Elizabeth Gould and the Heads of Australian Birds

BY: Bob Montgomerie, Queen’s University | 29 October 2018

John Gould’s A Synopsis of the Birds of Australia, and the Adjacent Islands strikes me as the oddest of the superbly illustrated 19th-century bird books. Published by subscription that began in 1837, it was illustrated by his wife, Elizabeth, but only shows in colour the head of each species [1], unlike any of the other hundred or so ‘Birds of…’ books [2] that I know of. In some cases, she has drawn the feet or wings separately but only as outlines, adding colour in only a couple of instances where it may have been thought to be important for identification. Even Louis Agassiz Fuertes’s album of Abyssinian birds [3], which shows the heads of many species, at least has vignettes of the whole bird on most of the plates.

GouldHeads
A collage of some of the bird heads painted by Elizabeth Gould for the Synopsis

Why did the Goulds decide to paint just the heads of Australian birds? I have three hypotheses, outlined below, but first a little backstory.

John Gould was initially, by trade, a taxidermist, setting up his own practice in London in 1824. Many prominent ornithologists sent him their specimens to mount and he became both very good at his trade and very well-known. In 1827, he was appointed the first Curator and Preserver at the museum of the Zoological Society of London, where he prepared bird specimens sent to the ZSL from the colonies and elsewhere.

Charles Coxen, who called Gould The Birdstuffer, was also a taxidermist and introduced John to his older sister, Elizabeth. John and Elizabeth were married in January 1829, and it was not long before Elizabeth began making drawings and paintings of the birds that John was stuffing for his customers. By 1830, John was already selling some of Elizabeth’s artwork to customers for his taxidermy.

When the ZSL received a shipment of bird specimens from India in 1830, John saw this as an opportunity to use Elizabeth’s artistic skills to produce a book of Himalayan birds, many of which were previously undescribed. He also recognized the potential for lithography to produce much finer illustrations than were possible with woodcuts or copper plates, especially with respect to the nuances of shading and feather detail. To that end he implored Elizabeth to learn lithography, which she quickly mastered. By 1832 Elizabeth had produced 80 hand-coloured lithographs illustrating 100 bird species from the Himalayas, bound together with text to form their first published book [4]. In recognition of her contribution, the systematist for that project named one of the new species as Mrs Gould’s Sunbird (Aethiopygia gouldii).

Elizabeth’s brothers, Stephen (in 1827) and Charles (in 1834), moved to Australia where they established farms in New South Wales, frequently sending back bird specimens for John. As before, John soon realized the value of, and potential interest in, these birds as many had not yet been formally described, nor illustrated. John immediately sought to present these new specimens in a ‘synopsis’ but then to go to Australia with Elizabeth to embark on a full Birds of Australia project, patterned after the Birds of Europe project that he and Elizabeth had just completed in 1837. Gould’s idea for the Synopsis was to publish it in 6-8 parts, with each part comprising 18 plates with descriptions, measurements and affinities of each species, to sell the parts either coloured or uncoloured. They abandoned the project after publishing only four parts and set off for Australia in May 1838.

So why illustrate only the heads in colour?

Lophophores
Himalayan Monal (Lophorus impejanus) from Himalayan Birds

Hypothesis One: The Goulds had not yet seen Australian birds in the field and were nervous about depicting them in inappropriate poses or habitats. This was my first thought, but that was soon dispelled when I looked at their A Century of Birds from the Himalaya Mountains published in 1831. Here, Elizabeth illustrates in full colour birds she could not have seen alive, even though each of her paintings says ‘Drawn from Nature & on Stone by E. Gould.’ She may have seen some of these birds in zoos or aviaries but I suspect that ‘Drawn from Nature’ simply means that she used the actual bird specimens to inform her painting. Some of her paintings of Himalayan birds—and later of Trogons [5]—do look a little awkward so maybe she did realize that she really needed to see the birds, or at least their close relatives, in nature to make credible paintings of the whole bird.

