Saturday, November 27th through Tuesday November 30th, 2021
LIVE VIRTUAL OPENING SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27th from 12:00 noon to 1:00pm on Instagram @laura_g_young.
Welcome to my first official online show! Twenty-one petite 5 x 7 inch miniature ink artworks, available at a special, one-of-a-kind price to thank YOU, my dear friends for all your support this year.
Each piece comes with a protective mat and backing board, free of charge. Tax and US shipping are also included.
Please note -- At the checkout, there's a big button for Google Pay, but the smaller button above it is for all other methods. (Visa, Mastercard, etc.) I also still take checks, if this is preferable. Just let me know and I'll put the piece aside for you. :)
Questions? Comments? Email me at lauragyoung@gmail.com.
Inkling 1 (SOLD)
"Resigned"
7 x 5 inches
Watercolor and India ink on 140lb cold press paper.
“I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do. I feel as if this tree knows everything I ever think of when I sit here. When I come back to it, I never have to remind it of anything; I begin just where I left off.”
— Willa Sibert Cather, “O Pioneers!”, 1913
Inkling 2
"All the Complicated Details"
7 x 5 inches
Watercolor and ink on 140 lb cold press paper
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
—William Carlos Williams, “Winter Trees”, 1921.
Inkling 3
"'Tis Autumn!"
7 x 5 inches
Watercolor and India ink on 140lb. cold press paper.
'Tis Autumn! and the short'ning day,
The chilly evening's sober gray,
And winds that hoarser blow;
The fading foliage of the trees,
Which rustles sere in every breeze,
The approach of Winter snow.
— Bernard Barton, "Stanzas on the Approach of Winter," 1822.
Inkling 4
"Something Waits Beneath It"
7 x 5 inches
Watercolor and India ink on 140lb. cold press paper.
"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show."
— Andrew Wyeth
Inkling 5
"Though the Fields Lay Golden"
7 x 5 inches
Watercolor and India ink on 140lb. cold press paper.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,—”Snow.”
--Rachael Field, 1934.
Inkling 6
"There's No Patch Like Home"
5 x 7 inches
India ink on Bristol board.
Like any hobby, birdwatching can get out of hand.
Gobs of money can be spent on scopes, cameras, and above all, travel. I know of birders who’ve dropped the cash equivalent of a new car to visit a cold, wind-bitten Alaskan island in order to snag a bird on their life list.
Myself, I’m more of what they call a “patch birder.”
All patch birding requires is access to a local park or neighborhood. That’s it. You don’t even need a pair of binoculars, if you can identify by ear. You try to visit it as often as you’re able, say, once a week. This area becomes your “patch”, your little microcosm of the world. You get to know the birds, and they get to know you.
Over the years, I’ve sighted oodles of species in my patch: a reservoir in an otherwise dry stretch of prairie. Countless ducks and gulls are regulars. Egrets and herons gracefully perch in the cottonwood trees. Occasionally a Northern harrier or bald eagle will swing past, gliding without effort as they search for prey. In the spring, warblers flit in and out of the underbrush; in the fall, gaggles of geese congregate on the water.
Of course it’s nice to travel to exotic locales from time to time; but when in a pinch, there’s no patch like Home.
Inkling 7
5 x 7 inches
India ink on Bristol board.
"Formerly not an uncommon bird along the Atlantic coast as far south as Delaware, the Labrador Duck has, for over twenty years, ceased to make its appearance anywhere within our boundaries, and it would seem that, from some reason quite inexplicable, it has become extinct."
-- Francis P. Harper, The Wild Fowl of the United States and British Possessions, 1898.
Inkling 8
"Waiting to Sprout"
5 x 7 inches
India ink on Bristol board.
“Your heart is full of fertile seeds, waiting to sprout.”
— Morihei Ueshiba
* * *
A young house finch, still sprouting some baby feathers on its head.
Inkling 9
"Taco the Toco Toucan"
5 x 7 inches
India ink on Bristol board.
Thrown for a Loop, or, Can a Corporation Copyright a Toucan?
