Description
Medium: Bog Oak
Dimensions (cm) 30 x 23 x 86
Weight (kg) 5
Birds are synonymous with flight and as such are a symbol of many of humanity s hopes and dreams. They both suggest the human and Divine Spirit through their soaring freedom of movement and their linking of earth and sky. They have visual beauty, make music and maybe hold the secrets of the universe.
To many, birds are seen as nothing more than winged animals, devoid of mystery and character, but that does them a disservice.
They have inspired people through the ages, all the way back to the very first man to take to the skies in their flying machines. It is no surprise that the sound of birds singing in the morning is frequently romanticized. Birds can appear to live the life that we humans covet and are jealous of. Who would not want and have the freedom to fly away at your hearts desire and sour high over land and sea.
In my bog oak sculptures, I feel the presence, the spirit, and the essence of this mystical wood.
I am passionate about my calling in bog oak sculptures because I am allowing the beauty of these ancient remnants of Irish natural history to tell us their story in a new and unique way.
All birds have wee beating hearts like us humans, and are subject to the harsh realities of living and dying.
In the following poem this fact is born out.
On the Forest Floor by James V. Harker Jr.
Beneath some fallen leaves;
On the forest floor,
Lies a bird; silent.
Chirping no more …..
The once esteemed beauty
Of his golden feathers,
Are now washed away,
By the rain and the awful weather,
His wings are bent and broken;
He can barely fly,
The eagle — like heart he once had,
Is now beginning to die,
No one looks up to this bird anymore,
He is just another fallen object,
Lying on the forest floor…….
The little bird, as he dies,
Looks up at the blue skies,
And no one even stops to cry,
Or to feel any emotion inside,
As his heart beats its last song,
No one wonders if they have done wrong.
As it was, the bird just needed love;
Love, all along.
But there was no one there,
To mend his broken wings,
There was no there,
To listen to the song he would sing ……….
But there was Someone ,
Up in the sky,
He watched sadly,
As the little bird slowly died,
His hand reached down,
From the place in the sky,
It carried the bird up, up,
Way up high.
Now the bird is free,
Free again.
Free to chirp, free to sing,
A song of no end,
But, down here,
Where the bird once lay;
On the forest floor,
Things get harder;
Worse than they were before,
More things die,
And drop to the ground,
Things vanish away,
Without making a sound,
And while they are now happy,
We can not ignore,
The bird we left there to die,
On the forest floor.