Hypothesis Two: John Gould knew he was going to visit Australia soon, and wanted to produce a magnificent book on the Birds of Australia, for which ‘his’ Synopsis would be a teaser, driving up subscriptions. Gould was the consummate entrepreneur so this seems highly likely to me. He stopped work on the Synopsis early in 1838 when it was only part way done, presumably because he had enough subscriptions to see that the bigger book would be popular, and his big Australia trip was fast approaching.

Hypothesis Three: The Goulds were in a hurry, and illustrating just the heads would take a lot less time for both the artist and the colourists. As noted above, the Goulds started work on the Synopsis only a couple of years before their planned trip to Australia. Presumably drawing and colouring heads would take less than half the time needed for Elizabeth to draw the entire bird and background, and to colour one copy for the colourists to work from. In 1837, when Elizabeth started work on the illustrations, she had just had her sixth child [6], and completed her illustrations for the Birds of Europe, so she may have been feeling a little pressed for time, to say the least.

GouldOutlines
Striated Pardalote (L) and Superb Fairywren (R) with outlines for the body, from the Synopsis

Indeed, John was in such a rush to get his Synopsis in the hands of subscribers in Australia in advance of their trip, that he sent fresh copies of the completed parts on the third Beagle Voyage [7] leaving England on 5 July 1837, arriving in Australia in November. On arriving in Australia in September 1838, the Goulds went first to Tasmania (Van Diemen’s Land) where they met and stayed with the governor, Sir John Franklin [8] and his wife, who were among the subscribers to the Birds of Australia project. John Gould seemed never to pass up an opportunity to enlist royalty and the wealthy and powerful to subscribe to his projects, recognizing full well that that would improve sales. Even Elizabeth must have impressed the Franklins as she gave birth to her sixth child—a son who they named Franklin—at Government House on 6 May 1839.

I have not yet read Chisholm’s biography of Elizabeth published in 1944 so there may be information there to inform my speculations. Whatever the reason for this book of bird heads, the illustrations show us Elizabeth Gould at the height of her artistic talents.  She was already a gifted artist when she started painting birds for John but she also learned a lot from Edward Lear, who John also employed. For these bird heads, Elizabeth began using whipped egg-white, for example, to provide a reflective surface to the birds’ eyes, giving them a much rounder appearance. Just look at the details of the eye and the feather structure on Elizabeth’s painting of the Square-tailed Kite, below. Elizabeth’s illustrations for the Synopsis are incredibly lifelike, even more so that her work for the Birds of Europe.

GouldHAWK
Square-tailed Kite (Circus jardinii) from Synopsis

Even though Elizabeth Gould is now recognized for her contributions to bird illustration, and to the success of John Gould’s early ornithological enterprises, we may never know how much she really contributed to ornithology for, like most Victorian wives she did not write very much and worked mainly in the service of her family and her husband’s success. Elizabeth bore her eighth child, and third daughter, in August 1841, but died soon after from a uterine infection incurred during childbirth. By then she had already completed 84 magnificent plates for John’s new Birds of Australia, based on their collections and observations there, a lasting testimony to her exceptional skills.

SOURCES

  • Anonymous (1837) Bibliographical notices. Magazine of Zoology and Botany 1:571-572
  • Anonymous (1881) Memoir of the late John Gould, F.R.S. The Zoologist 5: 109-115
  • Chisholm AH (1944) The Story of Elizabeth Gould. Melbourne
  • Chisholm AH (1964) Elizabeth Gould: Some “New” Letters. Journal and Proceedings (Royal Australian Historical Society) 49: 321-36.
  • Fuertes LA (1930) Album of Abyssinian Birds and Mammals. Special Publication of the Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago.
  • Gould J (1832-37) The Birds of Europe. 5 vols. London: published by the author.
  • Gould J (1835) A Monograph of the Trogonidae, or Family of Trogons. London: published by the author.
  • Gould J (1837-38) A Synopsis of the Birds of Australia, and the adjacent islands. London: published by the author.
  • Gould J (1840-48) The birds of Australia. 7 vols. London: published by the author.

