Art calls after midnight. Like some shadowed visitor I open the door to, compelled but uncertain. Of late the wee hours are more appealing than any other time of day. I'm turning into my subjects.
Owls are as irresistable to me now as they were when I was a small child. I have always been taken with the birdpeople. I struggle over how to capture their rapt attention without losing their complexity of gaze. It is the same with doing justice to cats and other predatory animals. Those with hunter anatomy and physiology, who can in a moment become the hunted. That's the edge; this dual instinct under the surface. Vulnerability has to be there, but may not be overworked.
As humans, we seem beset with projecting predatory qualities onto everything around us, then portray our own species as victimized but heroic. It is a dreadful lie, having taken over the terrain, food, and general environment of every living thing on the planet. Staring at the owls helps me be honest. What do you think?