The manner in which birds have most commonly been recorded before, and even after, the advent of the camera has a curious, static quality: birds are often seen from the side, at ninety degrees to the observer, posed on a branch, plumage neatly visible. Accompanying these observations, the observer frequently added details of spread wings and tail feathers, which clearly were seen post-mortem in most cases.
Anyone lucky enough to see a bird's song made fleetingly tangible in the air by sub-zero temperatures knows how fleeting most encounters can be, flitting, darting, soaring and signalling at breathtaking speeds. This stark contrast illuminates just how the manner in which we depict is shaped by our limits of perception, as it simultaneously traces the contours of how we in turn perceive the world. We cannot see, let alone render their hurried forms, instead, we patiently await the right moments to capture them when they are still enough for us to actually not just see form, but also detail.
Depictions of the avian are that of a shared stillness.
