Feathers are magical.
Tantalising me, like Icarus, to try to fly to the sun. I find their singularity most interesting, together they become a wing but as an individual thing they are lost and abandoned nothing more than a souvenir from the wing. They visualise the beauty of flight, holding this memory within their spine.
Emily Dickinson told us that ‘hope is a thing with feathers’. This poetic thought has followed me throughout my adult life and in my art. I find feathers all around, they punctuate my days and my years. Often they are unremarkable seagull or pigeon feathers. This doesn’t matter to me as they still hold the same hope, they spark my imagination and so I draw them.