Footnotes

  1. head of each species: for a handful of birds, some details of wing or leg plumage are also coloured, to show off features mentioned in the text. The plates of Striated Pardalote and Square-tailed Kite shown here are examples
  2. ‘Birds of…’ books: see previous post here
  3. bustard
    Bustard from Fuertes (1930

    album of Abyssinian birds: see Fuertes (1930), available online here

  4. their first published book: it is now customary to list Elizabeth as an author on the books she prepared with John, but the title pages of the books listed above do not include her name, so I have not included her as a named author on those citations.
  5. Trogons: see Gould and Gould (1835), where many of the birds look to me to be in unnatural poses. Elizabeth would surely have seen trogons in zoos and private collections so she does get some of them right, but curiously not all of them. Maybe she did not realize that all of the trogons behave more or less the same way
  6. sixth child: Elizabeth had eight children in all but only 6 survived so I assume that this sixth child was the fourth to survive.
  7. third Beagle Voyage: Darwin was on the second Beagle Voyage. The third was captained by John Clements Wickham who was First Lieutenant on the Darwin voyage.
  8. Sir John Franklin: yes, that Franklin, who had explored the Canadian Arctic in 1819-22 and 1823-27, but then was governor of Tasmania from 1836-43 after marrying his second wife. In 1845 he returned to the Canadian Arctic in search of a Northwest Passage, where he remains to this day

The Invisible Women

BY: Bob Montgomerie, Queen’s University | 3 September 2018

At next year’s annual AOS conference in Anchorage, Alaska, the role of women in ornithology will be one of the highlighted themes. This is an important initiative for several reasons, and will be the focus of several posts here in the coming months.

Most ornithologists are familiar with the names and accomplishments of Margaret Morse Nice, Rachel Carson, Brina Kessel, Fran Hamerstrom, Louise de Kiriline Lawrence, and Florence Merriam Bailey, but what about Hilda Cinat-Thompson [1], Lady Elizabeth Symonds Gwillim, Genevieve Estelle Jones, and Althea Sherman? Women play such a visible role in ornithology (and most sciences) today, that it is easy to forget that women ornithologists were scarce before about 1960. Even those women who contriubuted to the history of ornithology tend to be relatively invisible.

As I have highlighted previously [2], the national ornithological societies that formed in the 1800s were all founded by men, and women were very much in the minority of their membership for much of the twentieth century. That’s just a fact, and I don’t see any point in attempting to rewrite that history. There is a lot to be gained, however, in knowing more about the women who did contribute to the development of ornithology and celebrating their contributions. Unfortunately, the contributions of many of those women to ornithology were never recorded, so they may forever be invisible—at least by name—to history. Today’s post highlights just one of what must be many instances of invisible women who made a great contribution.

DRESSERvols
Dresser’s Birds of Europe (1871-82) letter bound into 9 Volumes, plus an index and a supplement

From 1871 to 1882, Henry Dresser published the 84 parts of his monumental A History of the Birds of Europe. Dresser was a prominent timber and iron merchant by day, and an ornithologist in the evenings—and presumably weekends and holidays, given his phenomenal productivity. During the mid-1800s, he made his fortune as a merchant in London, and began collecting birds and eggs on various field trips [3]. He eventually amassed a huge collection of bird specimens, eventually purchasing specimens from collectors and dealers around the world. In addition to a handful of excellent books, he also published more than 100 papers about birds. Dresser was well-connected in ornithological circles, regularly corresponding with Alfred Newton and Alfred Russel Wallace, for example, and was BOU secretary from 1882-88 [4].

