ARTIST STATEMENT

My first memories of birds are with my nana, watching the hummingbirds flit at the feeders hanging from the well at my great aunt’s home in Virginia. Nana and I would sit in silence, in awe, as we listened to the hummingbirds slam their small, delicate bodies into others for their chance at the feeders. Watching birds has always been an escape, a moment of calm, a moment of rest. Tender is the News of Spring is a grouping of predator and prey. Pursuit and capture tell a story of manipulation, fear, and hope for the future. I study the way these animals move and interact with their environments to tell their story and for them to in turn, tell mine.

After being assaulted, I turned to nature, more specifically bird watching, to help cope and distract from the pain that I was in. I began to draw birds and research how they interacted with one another. Somehow more complex than color and pattern, and more sincere than a birdsong, I learned they mourn. And they learn. And they linger. In this room, a conventicle of magpies brings offerings to a member’s funeral in honor and mourning; the pheasant, stiffly presenting its plumage, is viciously poked to rouse the dead; a grounded robin is stalked through a grassy field; all under the patient eye of the owl, waiting. The hummingbird hangs as a trophy. As a prize, the loss of her life is of no concern. She is ever so swaying. Maybe her last breath can be heard in the quiet. Much like the persistent echoes of trauma that refuse to fade, the persistence of death lingers in her. The persistence has taken her body. The persistence has taken her flight. Peace and tranquility echo through these bodies, there is hope, there is trust, there is learning. 

I create these pieces using cut-out contours of the animals and their environments to immerse both myself and the viewer in their world. Through colored pencil and mulberry paper, I weave together the stories of these animals and my own. The process brings life and depth to the wood panels and cardboard, enhancing the delicate nature of these creatures. I specifically choose mulberry paper for its labor-intensive, tactile quality, which helps me capture the soft, feathery textures of the birds and fox. 

Through these pieces, I aim to not only honor the resilience of these creatures but also reflect the quiet strength and hope for healing that persists in the face of assault, where each act of survival is a testament to the possibility of recovery. In the delicate movements of these birds and animals, I find echoes of my own journey—of confronting pain, enduring loss, and finding a path forward. They remind me that, though the scars may remain, there is always a chance for renewal, for trust to be rebuilt, and for a future where peace, however fragile, can be reclaimed.