Day: September 1, 2025

I’m a little late this morning because I’ve made it my mission to draw a bird for you every day, and I went off piste as they might say.

I got flamboyant in the evening and decided to play around with watercolour and then got experimental with some gouache (neither of which I am experienced with but then isn’t that the joy of it?) and then went back in with my favourite black ink pen and then, after staring a bit longer, had a play around with pencil.

I’m not sure he’s quite finished, but in any case, I present to you with Exhibit A: My Carrion Crow.

I will tell you though something completely devious that is the underlying pulse of why I love to draw my birds. A story to illustrate my dark secrets:

This morning, I continued with my crow in a Co-Creating Session we have as part of the Creating Wild Membership (I describe it as a big kitchen table session where we all meet up and chatter and work on whatever it is we wish).

I was talking about my crow and that started a conversation about Ravens and the question was asked, do you have Raven’s in New Zealand?

At first I said yes, and then no, and then you know, I’m not quite sure, and so I looked it up and learned that we used to have two endemic Ravens to Aotearoa New Zealand that went extinct in the 1600’s.

And then I learned from my lovely friend Brigid, who is also in the group, that Raven’s are protected where she is in California but they are slightly problematic because they are thriving on human settlement where other Birds of Prey are not (which leads not only to problems with the Birds of Prey themselves, but the things that they take care of).

And you see, this is how it works. When we pay attention to something, we inevitably become curious. Curiosity leads to discovery and discovery leads both to wonder and to learning.

And then- this is the part where we need the drum roll- wonder inevitably leads to care. We understand what requires our voices, our hands and our protection.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is my big secret; the motor behind everything.

Opening our eyes to the world through art is a way of offering it our protection. A portal, if you will, where we can not only share our fascinations and our loves, but to fuel our actions that lead to better care.

Art as gentle activism. I’m all in.

xx Jane

Next week, my bird drawing course, Winging It, is opening! We will explore ways to draw birds from reference, from life and as illustration. It will be luscious and inspiring (I mean, birds!) and well worth your time. Pinky promise.

You can check out Winging It here.

 

On the weekend, I took the littlest of my small ones to the Ecosanctuary near us for hot chocolate, but my ulterior motive of course was to admire all the birds. Right near the entrance doors, just to the left as you walk through, is a rather ramshackle bookshelf. On it are the remains of donated and discarded books that you can purchase by donation. I look at them like old forgotten friends.

I have bought three vintage bird books there now to date, all slightly torn but full of hundreds of coloured illustrations. I ogle them with the same love I imagine they were created with.

This last visit, I picked up a book with a dated looking photo on the cover, and pictures of a similar quality inside. I thought of putting this one back- it struck me as a little boring- but then I started reading and realized I was most definitely wrong. The descriptions were amazing, and I began to also understand the quality of the photos within the context of the time, without zoom lenses and fast shutter speeds and digital possibilities.

The way that the author, M F Soper, talked about feeding habits and nests (amongst a host of other things) came from the wisdom of someone who spent a lot of time outside simply observing:

“One of the most striking things about a Pigeon chick is that it seldom if ever demands food. Despite many hours at a nest, I have never seen a squab demanding food and have never seen one fed. A friend of mine, hoping to obtain a movie sequence of the feeding act, spent days and days at the nest yet only saw it once.”

In another book I read recently, The Place of Tides, the author laments the loss of childhood time spent outside observing. On the outer Arctic isles of Norway, where the book is set, the inhabitants of the island consider observing an action as worthy as any other.

How else are you supposed to learn the comings and goings of the place you are a part of if you do not take the time to simply watch?

I often feel this pull, this desire to observe without time limits. How many of us can do that now, and if we do, without the guilt that we should be more productive or there’s something else we need to do? I would guess the answer is not many.

The messaging we are fed about what’s important and a good use of our hours is insidious.

When I started drawing birds, it was a reclamation of time as much as anything else. I desire to get closer to what was real, the snuggle up to the immediacy of the ground outside my door in a way that would allow me to know it better. And what’s more, it really worked.

Drawing is a kind of alchemy that I never appreciated when I was caught up in the idea that art was for other people, or that my drawing was not good. If you can let go of that, it’s amazing what comes through. How you can get to know thigns in ways you never knew them before. It’s the best kind of everyday magic.

In a week’s time, my bird drawing course, Winging It, opens- the early bird offer is available now! To take a pencil in your hand and pay attention is a wild and beautiful act- I’d love to share that with you if you are at all curious (and especially if you have the desire but are convinced it’s not for you- proving yourself wrong there is part of the fun!)

You can check out Winging It here

xx Jane