In the Spring of 2020, during the early stages of the COVID lockdown, I began to notice the dead birds. It was springtime, so seeing dead fledglings, hatchlings and migrators meet their demise was not especially unusual, but given the circumstances, the dead birds felt like a sign, and so I painted them.

The deep, careful observation of these beautifully banal creatures seemed to magnify their symbology; loss of freedom, vulnerability, impermanence, the sheer beauty of the mundane. There is an intimacy to the process of documenting these birds, to the experience of deep and literal witnessing. The series has continued, off and on, ever since and the found birds continue to command investigation.

The sense of dread that surrounds the climate crisis presents an acknowledgment that humans are to blame, humans may be doomed and it may be too late to take meaningful action grand enough to make a difference. The birds have taken on a “canary in the coal mine” undertone as we contemplate human ecology and recognize that our political, economic, social, cultural and technological evolution is part of nature, not separate from it. We are the birds. 

Dead bird imagery has a long history. They have been used by protesters in China after the birds began falling dead from the sky after exposure to tear gas fired by Chinese authorities in 2019 to quell political protests. In the Victorian era dead birds were used on holiday cards as both a wish for good fortune and a remembrance of those less fortunate and they have been seen throughout art history as a symbol of our soul, the grief of our lost innocence or general hopelessness.

I observe and document the birds that I find in my neighborhood without interpretation. Like any good portrait, I hope these images hint at the unknowable, the mysteries that we cannot see and pay homage to their fleeting, earnest life.