Bird of the Month
“A true conservationist knows the world
is not given by his fathers . . .
but borrowed from his children.”
By Neil Stalter
When John James Audubon said this he had already earned honors beyond his own noble ambitions. He had tasted the glory of dining with kings and presidents, had his work lauded on both sides of the Atlantic and seen more of America than anyone who ever lived.
His love of birds had propelled him on a 50-year journey marked by many disappointments, failures in business, years away from his beloved wife and sons, rejections by his countrymen and fellow artists and scientists. A lesser man would have crumbled. Today, 166 years after his death, he stands unrivalled. Without the aid of photography and with only a smattering of formal education, Audubon reigns as the most acclaimed source of true-to-life paintings of birds, plants and mammals of our continent.
His monumental work, The Birds of America, holds 435 paintings showing some 1,000 different birds. Through decades of strain, he had brought birds to life as never before. Prior to Audubon, all birds were painted as flat subjects against a bare background, restuffed after killing, bereft of context or action. How did this bastard son of a French sea captain, roaming the rivers and wilderness of his new country, create such magic?
First, he was plain dogged. To support himself and his family, he painted portraits of the wealthy in towns from Pennsylvania and Kentucky to Louisiana, Carolina and Florida. Most of all, he tramped the woods and banks where he could find birds. That was solitary work in all kinds of weather; it often meant walking or renting horses to search for faraway roosting spots. On a typical day, he would rise at 3am, pull on his buckskin trousers and jacket, then head for the field armed with his rifle and his own keen sight; by 1pm he could be found at his drawing table. There he worked into the night, usually requiring four to ten hours to render a first image of his bird.
As he drew, his keen sight recalled what he had recorded in nature. His birds would be feeding or flying, snaring or perching in native trees, wading, diving, swimming, strutting, fighting . . . in harmony or in deadly combat with nature. Whatever, but always in motion fitting the species' habits.
Through the years, the artist probably had many a 'bird of the month.' He found interest in both the Peewee and the Eagle. He called the Great Egret, “Most difficult of any bird I have yet undertaken.” He made at least 30 attempts before he was pleased. In Key West, he wrote: “This morning, a flock of Flamingoes alighted. I had now reached the height of all my expectations.”
In one story, Audubon recounted how he once drew the Bald Eagle along the Mississippi River. He arbitrarily painted the eagle feeding on a goose. Years later, following many sightings of the great raptor in natural settings, he redrew his painting – this time showing the eagle feeding at river's edge on a catfish. He would say that's the way nature does it.
But when his work was ready for engraving in Scotland, he made an unlikely choice for the #1 plate – the Wild Turkey. After all, he later admitted, its like was “unknown in any other place.” Even in today's editions, readers open the Audubon masterpiece to see the the turkey cock staring back.
Young greenies might be aghast to hear that Audubon counted it a “wasted day” when he didn't shoot 100 birds. He was a crack shot. With no camera handy, he had no recourse but to bring back the dead target if he were to capture its every detail in wing or body coloring.
Greatness as an artist only half measures the stature of John Audubon. His drive to discover led him into the science of ornithology. It forced him to study in detail the works of Alexander Wilson and other giants. He knew beyond doubt which species to expect . . . and he knew analytically as well as instinctively when he came upon a new unique bird. In fact, he discovered at least 25 species. He began almost each of their names with the word “American” from the American Avocet to the American Woodcock (and, by the way, the American Wild Turkey). Over time, their first names have disappeared.
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To learn more about the world's greatest birder . . . to see a PBS documentary on the life of John James Audubon, be sure to attend the February 8 presentation of Grand Harbor Audubon in the clubhouse at 3pm. Neil Stalter will introduce the program and add his comments for members and guests.