Bird in the Heart

hillside overlooking center hill lake 

Over the past year I've begun learning the bird species of North America. On my dorm windowsill I place a set of 3-4 illustrated flashcards that I cycle through as I learn (and sometimes forget) the species. This whole process is really a part of a larger desire to know more about the natural world and what's all in it. In a time when logos are easier to identify than trees I feel a deep respect for people who know the woods well, and I'd like to be among their number. I also figured that if I can identify every Pokemon currently in existence then learning the birds should be a very doable side project.

I've since discovered that the number of birds you can identify seems to have a direct correlation to the total number of birds you see. Especially the birds you like. I can't remember seeing a Tufted Titmouse a single time before learning its name. I didn't even know they lived in Tennessee. But now I see them everywhere, and could even give you an estimate of how many I saw on each occasion. Of course, those birds would be there whether I knew their name or not. But knowing their names has changed (or perhaps even enhanced) my sight. The knowing has called my attention to them, and given me a love for them that I would not have had otherwise. My recent reading of John Burroughs' work has provided a succinct and eloquent description of this phenomena: "You must have the bird in your heart before you can find it in the bush."

broken walkway at the top of burgess falls

Perhaps you've experienced something similar before. You meet someone new at school or work and suddenly you see them everywhere. You ride in a friend's car for the first time and over the next few weeks realize just how many other people drive that same model. The world is suddenly more full of Kias, or Hondas, or what have you. You care deeply about certain themes or issues and can easily spot them in movies, even when others think nothing of it.

I think the reason is that we can only pay attention to a limited number of things. And therefore we can only see and remember what we really care about. I think animals experience this too - and that's why so many of them are acutely tuned to seeing quick movements (that would often signify a predator). But while animal vision is motivated by fear, writes Burroughs, human vision is honed by love. You see your friend's car everywhere because it's your friend's model. Thus the act of seeing better as a human is really an act of loving more widely and deeply. It also explains why we can each experience the same events so differently.  I recently went to a Cory Wong concert which was full of crazy solos and instrumental genius - but how much more beautiful would that concert have been to a musician who could identify and appreciate what was actually going on? Likewise, I could spend an hour just looking at a misty waterfall on a foggy day but without my love for natural mystery and its frequent companion, fog, someone else may have seen all they need in a couple minutes.

foggy cliffside near burgess falls

And that's one reason why I think being an artist is so cool. Because in art we have the ability to share our sight with other people (fear not, non-artsy bloggerfolk, for you have this same power too). In every act of creation we have the ability to nudge others towards new things to love. The things that may seem apparent to us, but are invisible to others. Even in photography, art is ordered and cultivated toward a certain goal. That's one reason why I love stylization so much - it not-so subtly guides others towards the Cool Stuff in any particular space, design, person, or dragon. Take for example this piece I did based on a recent snowfall. The trees I saw did not look exactly like this. They had significantly more branches, significantly less petals, and (rather significantly) did not exist in a pure grey void. But I liked the petals, and the way their springtime charm played against the winter's snow. I liked the funny bends in their skinny trunks. And that's what I wanted you to notice with me. 

Since art doesn't depict exactly "what is" it gives us the rare chance to see "what is" as if we were someone else.  With our art, tweets, equations, reports, compliments, baked goods, etc. we can show others new forms of the good, true, and beautiful. Which is kinda a big responsibility. And also means we gotta have real good taste.

A lot of these ideas were brought to my attention during my Biology and Literature class that I've been taking this semester. Each week we have to go out to a nearby park and journal about what we see. The catch is that we have to pick a bench and write from that same bench EVERY TIME. As you might expect, I frequently resort to describing things in exquisite and lengthy detail. But this exercise isn't just teaching me to verbally dissect the tiniest nuances in a dead dogwood flower - it's also teaching me to pay attention, to look closer, and (you guessed it) to love better. And then in class each week we read from old bearded men who describe their natural experiences in loving detail (read John Muir's A Wind-storm in the Forests). All this has made for a really beneficial course where I'm learning to see in the field and also reading specific, stylized accounts of similar places. A seeing cycle, if you will.

These thoughts that I've been describing to you all culminated in my mind on a recent trip to the Tennessee woods (where all these polaroid pictures were taken). While I was hiking, I felt like something had changed in my heart since I had last been to the forest. Like most of the esoteric minutiae about a person's experience, the feeling is hard for me to describe and probably even more boring for you to read about... But it felt like all the attention I had been investing in learning the nuances of the forest was noticeably being paid off. It look less footsteps to find something interesting to look at. Spectacle wasn't bound to the size of an object - even this tiny waterfall was captivating. 

Without really recognizing it, the birds, the trees, the water - they had all found their way into my heart. Like any relationship I'm sure it will take work to maintain and grow this love, but now I know it's here. And I'm ready to go and keep finding it in the bush. 

What do you love, bloggerfolk? What grabs your attention? As Valentine's Day gets closer it's a good question for us to be exploring. Maybe through art? Or chocolate? I've experienced a lot of both recently.

Much love, art, and birds to you -
-dh

PS: Music recommendation - Springsteen's Hungry Heart as well as the rest of The River album has been on repeat for me recently. It's the kind of music that gets me ready for summer - which is still so far away...