[This is the latest in an occasional series offering titles to artists.]
The bush was not tall and I estimate the blackbird was sitting on short branch some six feet from the ground. Also in the bush was a bird feeder of a type which small birds could use – coal tits, for example – but a blackbird or robin could not. Part of the feeder consisted of yellow plastic, calling to mind the colour of the blackbird’s beak. The bird’s head was pointing towards the feeder.
The painter would impart a feeling of cold to this picture. Being mid-December the pickings are slim, the outlook for the blackbird bleak. It is contemplating the feeder, knowing what is in it but also knowing it can do nothing about it. The blackbird has come to a conclusion: the fact that there is a problem does not mean there is a solution.
[Though robins will take a keen interest in what you’re doing, blackbirds are unique in my experience in that they will actively seek help when the ground is frozen and they’ve run out of food. Even the beautiful pheasant who used to visit me every morning did not do this.]