Little birds

Each morning, I pull on my painting sweats and slowly make my way downstairs for my morning matcha, followed by many cups of coffee. As the light inches across my backyard, the yard is already alive. Cardinals and Carolina Wrens flit through the branches, busy with the business of morning. Watching them brings mindfulness to my day — the way they move, the light bouncing off their backs and wings — it stops me in my tracks, pulls me out of whatever I was worrying about. This presence is what I look for. Anxiety is my modus operandi more often than not. But for a minute, it's just us. The bird and me. And then my mind goes somewhere else entirely. I start to wonder about the life being lived just beyond the oaks and pines at the edge of my yard, the small dramas and daily business that carry on without me. That curiosity is part of what pulls me to paint them.

When I paint birds, I look for posture first — a curious tilt of the head, a gaze fixed on the next branch. These are the moments I'm after. Birds take me somewhere from my childhood that still holds my attention. As a young girl, I spent a lot of time outside, entertaining myself. I climbed high into the pine tree in my front yard and made forts out of spaces under bushes, near the giant boulders in my backyard. I looked for hidden places where I could sit and observe. The light streaming into my wooded fort, the way shadows played on the snow — those things still make my heart sing. Birds are one answer to a question I keep asking through my work: how do you find stillness, and stay connected to what matters?

These little birds have their own page now — a place to find them easily, separate from my larger work. They're sized and priced for collecting and gifting, painted with the same care I bring to everything I make. If you've ever stopped in your tracks watching a bird on a branch, wondering about the life being lived just out of sight — these paintings are for you.

Just Landed, 8” x 8” oil on cradled panel.