Some things exist only for a time and are gone. As George Harrison sang, “Darkness only stays the night time; In the morning it will fade away.” The exquisite darkness, lit by starlight, sung about by the night creatures, passes into the hands of the day and is changed. As George asserts, All Things Must Pass. Take childhood for example. When I was a child, I heard about a bird called the Carolina Parakeet. I couldn’t believe there could be such a bird, so exotic, so beautiful, and at one time so plentiful. I was intrigued by its name as much as anything. A “Carolina” anything meant it had to be local. My curiosity sparked, I had to find out more about them.
They’re extinct. This Parakeet is gone.
The Carolina Parakeet is about the size of the parrots we know. Its territory included all of the Southeastern US and out into the Midwest. I can imagine large gatherings of these squawking, social creatures talking amongst themselves in the treetops of the Southern woods. Even today, I can picture myself standing alone, gazing up into the canopy of those ever-present pine scented forests of my childhood. But the woodlands of today, and even the woodlands of my youth, stand devoid of parakeet chatter. Their gemstone-like flashes of green and yellow and blue are never seen here. (Extinction information here ) In childishness I promised that one day I would travel to the deepest darkest swampish forest and find the last remaining, heretofore unknown Carolina Parakeet population and declare them saved. But I grew older and my methods of preservation changed. I recently traveled, not to the deepest darkest forest, but to Gainesville, Florida and the Florida Museum of Natural Sciences. There I finally had the opportunity to view and photograph the Carolina Parakeet. It was an excellent specimen, well prepared and long cared-for.
When I began the photographic series that would become “Ethereal Plumage,” I had only a vague idea of what I was looking for. The desire for inclusion of the Carolina Parakeet didn’t come until much, much later. After examining some of the earlier feathers I had and the resulting images, I began to feel something about the fragility of bird life. I felt like I should find a way to include the Carolina Parakeet. I actually considered naming the show “In Memory of the Carolina Parakeet,” even if I could never score a feather from one, thinking its conspicuous absence would be a powerful reminder that it’s no longer with us. While that all sounds good for an artist statement (we frequently talk about the invisible and emptiness and the pain of being human and equally non-practical things), I’m very thankful to have been afforded the opportunity to photograph the real thing, a solid and representative reminder of what is past.
