I have been spending a lot of time thinking about birds.
Their many incarnations inside my home:
The four parrots in my bedroom.
The sparrow tattoo on my roomate’s arm.
The woodpecker in the living room.
The great horned owl near the window.
The screenprint given to me as a present on New Year’s. A bird turning into wire.
The german bird ornaments which perch on my tv antennae.
All of these birds, for me, are an attempt to bring the wild inside. It is an almost animal lust, to want nature inside, to not want thick walls parting inside from out. The desire to be permeable. To not give up our place in the animal kingdom, to not be boxed in, to interact, to be landed upon, to nest with others. In my experiences hanging out with homeless people, almost all have tattoos of birds. I have come to believe they are representations of the souls of extinct species, the dinosaurs and woolly mammoths reborn as birds or images. They are emblematic of lost lives, the soul peeking through, love flight, spirit’s mist, desire.
I thanks all of the birds in the sky for this day.