legs and long necks . Draw a lot of one family until that particular morphology makes some sense and becomes second nature to you, until you get the hang of the proportions and movements. A warbler is a bird, and so is a stork, and so is a mudhen but it will be less frustrating if you practice on one type at a time. Get comfortable with one bird family before you move on to another. For example: Monday=Raptor Day, Tuesday=Shorebird Day, Wednesday=Cassowary Day (or whatever shows up for you). Try it!

Bad I.D. alert: it’s a Parula warbler, folks. Jumped the gun a little, but now I have another life bird to look forward to!

Lately it’s been Warbler Day every day. That’s all about drawing with your head thrown back, looking straight up. Sore necks (yours) are part of the process. But worth it!

Exception to the Warbler Neck Rule: Ovenbirds are walkin’ warblers, found on the ground.

Wild turkey- Benson House, Harvard Forest, 5/11/08. Watercolor on Canson drawing paper, 111lb. Drawn and painted through a scope.
I thought this might be appropriate- a very maternal wild turkey on a nest, right outside the house. She decided we could provide a good foundation for her family, literally. The nest is on the ground right next to the wall, with arching raspberry canes and a discarded roll of hog-pen wire over it. I discovered it when I stepped out back to look at some warblers and inadvertently got a little too close. With a hiss, the turkey vacated and stalked off to the woods, possibly to lure me away from her clutch of big, buffy-tan and speckled eggs. An even dozen.

I’ve been drawing in the woods for the last few days, hauling clunky gear with me- a big wooden easel, a large drawing board, portfolio of papers, shoulder bag and backpack. Lots of junk. I think she’s gotten used to me walking back and forth past her nest and has learned to sit tight. I try not to look directly at her. She’s relaxed a bit. I’m harmless.

Today I decided to draw and paint her alongside the house where she could keep her eye on me. I went a comfortable distance away and set up my camp stool and a scope (borrowed, thanks Barry!) and waited until she’d stopped looking tense. That’s when I began looking through the glass, sketchbook on my lap, pencil in hand, followed by a brush. Eventually she looked bored and sleepy, but she never took her eyes off me. She’s a good mom.

Yellow rumped female warbler gathering nesting material from a turkey’s nest. Watercolor on Canson drawing paper. Drawn through binoculars. 5/11/08
Another good mother in the neighborhood is a yellow-rumped (myrtle) warbler, who has been gathering stray feathers a few feet away from the turkey nest where the wind has carried them. She’s flying back and forth from the raspberry patch to the woods, feathering her nest with genuine turkey down. There’s a lot of serious activity going on around here in that department, lots of mothers-to-be, babies soon to follow (can’t wait!). It’s funny to see a hawk carrying sticks in her feet, or a hummingbird with puffs of spider web in her slender bill. They’re just great mothers. Happy Day, all you moms out there!

]]> http://drawingthemotmot.wordpress.com/2008/05/12/happy-mothers-day/feed/ zeladoniac http://drawingthemotmot.wordpress.com/2008/05/07/back-from-shangrila-la-land/ http://drawingthemotmot.wordpress.com/2008/05/07/back-from-shangrila-la-land/#comments Wed, 07 May 2008 23:57:23 +0000 zeladoniac http://drawingthemotmot.wordpress.com/?p=851

Like the vapor of a dream, the remnants of the past week linger around the edges of my tired brain in a pink and gold blur of constant sun, scented flowers and architecture worthy of a Babylonian temple or a Hollywood backlot. Bit of a contrast to the quaint and quiet I’ve been enjoying up here in the woods, I’d say. I’ve been visiting my family in sunny Southern California. I have a terrible jet-lag hangover and we didn’t get in until 3:30 this morning. I’ll probably keep this short, since I will shortly fall asleep.

Highlights before I forget them: napping in the sun-warm sand at Malibu Beach; delightful hours at the Getty Villa Museum and best of all, getting to sit with my Dad during an awesome performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. A very special experience for us both, I believe. I’m fairly sure it was real.

