Bird iconography has been a subject in my work since childhood. I’ve long been inspired not only by the beauty and wonder of birds, but by bird symbolism, folklore and mythology, which have stirred human imagination since ancient times. For example, the magpie was traditionally viewed as an omen, a portent of fortune or misfortune. According to the old English nursery rhyme “One for Sorrow,” the number of magpies one sees determines whether one will have good luck or bad luck. 

As an assemblage artist, I identify with the magpie. With a penchant for collecting objects, this remarkable member of the Corvid family, which has the ability to make and use tools, teaches us to be resourceful, to use whatever we find in the environment. Its nest is an intricate assemblage of a wide range of upcycled materials and objects, such as twigs and grass and animal hair combined with human-made objects like shiny trinkets and even anti-bird spikes.

Although there are twenty species found in the world, there are no magpies in New Brunswick. My first sighting of the bird, occurred when I lived in Saskatoon. It was a black-billed magpie (Pica hudsonia), the only type of magpie native to Canada, a striking black and white bird with iridescent hints of blue and blue-green on its tail and wings. Startled by a sudden commotion at my window, I witnessed it take down a brown bat in mid-air and then devour it. Indeed, magpies are opportunistic omnivorous feeders. Before colonization, they coexisted with bison, eating the ticks they found on their bodies.

Like the magpie, I’m an avid scavenger, a collector of the detritus of our throw-away culture. I find creative stimulation in visual chaos, such as in the jumble of objects and materials one finds at a dump site. For me, less is not more, as more means more possibilities, more layers of imagery and meaning to excavate. Disorder strengthens my focus and cognitive resources, increases my production of art, and feeds my compulsion to find or create an orderly or coherent pattern where none exists. Indeed, we learn about the world by experiencing the many objects in our environment. We look at objects, we feel them, we move them around, we collect them, we play with them, we take them apart, and we put them together again. Objects in space and time are our primary working materials for living in and making sense of the world.