PartcoverDresser’s Birds of Europe was published in separate parts, by subscription, so that he could use the income from subscriptions to fund the entire project [5]. Subscribers, of which there were eventually more than 300, received an unbound section of both letterpress and plates in blue paper covers every month, and many of those were eventually bound into leather-covered volumes by the subscribers. The whole set cost subscribers £52 10s, or about £5000 (roughly $6500 US in today’s currency).  You can pick up a full leather-bound set today for only $23,000 US at some of the antiquarian booksellers, which is actually quite a bargain given the rate of inflation over the past 140 years [6].

Each of the 634 species in Birds of Europe is illustrated on a superb colour print of the bird—often male and female, sometimes a chick or two—produced mainly by the outstanding 19th century illustrator J. G. Keulemans, plus a few by Joseph Wolf and Edward Neale. These illustrations are remarkable for their accuracy and the pace at which Keulemans made them, often in the midst of working on other projects.

ruffs
Ruffs displaying from Dresser (1871-82)

To save time (and costs) Keulemans made most of these illustrations by drawing with sharp-pointed greasy crayon directly on the lithographic stone that would be used to make black outline drawings that would be coloured by hand to make the plates. Keulemans was renowned for his ability to use a study skin to make a life-like painting of a bird that he had not even seen in the wild. The fact that he could draw in crayon (in reverse!) on a lithographic stone without working from a sketch seems impossible to me, but then again I have no artistic talents whatsoever. Once the first satisfactory print was made, he used watercolours to make the final master copy. Keulemans only painted the master copy—all of the others that eventually ended up as plates in the book were painted in watercolours mainly by young women [7] in the employ of colourist workshops, using Keulemans’ originals as a guide. We do not know who these women were but the quality and quantity of their work—and thus their contribution to what many consider to be one of the finest bird books ever produced—was outstanding.

Bureau_téléphonique_parisien_vers_1900
telephone switchboard ca 1900

As was the custom of the day, Dresser thanked the men who owned the companies who did the colour work and made no mention of the women who actually did the colouring. I am reminded of an old illustration of women doing all of the work at a switchboard in Paris with the male supervisor overseeing [8]. Here is Dresser, in his Preface: “…and the colouring was entrusted to Mr. Smith and Mr. Hart, the latter of whom is well known as the artist employed by Mr. Gould during the publication of all his later works.” [9].

Lest you think the colourists had no particular talent and were merely making passable copies of the works by the master (Keulemans) have a look at some of the detail, below, on a couple of the plates. Exquisite. The pace at which those women worked must also have been phenomenal. We do not know how many women were employed by Smith and Hart to do the colouring, but we know that they produced a quarter of a million copies (yes, 250,000! [10]) of the Keulemans’ originals in about 12 years. Even at one copy a day—a pace that I cannot even imagine—about 65 artists would have been needed to do all of that colouring [11].

 

details
Details of 6 plates in Dresser (1871-96) showing the lovely brush work and attention to detail

Keulemans apparently inspected all of the colouring to ensure accuracy and consistency.  I have looked at several copies of the original plates and cannot detect any difference between copies of the same plate even though they must have been painted by different, unknown, women.

We often vilify the practices of the past because they do not match our contemporary standards of fairness, equality, and recognition. No doubt our own academic descendants will similarly criticize us for our apparent failings. Instead, I think there is some value in trying to identify work that made important contributions to the history of ornithology, even in cases like this where we cannot positively identify who actually did that work. It would be interesting to know if any of the colourists for Dresser’s work went on to be ornithologists or artists in their own right.

SOURCES

  • Dresser HE (1871-82) A History of the Birds of Europe, including all the species inhabiting the Western Palaearctic Region [84 parts; first 13 parts coauthored with RB Sharpe]. London: Privately published. (available online here)
  • McGhie HA (2017) Henry Dresser and Victorian ornithology: Birds, books and business. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press.


