Artist Statement: The inspiration for my "Bird Nest Series" was born in my back yard. One afternoon, I found a nest that had fallen from one of my Italian cypress trees. It contained two small eggs. A third egg had fallen out of the nest and had cracked open, revealing a tiny, pink featherless bird still attached to the egg sack. Its little beak was open, as if crying out for its mother. I buried it under the cypress, and placed the nest with the two eggs back in the tree, hoping that the mother would return. Abandoning yard work, I went into my art studio and began writing. Feelings flowed naturally; words formed quickly and easily. Upon the poem’s completion, I pulled out a large canvas, grabbed a brush and some oils, and began painting. What emerged was a 24” x 36” painting depicting two eggs in a nest with a third egg outside the nest broken and isolated. The colors were low-key and muted. I titled it and the accompanying poem, “Bird Nest."
Soon, a second painting followed; then two more. Originally, I hadn’t planned on a series, but this theme was now in tune with my heart strings. I began thinking of the commonalities of God’s Creation, and its Oneness—which is deeply imbedded in my philosophy. And so with a fourth piece, I added twisted weathered-wood branches, gluing them directly onto the piece. I loved the mixed-media results with its dimensional configuration. Hungering for even more, I began incorporating a wider range of “found materials.” Eventually, I introduced birds into the pieces. "Bird Nest" is now my longest, most evolving series; numbering 20.
I believe, if tended, a series never dies. It contains an artist’s unique voice. Its glowing embers continue burning, warming the creator’s heart and soul, igniting into flames upon call.
Bird Nest
Bits of string, twigs and grass,
Delicate teacup tipped and spilled,
Was it accidental or by design?
Did some heinous villain tear you
From your resting place,
Or was the wind unkind?
Here lies your precious contents,
Strewn and broken,
One tiny one—all fetal curled—
Exposed to sun and air;
Yellow egg sack flaccid,
No longer feeding life.
What songs would it have sung?
What vistas seen?
I can’t help but wonder,
Do mother birds feel grief?
The heart of me that aches to fly
Cries . . . “YES!”
— Claudia Smith
Bio: Claudia graduated with a degree in Art Education and taught high school art for several years. Eventually, she ventured into the commercial world of interior design, mural painting, newspaper illustration and cartooning, but never lost her love for creating fine art. Her work has been featured in galleries and municipal buildings, and is in many private collections.
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