No flight
I’m scared to find dead birds on the street. Of course, it is natural — birds, like any living creature, also die. But finding a dead bird doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have seen it. There’s some kind of squeezing feeling under the breasts in half with anxiety. It’s like they’re always over our heads, and it’s not right when we’re under our feet.
My birds weren’t supposed to be pigeons with their wings open. My birds are different, small, almost sparrows. I thought they should keep their wings «in the seams» and lie in most of them on their backs. Some I drew spinal cords and almost all shoulders.
Land
SLED
White clay is scalding in the wet ground, dyed, blackened. If someone wants to take it, pick it up, bring it home, want to clean it up, a bird like this can’t be completely washed away from the ground. When she falls into the ground, she’ll be part of it, and we’ll take her with us.