Footnotes

  1. Hilda Cinat-Thompson: did pioneering work on sexual selection in budgerigars but is so little known about her that the only references I can find to her online are in the book I wrote with Tim Birkhead and Jo Wimpenny on the history of ornithology (see here)
  2. formation of ornithological societies: see previous posts here, here, and here
  3. various field trips: to Texas, Mexico and New Brunswick (Canada) for example. Most of his collection eventually went to the Manchester Museum
  4. Henry Dresser’s life: details here were taken mainly from a new book (McGhie 2017) about Dresser that I will be reviewing here in a few weeks
  5. by subscription: the initial subscription price was £6 6s (about $8.50 US) per year for 12 parts with each part containing 10-12 species, and the whole project planned to take 6 years comprising about 72 parts, with each year constituting a volume (McGhie 2017, page 137)
  6. rate of inflation: an online calculator here, suggests that $6500 in 1880 would today be worth $153,000.
  7. we do not know who the colourists were: it might be possible to examine the records from Hart and Smith, and their workshops, to actually identify the colourists but that information is not yet readily available
  8. telephone switchboard operators: many of the earliest switchboard operators were young men, but it was soon recognized that women were generally more courteous. Probably more significantly, though, women were paid at only one quarter of the salary of the men! More info here.
  9. Dresser quotation: from page iv of Vol 1 in Dresser (1871-1882). He is referring here to Smith, Elder and Co., and to William Hart who was both an artist and a colourist who, presumably, supervised the work of several others.
  10. 250,000 copies: actually at least 214,587 coloured plates based on 633 plates per volume and 339 copies at one copy per subscriber. Presumably there were more plates completed than there were subscribers, as the number of subscribers grew through the 12 years of the project.
  11. 65 colourists: based on 250,000 coloured plates, about 250 working days per year, and 12 years for the project

IMAGES: all those of and from Dresser’s Birds of Europe were taken by the author in August 2018 at the Blacker-Wood Collections in the McGill University Library, with thanks to the librarian, Lauren Williams, for permission to use those photographs here; women telephone operators from Wikimedia Commons

But is it art?

BY: Bob Montgomerie, Queen’s University | 23 July 2018

LSNYBig cities—maybe surprisingly—are good places to live if you are interested in natural history. While country folk have nature on their doorstep, city folk have to work a little harder to find woodland and wildlife. The advantage to city life, though, is that there are lots of like-minded people nearby and the resources for nature study and discussion can be amazing—museums, aquaria, naturalist clubs, universities. The Linnaean Society of New York, for example, has brought together naturalists from all walks of life since 1878 to meet regularly at the American Museum of Natural History and to hear lectures from world-class naturalists and biologists. And just across the road from the museum lies Central Park, not a bad place for birding.

When I was 11 years old, my parents sent me off each Saturday morning to the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM), a few blocks from our home in downtown Toronto, to meet with 250 other children and young teens in the Toronto Juniour Field Naturalists’ Club TJFN). This was a magical experience for me, getting to hang out for 3 hours every week with like-minded people, hearing talks and watching natural history films, getting to explore behind the scenes in a great museum, and regularly going on field trips to nearby parks and conservation areas inside or very near the burgeoning city.

The TJFN was organized into about dozen special interest groups—mammals, birds, insects, and the like—that we broke into after the initial presentation to share our experiences and learn from the group leader. I first joined the mammal group, led by a young man named  Bob, a local school teacher who had just returned from a 14-month-long expedition from Africa to Australia by Land Rover with one of his friends. That expedition was what our dreams were made of, and my three naturalist buddies and I spent many an evening planning to make a similar trek one day by Land Rover from Pont Barrow to Tierra del Fuego. Bob taught art at a local high school and gave us budding wildlife artists some great feedback on our feeble attempts to draw the local animals and plants. Years later he developed into one of the world’s best and best-known wildlife artists—Robert Bateman.

bateman-sketch47
Ruby-crowned Kinglet by Bob Bateman, age 17

Bob was certainly the first real artist that I had ever met, but those TJFN meetings eventually brought me into contact with the ROM’s excellent artists and illustrators—Terry Shortt (birds), Paul Geraghty [1] (mammals, birds and dinosaurs), Peter Buerschaper (fishes) and Anker Odum (insects). It was only years later that I came to appreciate what a privilege it had been to know such outstanding wildlife artists.

