Life and Death: Hummingbird

This is the final compilation of images I submitted for my Narrative project at Oxbow. This hummingbird died after colliding with one of our studio windows, and after its body had entirely decomposed, I retrieved the skull for use in these photographs. Having stayed with this fragile bird through its last living moments, I felt it was appropriate that I should tell its story.



EDIT::

Yay! I submitted this piece to a show at the Wilmette Fine Art's Guild, and I won the creativity award for the whole show!
All the old ladies there loved it, which was kind of hilarious.

EDIT 1/1/2011::
I wrote an essay about this piece today while applying to art school. I think it's only right that I share it... *ahem* wall of text coming through.

Thud.
A quiet but distinct noise caught my attention, just as my english class at the Oxbow School was ending. A small fluttering mass was just outside the large window, and paused just long enough to make its identity known: it was a hummingbird, not of the flashy colorful variety, but a delicate creature with feathers of modest grays and dull blues. The source off the noise? Its collision with the invisible barrier of glass. As my classmates gathered their books and left for the dormitories, I made my way outside and towards the bird. Its desperate and erratic wingbeats propelled it away from me, and I followed as it came to the edge of a thorny tangle of blackberry bushes.
Hummingbirds are the sort of creature one only sees from afar. Their vibrance and exuberance go hand in hand with the lightning-bolt pace of their short lives, and as such we can only know them in glimpses. Yet here was a hummingbird in front of me, laying perfectly still save for the buzzing rise and fall of its chest. I was both fascinated and horrified by the sight. Right there in front of me was one of nature's most lively creatures, yet the life was fading out of it by the second. It was only a few minutes before the hummingbird lost the battle with its injuries, and lay before me, dead.
I sat there for quite a while afterwards, trying to make some sense of what I'd just seen. I was filled with an incredible desire to restore the brilliance and joy this bird possessed in life, or short of that, at least give its death some meaning. I wanted to tell its story. In the weeks that followed, I did my best to accomplish this and honor the beautiful little hummingbird through my art: a photographic narrative that seeks to make sense of its transition of life to death. I felt, and still do feel, an intense personal connection to that artwork; hummingbirds have since become a theme which appears from time to time in my work.
Beyond the direct influence of the hummingbird on me as an artist (that which lead me to create the photographic narrative), this experience has lead me to understand what is perhaps the greatest single factor which drives me to make artwork. Regardless of the medium I am working in, no matter whether I am working from observation or otherwise, I am always seeking to tell a story that wouldn't otherwise be told; sharing an idea that otherwise may not be voiced. Starting with nothing, and ending with a product that communicates to the viewer— that is a process on which I thrive.