When I arrived home from Trout Creek and a day of cutting firewood, this fellow was a few feet from the back porch. He must have flown into one of the North windows on the house-something that happens very frequently as this old farmhouse has a plerhora of windows on all sides. Most of my avian work comes from recently deceased subjects, or those knocked for a loop that have not gathered their wits about them enough to depart. I guess I have evolved a bit further than John James Audobon, naturalist, ornithologist, and painter, who regularly shot his subjects with something more lethal than a Canon 5D, Mark II. When doing this type of ex post facto work, one learns to become somewhat of a taxidermist and coroner, simlultaneously. When done in the studio with my subject, I was quite suddenly reminded of two trips to the Catherine Edelman Gallery on W. Superior in Chicago, during Spring of 2004, to see the exhibit by photographer/painter, Kate Breakey. She is a phenomenal artist who in this exhibit, which ran from March 26 until April 24, 2004, displayed hand painted photographs of birds (also deceased) and botanicals. ( http://www.katebreakey.com) I also personally met and spoke with David Plowden there (one of my photographer icons) at the opening of his exhibit, "Vanishing Point", in November of 2007. Did not get as much firewood cut as I intended today. The Husqvarna 450 Rancher chainsaw took a shit, threw a chain, and suffered a broken brake, after I cut one cord and burned my hand in attempting a fix. Worse things have happened at sea :-) A short week ahead, with the much anticipated opener of bow season for deer. I will not shoot either of our two spikes yet, but focus on either the trophy six pointer, or more frequent visitor, a stout five point buck. Must save one for my beloved son, Dr. Eric Carter, who will hunt the last few days of bow and the first week of gun for whitetail. We always have a hoot during rifle season and play the U.P. hunting camp motif to the max. Jeff Daniels would be proud.
"Its clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty bumming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another"
Robert James Waller, "The Bridges of Madison County"