In the late 1960s when I was working at the ROM for a year, I also got to meet a slew of young wildlife artists who brought their work into the bird department both to get some feedback on their latest work and to borrow skins to help them with details of plumage and bare parts. Names like J. Fenwick Lansdowne, Glen Loates, Barry Kent Mackay, and George MacLean might be familiar to some readers of this blog.

Once, on a long drive from Toronto to Thunder Bay, Paul Geraghty and I had a lively discussion about the nature of bird ‘art’ and bird ‘illustration’. I naively considered any drawing or painting of a bird to be ‘art’ but Paul, quite rightly I think, made a distinction between the two. To him, birds drawn or painted to highlight the bird’s features for the purpose of identification or to enhance some text were illustration, and birds drawn or painted in such a way that the work evoked a more emotional response were art.

For years after that trip, we often debated about paintings of wildlife. When I told Paul about some new painter I had discovered, he would often say, “but is it art?” I think we agreed that there was no point to trying to make a clear distinction along what was clearly a continuum, but the ends of that spectrum were quite clear to us—Bruno Liljefors’s painting of a Golden Eagle was art, but Roger Tory Peterson’s painting of that species in his field guide was illustration.

GoldenEagles
Golden eagle by Bruno Liljefors (L) and Roger Tory Peterson (R, bottom)

I think it’s fair to say that Audubon was among the first [2] to blur the distinction between art and illustration. Before Audubon, birds were (usually) painted [3] as part of a scene, portrait, or still life (art), or in bird books to show the salient features of a species (illustration). Most of Audubon’s portraits in his Birds of America served both purposes, often being very ‘artistic’ in composition, depicting birds in habitats, often flying, preying, defending or courting. My favourite Audubon (below) certainly blurs the lines for me, combining flight, attempted predation, and accuracy useful enough for identification.

John_James_Audubon_-_Northern_Bobwhite_and_Red-shouldered_Hawk_watercolor_study
Bobwhite and red-shouldered Hawk watercolour by JJ Audubon ca 1825

Before Audubon, most bird illustration looked wooden [4], showed little or no action or habitat, and lacked the sort of ‘jizz’ that makes a painted bird look real. Bird art, of course, goes back far into prehistory with ancient depictions of loon-like birds found in archaeological digs, and myriad birds in Japanese, Chinese and other works prepared before the start of the Christian Era. Some of these early bird drawings and paintings may have been used for ‘identification’ but my guess is that they were mostly symbolic or ornamental.

Unequivocal bird illustration may have begun with Frederick II in his manuscript De Arte Venandi cum Avibus where birds were drawn in colour in the margins to enhance the accompanying text. Frederick did not identify his birds explicitly but, in his 1983 paper, William Yapp made a good stab at figuring our which species were being illustrated. The bird drawings in Frederick’s manuscript represent at least 60 species and are remarkably identifiable today. OK, I said ‘unequivocal’, but you could argue that they are really art because of their composition, and the depiction of habitats and behaviours, much as Audubon did 600 years later.

FIIscene
bottom of folio 7r in Frederick II’s De Arte Venandi cum Avibus (ca 1245)

Willughby and Ray’s Ornithology may have been the first serious attempt to accurately depict birds in a book [5], showing their ‘characteristic marks’ for identification. Ray, however, was not pleased with result and the illustrations do look very wooden by today’s standards. For the next 150 years or so bird illustrations in books became progressively more life-like in part due to improvement in printing methods—certainly birds in ‘art’ were remarkably accurate more than 2000 years ago.

