That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang

Well, artist Thomas Brodhead will have none of that high-falutin’ Shakespeare Sonnet crap when it comes to depictions of nature. Here, the attempts of a bird to take flight—or is it a bird already in flight?—pose questions of motive and destiny. Is the bird happy to be avian? Or is its quizzical beak-smile in reality the visual front end of a squawk for help as it flees from a predator? A bird-wing colored background adds a note of repose as well as internal consistency to this not-so-still life.