In 2011, the Maya Archaeology Initiative, a non-profit organization, received legal notification that their toucan logo was infringing on the copyright of Kellogg’s Froot Loops cereal mascot, Toucan Sam.
The only problem was, MAI’s toucan looked nothing like Toucan Sam. Not by a long shot. One was a stylized depiction of a particular toucan species with a Mayan temple background, and the other was, well, a cartoon character whose bill mimicked food-coloring.
Turns out, Kellogg’s had a long history of going after any company that had a toucan on it, from pruning shears to tiki bars. Even a steel drum band called “The Toucans”received stern notification that their name was snagging profits from the world’s largest cereal manufacturer. And most of the time, the smaller companies had to back down, regardless of the dissimilarity or unproven product competition.
But by 2011, the age of ubiquitous Social Media was well underway; word soon got out about MAI’s plight, and the massive legal costs that the non-profit would have to bear due to the blanket practice of opposing each and every toucan.
Consequently, Kelloggs dropped the copyright opposition claim and, in order to repair what was becoming a bad look for public relations, donated $100,000 to one of MAI’s projects.
It was a good outcome for all, but it highlights just how zealous — and downright loopy — legal departments can be.
***
A Toco Toucan (whose name is NOT Sam).
Inkling 10
"Spark Bird: Canada Goose"
5 x 7 inches
India ink on Bristol board
“So, what was your spark bird?”
If you hang around birdwatchers enough, it's a question that comes up.
Just like any passion, birding has its fair share of insider jargon. Words like, “dip”, “pish” and “fallout” are overheard at many events. As is the term, “spark bird”, which refers to the bird that first kindled a life-long interest in this fanatical obsession – er, I mean hobby.
I've loved birds as long as I can remember, but perhaps the species that sparked an interest in understanding them more deeply was the Canada Goose.
As a girl, I'd go to the park to feed a population of domestic ducks, but there'd always be a group of itinerant Canada geese, as well. They always looked so dapper, with their black necks and white cheeks. As I got to know them better, I began to notice that some of them had individual characteristics that set them apart from the others. Why was it, I wondered, that some of them had shorter, stubbier bills? Why did others have a white stripe at the base of their neck? Why did some of them honk in a much higher pitch, like they'd inhaled helium?
Since this was before the Internet, I had to go to the library to find out. These smaller geese, I learned, were a subspecies of Canada goose, known as cackling geese. That someone else had noticed these slight differences was exciting to me; and so began a lifelong interest in bird identification and behavior.
Nowadays, the Canada goose and cackling goose are considered two genetically distinct species; nevertheless I consider them both my “spark”.
Inkling 11
"Crispy"
7 x 5 inches
India ink on Bristol board.
I’m craving something crispy,
I need a salty crunch!
Carbs so keenly tasty,
For brunch or even lunch.
--Laura G. Young, "The Snack Song", 2021.
Inkling 12
"Fuzzy"
7 x 5 inches
India ink on Bristol paper.
“Look! Do you see it??”
There, in the tall New Zealand grass, strode a young takahē; one of the rarest birds in the world. Only 260 were left. Nearby a shaggy parent about the size of a chicken herded its fuzzy black progeny into the shade.
My heart skittered with excitement. It was like coming across a dodo — living, breathing, wobbling around. Because just like the dodo, the takahē was utterly flightless and, in 1898, officially declared extinct.
Fast-forward to the mid-20h century and the species was, much to the astonishment of everyone, re-discovered in a remote mountainous area. Their numbers were few and dwindling, though, and by the 1950s it looked as though the archaic-looking birds would go extinct for real. So the remainder were scooped up and brought to several outlying islands, safe from non-native predators.
In 2013 my husband and I were exploring one such sanctuary: Tiri Tiri Matangi, situated offshore from Auckland. It was a veritable paradise, with lush, thick stands of pōhutukawa and puriri trees sheltering all sort of threatened birds.
We only caught a glimpse of the takahē, but I’ll always cherish the memory of that encounter. With continuing encroachment on their habitat, the future of this species remains hopeful yet somewhat unclear — fuzzy, as it were, as that little black chick.