Night Singer

Waking up at dawn to the singing of the Northern Mockingbird is a regular event in South Carolina, but never have I had one serenade me after dark until last week at Sullivan's Island when the singing would begin about 11:30 and last most of the night. He didn't bother me at all and even though I am a light sleeper, I went right to sleep after a short listening session and would only notice him briefly when I would wake in the night. I think the morning singing is more annoying to me because it serves as sort of an alarm clock. " It's daylight and we're singing so you had better get your lazy self up." There was something soothing about this night singing...sort of like a lullaby. It is something I have never heard before so I had to do a little research on night singers. I knew Mockingbirds were supposed to be very intelligent and remembered a study where a person was made to prowl around a Mockingbird nest and then later, the bird could remember and pick that prowler out of a large crowd of people to harass. I figured there must be a good reason for night singing.

All adult make male mockingbirds sing during the day, but only a bachelor will sing at night. If you are a single female Mockingbird and you hear singing at night, there's no mistaking that the message is for you. So it was a love song I heard. As soon as he finds a mate, the singing will stop. I would think he should have already begun nesting by April, so he must have lost his original mate, or maybe he's starting nest two. I hope there is an eligible bachelorette for him on the island. The sound repertoire of this bird is amazing and the reason is, unlike most birds, who learn all the songs they will sing in the first year of life, the Mockingbird builds his song catalogue throughout his life. They will imitate most anything: other birds, car alarms, and in night singer's case, even crickets and frogs.

Judging from the other Internet sites, many people don't find the night singers to be nearly so pleasant. There are numerous posts on how to get rid of them and John van der Linden, author of Eastern Birding Central FAQ says 25 to 50 percent of his e-mail questions are how to deal with annoying Mockingbirds. I suspect it could be their own irritation that keeps people awake more than the birds. Thankfully, Mockingbirds, like all US migratory birds, are protected by Federal law. They are also protected by "Atticus' law"who told us in Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird, that "it is a sin to kill a Mockingbird because they don't do anything except sing their hearts out for us." Keep on singing night singer and I hope you find a mate soon.

Pretty Mockingbird eggs...they remind me of the Easter candy, Malted Speckled Eggs.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, A Radiant Child

Jean-Michel Basquiat portrait by James Van Der Zee, 1982. A man with a cat.




I have always liked the art of Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960-1988) but must admit I really knew very little about him, having been shrouded by the myth of this artist who died when he was only 27 years old. Last week I happened to catch the PBS showing of the documentary by Tamra Davis, Radiant Child, which left me a little more enlightened and a little more sad for this remarkable, but too short life.

A 17 year old Basquiat left his middle class home to began living on the streets of New York, quickly gaining notoriety as Samo (as in "same o' shit"), the graffiti artist. Some in the art world speculated that the mysterious Samo may actually be an old woman, which speaks to the nature of the philosophy left on the streets by this teenager with a soul that defied his years. But in the early 1980's, Samo "died" and Basquiat was born, selling out his first art show on it's first night with $200,000 sales. The 80's art world, like much of that era, seemed defined by fame and greed, and Basquiat struggled between the desire for success and the limits that a life as a celebrity often brings. His world seemed filled with extreme contradictions. He would enter a New York club where he was the center of attention, the mega-star of the art world, only to leave and find that the cab drivers would not stop for him on the street. He felt frustrated with the critics who described him as a genius yet chose ethnic descriptions of his work rather than looking at the concepts, using words such as "primitive, primal, and child-like." He was a prolific artist, giving some of his art away as gifts to friends, and later feeling betrayed by them as they sold the pieces at auction when he became famous. He ended up lonely, addicted to heroin, without anyone to guide him through it all to safety. He died at age 27 of a heroin overdose, shortly after the unexpected death of his estranged best friend, Andy Warhol. Langston Hughes' poem, Genius Child was read by a friend at Basquiat's funeral...."nobody loves a genius child, kill him-and let his soul run wild."

Jean-Michel Basquiat is recognized as one of the most influential artists of the 20th century with a recent painting selling at auction for 14.5 million, yet I wonder how many people know his work. There is a difference in Basquiat's art that I love, a difference which makes some people uncomfortable. When you look at his art, it takes you a step back from your own feelings, from your need for an instant personal connection, and instead you are granted a glimpse inside a fascinating mind with a mysterious and important story to tell. Before you know it, you are engaged in a dialogue with this artist. The words in the paintings are both text and visual images in themselves, and they are the clues. According to Basquiat, he marks through them to make you want to read them more. The story was "given" to him, he needs to share it with you, and it is well worth the time to uncover it. As Basquiat himself has said, "it is the story of royalty, heroism, and the streets."

This is Basquiat's work, In Italian.

Thanks For Waiting, All You Understanding Ears

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them---words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."
Stephen King, The Gunslinger