Possibly due to Audubon’s influence and success, bird illustrations in books became much more ‘artistic’ in the 19th century with people like George Lodge, Archibald Thorburn, John Gould and many others putting more life, action and habitat into their work for bird books. While there were dozens of great bird artists in the century after Audubon, it seems to me that wildlife art became a ‘thing’ only in the 1970s, possibly fuelled by the critical and commercial success of Robert Bateman.

PGsnogo
Snow Geese by Paul Geraghty ca 1973

We ornithologists are very lucky to have attracted such a wealth of talent to our discipline, adorning our books (and homes) with great images of our favourite animals. When Tim Birkhead, Jo Wimpenny and I were putting together our Ten Thousand Birds book on the recent history of ornithology, we decided to start each chapter with an example of superb bird art or illustration produced since Darwin. We were able to include the work of 12 great artisans but we were both delighted and perplexed by the wealth of available material. In the end, we had to make some rather arbitrary choices of whose work to include.

As one example of the current wealth of bird art, you need only attend the annual Birds in Art exhibiton at the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum, in Wasau, Wisconsin. This year, that exhibition will run from 8 September until 25 November and feature the work of more than 60 outstanding bird artists, including a few names that I recognize, like Tony Angell, Robert Bateman, Guy Coheleach, and Maynard Reece. There are dozens of such exhibitions every year in both North America and Europe, attesting to the popularity of this wildlife art. Art or illustration?…whatever you want to call it, the work is fabulous.

SOURCES

  • Audubon JJ (1827-1838) The Birds of America. Edinburgh & London: J. J. Audubon.

  • Birkhead TR, Wimpenny J, Montgomerie R (2014) Ten Thousand Birds: Ornithology since Darwin. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
  • Frederick II (~1245) De arte venandi cum avibus. Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, codex Ms. Pal. Lat. 1071.
  • Johnsgard PA (1974) Song of the North Wind: a story of the snow goose. U of Nebraska Press.

  • Ray J (1678) The Ornithology of Francis Willughby. London: John Martyn.

  • Yapp WB (1983) The illustrations of birds in the Vatican manuscript of De arte venandi cum avibus of Frederick II. Annals of science 40:597–634.


Footnotes

  1. Paul Geraghty: not to be confused with the British author and illustrator of children’s books, often about dinosaurs and other animals. The Paul Geraghty I am referring to now lives in Saskatchewan and some examples of his early work can be seen in Johnsgard (1974). I have reproduced one of those drawings at the bottom of this essay. The cover of Johnsgard’s book says ‘Illustrations by Paul Geraghty’  but even by Paul’s own restrictive definition I would certainly call this ‘art’.
  2. Audubon among the first: I am being especially cautious here, and throughout this essay, because (i) I am no expert, and (ii) people are passionate about their favourite bird artists/illustrators and there is bound to be lots of disagreement. I do not see much point in playing the ‘who’s the first/who’s the best’ game, but I do think that the diversity of opinions is both interesting and productive. Feel free to weigh in on this topic in the comments.
  3. painted and drawn: I do recognize that these are not the only visual art forms but those are the ones I am dealing with in this essay. I will discuss sculptures, movies, and music some other time.
  4. bird illustrations looked wooden: it is pretty clear that the quality of bird illustration lagged behind that of plants, for example, because birds could not be accurately drawn from life. Bfore the ready availability of binoculars, telescopes and phoitography, birds could not usually be approached and opbserved very closely. As a result, most illustrators worked from dead birds, including Audubon. Audubon, however, often mounted his bird carcasses using wires etc into more or less lifelike poses as models for his work.
  5. Willughy and Ray illustrations: several previous authors (Aldrovandi, Belon, etc) had included bird illustrations in their books but Ray and Willughby made an explicit attempt to be accurate and to include some features useful in identification.