From top to bottom: “A Good Evening” Bald Eagle, 6x8″ oil painting on panel “Frosty Morning” Red-winged Blackbird, 5x7″ oil painting on panel “Two Lights on a Dark Water” Tundra Swans, 5x7″ oil painting on panel “Diagonally” Red-breasted Nuthatch, 5x7″ oil painting on panel “Luminous Temple” Monarch Butterfly on native purple coneflower, 5x7″ oil painting on panel
Most of my art is for sale, with details on my website: featherdust.com
I’m much more active on Twitter these days, if you still want to see my paint smears: https://twitter.com/Nambroth
“Hope”, Bald Eagle (above) and “Evening Breeze”, Female Red-Winged Blackbird (below). Both are done in oil on 5"x7" panels. A very big thank you to Chuck Rondeau for his kind permission to use his photos for inspiration/reference!
A Red-winged Blackbird looking like it’s getting a free ride on an Osprey’s broomstick. The Blackbird was focused on driving the Osprey away from the marsh, while the Osprey was focused on bringing back a good stick for the nest.
Red Winged Blackbird | Kehoe Beach. This perched red winged blackbird was very nicely cooperative for this photo. This particular section of the trail was thick with them but this guy was the only one who let me get close and stick around long enough for a shot. Thanks buddy. Please visit my website and sign up for an exclusive offer www.jhoffmannimages.com #yourshotphotographer #natgeo #natgeoyourshot #wildlife #wildlifeconservation #conservation #conservationphotography #pointreyes #pointreyesnationalseashore #birds #blackbird #explore #explorer #wander #wanderer #getoutside #california #coast (at Point Reyes National Seashore) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd3XgeEFZQ_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Waking up of Red-winged Blackbirds by Natalya Zak Via Flickr: I have about 100 red-winged blackbirds living in Japanese knotweed. Every morning at 6:30 am they are all waking up and go somewhere only to return at 7:30 pm.
‘To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring’, by Reid McGrath
For some a robin heralds in the Spring. Others: a crocus or a daffodil. My old man claims it’s when nightchirpers sing. The farmer cites the rain, the barnyard rill. I sense it when the maple-lines come down; when pruning-ladders rise upon Fern Hill. I sense it when the buds begin to crown; but in completion it is not until I see you perched upon a cattail-reed; the reed, against your ebony, horse-brown. The handsomest of birds, you seem to bleed from daring deeds of triumph and renown. Alone, among these humble reeds, you’re mellow, with epaulettes of red and goldish-yellow.
