The start of Spring is such an exciting time to me. Flowers that you haven’t seen all year begin blooming in forgotten places. Birds are busy building nests to cradle their fragile eggs. Baby ducks and geese are fluffing up all around as they trickle in tightly behind their mothers. My head is kept on a swivel during this time of growth and emergence, constantly looking for evidence of life in my daily routine.
Last Spring I found myself emotionally invested in a female mallard with three babies at a small pond near my studio. Not long into their life, however, three ducklings became two then two became one until there were none. The mom quickly retreated from the empty nesting ground.
From what I’ve researched about mallard ducks, they have an inclination to return to the same place to lay their eggs each year. I was hopeful she’d make her return, despite her lost ducklings from the year before. To my delight, nine tiny busy ducklings appeared out of nowhere, paddling around and exploring every square inch of their world, the pond.
I was filled with a stream of questions: Where do they sleep? Is there a nest? Where? Where do they go at night? Does the dad ever come back? How will she keep track of all nine ducklings? The edge of this particular pond is about ten yards away from one of the busiest streets in Memphis. How do you protect that many fragile, squirmy independent moving parts at the same time?
Sitting with these questions, I felt a sense of heightened vulnerability for these ducklings compared to other birds that nest high in the trees. Ducks nest low in the ground, the eggs hatch after about a month of incubation and the chicks are immediately exposed to walk the earth amidst all its dangers.
They were so small and cute and bubbly and innocent and happy. I wish I could scoop them all up and take them to a safe place where nothing and no one could get them. Once again, I grieved nine ducklings becoming five then five becoming three then three becoming none.
From this experience of sadness, I painted the ducks. To accompany the ducks, overarching flowers and camouflaging leaves, garden canopies and towering grasses slowly emerged. Only in reflection have I been able to correlate this desire to preserve life with the hedges of natural protection I’ve built around them in these finished pieces.
Maybe painting ideals is a way of coping with the inability to witness life being lived only to the fullest and longest and widest and deepest, not cut short like the ducklings. It has provided me a momentary sense of control in constructing a picture of safety, which is in many ways a false relief. But even as I observe these pieces, there is Heavenly peace within them; the reality that someday soon there will be no more trouble nor mourning.
My mom shares in this tendency toward heartbreak over innocent animals. Recently noticing me in my distress and distraction over an injured squirrel, she reminded me of a simple truth: God will take care of the squirrel. And for some reason, a childlike belief in this fact rooted deeply in me. Nature rests in His hands, setting us free from the anxiety to control that which we cannot control.
In unexpected ways, the ducks have shown me more and more of my humanness and that of humanity in general. I have studied both Canadian geese and swans in the past through painted collections. Geese strike me as distant, far-off creatures that you don’t want to get too close to for fear that they’ll spit on you. Conversely, swans carry a regal air about them. They’re elegant and untouchable, and maybe a little egotistical.
Through painting ducks I have found them to be more human-like compared to the geese and swans. Ducks come in all kinds of lumpy shapes, sizes, colors, patterns and personalities with a warm approachability to them. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to paint a few ducks in portrait-style and give them people names as a nod to their “humanness.”
From a technical standpoint, I’ve focused on earthy, grounding colors throughout this collection to connect with the subject’s low, humble stature. This is contrasted by pops of bright flowers and dense foliage that serve to create a shield of safety for the ducks.
While building this collection, I have also been experiencing the growth (and flutters!) of a sweet, baby girl incubating inside my belly. I believe this miracle of new life is igniting a motherly instinct within me that has become evident in my reflection of these paintings. May these paintings be a blessing to you!
