The urban bird

A while ago, I completed this coloured pencil drawing:


Song of the Tropics: Mockingbird

 

It has received a lot of attention. There's something about the colours, the corporate logo, and the simplicity of the bird, not to mention my approach to technique and textures, that people seem to like. Therefore I thought I'd write a little bit about it and what inspired me to create it.

As my blog followers know, last winter I spent some time in Trinidad. It's not your idyllic Caribbean island - it's a bustling place of cars and noise and people and industry. There are some quiet, wild spaces but it's a relatively small island and no place is very far from an urbanized area. Despite this challenging habitat, there are birds in abundance - hundreds and hundreds of all shapes, sizes and varieties. They're essentially everywhere!

While birds come in gorgeous - at times unbelievable - colours, sometimes it's the more nondescript ones that capture my attention. The tropical mockingbird is one such bird with its melodious, warbling song that's a delight to the ears (if you'd like to hear it, click here). In the urban neighbourhood in Trinidad where I was living, they were commonly perched on fences, powerlines and trees, and above the sound of barking dogs, and cars, and radios, and loudspeakers, and the other noises of humanity, their lovely song could frequently be distinguished, providing a bit of natural relief for the ears. They are just an ordinary kind of bird whose versatility and adaptability has allowed them to adjust well to life among humans, much as jays and crows in North America.


A trio of mockingbirds perched on powerlines

When planning the drawing, my choice to situate the bird in front of a rusted sign was inspired by one such sign just a couple of doors down - a beautifully weathered old thing. Apart from being aesthetically pleasing and an appropriate backdrop for a city-dwelling bird, the sign also offered me the opportunity to engage in a bit of social commentary.

The title of the drawing, "Song of the Tropics", has a double meaning. Yes it refers to the mockingbird's beautiful song, but there's more to it than that. Some of you might know of a famous song about Trinidad called "Rum and Coca-Cola" that was widely popularized during World War II by the Andrews Sisters (the song was actually pilfered from its Trinidadian authors and became the focus of a copyright dispute, but that's another story). The colonization of Trinidad is historically rooted in the sugar industry, one major product of which is rum, and another, more recently, is Coca-cola. Before Europeans settled the island and developed agricultural lands, the place was basically a jungle where jaguars, anacondas, monkeys and other creatures roamed, where macaws flew in abundance above towering trees, and where manatees swam in vast coastal swamps. Now the island, with its population of about 1.5 million people, is a far cry from that equatorial wilderness and the wildlife that hasn't been eradicated has been driven to the fringes of remaining wild spaces or forced to adapt to urban life.

So this intrepid little mockingbird perched in front of an iconic sign tells a bigger story - one which has played out all over the globe: the story of habitats altered or destroyed by humans. Some species adapt and maybe even thrive in the face of these changes while others slip into oblivion.

The tropical mockingbird is a true survivor, entertaining me with its song while I experienced life in a concrete tropical jungle, and inspiring me to create a drawing that celebrates the resiliance of such wild urban birds.

Good things in small, feathered packages

It's no secret I'm a lover of birds in general, and there's something about tiny birds that particularly intrigues me. How can these seemingly delicate creatures, with only a shroud of soft feathers and their wits to protect them, possibly survive in the big, wide world full of predators and hazards? But they do, and in a tropical setting like that of Trinidad, where I am as I write this, they generally thrive. There are some 460 bird species on record here - not bad for an island that's only about 65 miles long and 50 miles wide - and it boasts one of the most dense bird populations in the world. The country's national bird is the stunning, swamp-dwelling Scarlet Ibis but even the smallest birds come in some colourful forms like the wee Blue-chinned Sapphire hummingbird (picture below left), and more unusual looking characters like stubby little Golden-headed Manakin (below right).


While I get a thrill out of seeing the brightly coloured bird varieties, it's sometimes the less conspicuous birds that make the most impact. For instance, I feel a special affinity for wrens - tiny brown birds often best identified by their jaunty tail carriage - and they have become a reoccurring subject for my art. 

Drawing of a fledgling Winter Wren.

"Wren and Salmonberry" coloured pencil drawing.

"Bird on a Wire: Marsh Wren"
coloured pencil drawing.

Most of the time wrens flit inconspicuously among foliage, making it challenging to observe them. However, when it's their nesting season they display the outgoing side of their nature by perching prominently and emitting loud bursts of song that seem mismatched to their tiny bodies and usually reclusive ways. They become fiercely territorial, defying other wrens to even think about crossing the invisible boundaries they have set out for themselves. I have observed this behaviour among Winter Wrens who are abundant in the wooded areas I frequent back home in southwestern Canada. Soon the forest there will come alive with their spring song. I have also observed similar behaviour among Marsh Wrens when visiting the Reifel Bird Sanctuary. At the right time of the spring season I've encountered Marsh Wrens every few yards throughout the sanctuary, clinging to prominent spots among the bulrushes and defining their territory by shouting out loud songs.

I recently spent a couple of days at a rustic cottage on the rugged north coast of Trinidad, enjoying the peaceful combination of crashing surf and towering hills cloaked in tropical rainforest. Bird life was abundant with several types of colourful hummingbirds and tanagers along with numerous other tropical species. However, I was most delighted to find a pair of resident Southern House Wrens living in the clearing around the cottage. Each morning they'd rise and greet the day with a burst of song from a perch among the bougainvillea blossoms.

From time to time throughout the day their song could be heard and the small vocalists observed perched in various favourite locations - perhaps the veranda railing, or a light post, or a branch of a shrub. Later on another prolonged serenade would take place as the afternoon drew to a close and the early nightfall of this latitude set in.

Captivated as I was by these little songsters, they found their way into my sketchbook:

Of course I also enjoyed the other interesting birds in the area, such as a flock of Smooth-billed Anis who came to the cottage grounds one morning to gather plump, green grasshoppers for their breakfast. Their prehistoric looking faces made me think about the linkages between birds and their dinosaur ancestors!

A Smooth-billed Ani munching on a large grasshopper.

But it's the little brown wrens and their vibrant song I'll remember best from my stay at the cottage. Soon I'll carry that memory home to Canada where the spring song of their more northerly cousins will be only a few weeks away.