As I mentioned in my last post, the birds think I should hang out on the sea shore this summer.   To distract them from this discomforting vein of conversation, I indulge their penchant for FASHION.

The birds like trying on hats.

Black Swan likes hats more than anybody.  Black Swan would like me to do a whole series of portraits entitled “CROWNING THE INEFFABLE:  Hats O EPHEMERAL GARNISHING Across the Centuries as CLASSICALLY DISPLAYED Upon the TIMELESS HEAD of the Rare BLACK SWAN.”

I refused and made him share a portrait with Hawk:

Hawk was deeply moved by the metaphysics of the plumed, dove-white hat, bound as it is by a ribbon of blue sky.  I don’t really understand Hawk’s line of thinking; it has something to do with avian creation myths.

Starlings swarm beneath a veil as if it were mist over the autumn brocade of the marsh grasses:

Crow-as-parrot with a parrot in a hat so naïve, I think it is surreal:

The phoenix thinks this hat is bad-ass, especially with a ruched tunic:

I put on a hat, too.  The birds suddenly silenced themselves; their heads cocked to eye my every move with beady-black intensity.

They thought I might be going outside:

WHERE ARE YOU GOING!! squawked Parrot-that-was-crow.

I could go outside.  If I knew where to go.

–The Odalisque