5:15 is when the day begins now. The first bird song has been the Eastern phoebe; it’s now being joined by a robin. That’s the early bird who gets the worm- phoebes prefer airborne foodstuff. The morning chorus is being overlaid this dawn with a soundtrack of pattering rain and car tires hissing on wet highway. The coffee is hot. Good morning.

I have a pleasing note of eco-news today. Environmental stories in general have not been a big source of joy lately so I’m happy to pass along this personal observation. There is still a wildness in the world.

Petersham is a lovely New England small town- there’s a country store (with great sandwiches), a post office, a Commons with a pond, meadow, and a bandstand; tall-steepled churches on Main Street ring the hours. It is at the eastern edge of the Quabbin Reservoir, the largest source of fresh water in Massachusetts and the source of what Bostonians can enjoy straight from the tap. The considerable watershed is well-protected and heavily forested, and there are a great deal of fine forests, rivers, lakes and reserves throughout the region. I’ve been tremendously impressed with the farsightedness of public and private conservation organizations which preserve this land and make it so easily accessible to hikers, campers, paddlers, and anyone else who wants to get out of their cars for some low-impact land-use. There are trailheads leading off from roads and highways everywhere. I keep my hiking boots handy.

There’s a nature preserve not five minutes from here, and once you hit the trail, you’re in another world. Cross a little bridge over a wild stream, stroll past the great meadow and the beaver pond, and the trees begin to grow bigger and older and less tame. Moss creeps up and over everything: fallen logs and boulders big as motor homes are softened by deep-pile green carpet. Fiddle-heads (fern sprouts) are rising from the leaf-litter like cobras, dead snags are contorted and patinaed by age, and in the gloomy hush you find yourself looking over your shoulder for bears or leprechauns. There’s enchantment in these woods.

The Northern goshawk is a symbol of wildness and ferocity; Attila the Hun wore the image of a goshawk on his helmet. I’ve been lucky enough to see one maybe three times in my life. And big mustelids are equally fierce and wild. Both species need good habitat, large areas of mature forest and good prey availability.

The mossy glade I chose to draw in last week turned out to be a fine place for goshawks. An adult bird perched in a white pine at the edge of the opening made the forest ring with loud hacking cries. I was properly awed. The glade was also a fine place for other wildlife, as I discovered.

If you sit very quietly sketching or painting, you’d be surprised what doesn’t see you first. A scrabbling sound caused me to look up to see a large, furry black mammal climbing a snag 60 feet away. It had long bushy tail, a wedge-shaped head, large paws and a golden wash across the shoulders. It was on the far side of the trunk and had it’s paws wrapped more than halfway around it (I went back and measured that trunk: it was a good 16″ thick). I reached for my camera when it saw me, wherupon it slid backwards and dropped to the ground, hitting the moss with a muffled thud. It ran like hell and was gone like a ghost. I’d just seen my first Fisher.

How rare are these two creatures of the northern woods? They are not common. Fishers are declining in the Southern and Pacific regions of the United States, mostly due to logging and other habitat loss, but here in the Northeast, they are increasing, as are goshawks. The Northeastern forest is renewing itself; and as forest habitat recovers, so do the goshawk and the fisher. I hope to see them again- yet another incentive for me to go sit quietly in the woods with a sketchbook and a paint kit. Good morning, indeed.

What I Got: Sennelier Oil Stick Wood Boxed Set of 36 (missing 6) still in their original plastic wrappers
Where I Got It: Salvation Army, Hadley, Massachusetts
How Much I Paid: $2.99. That’s right, two dollars and ninety-nine cents, not including tax.
How Proud I Am of My Shopping Savvy: This is how much this thing usually costs. I’m doing my little Happy Bargain Hunter Dance over here.
What I’m Going To Do With It: Stay tuned-there’ll be a learning curve!