“After Birds” is an ongoing series of infrared photographs documenting the habitats of extinct, endangered, and disappearing species of American birds. Each photograph borrows its title and aspects of its design from the corresponding image from John James Audubon’s “Birds of America” (1827-1838, Havell edition). The sites depicted are locations where I have personally observed (or attempted to observe) a given species of bird.

This body of work is a response to John James Audubon’s landmark suite of bird paintings. Each of my images is inspired by and builds upon an Audubon illustration, borrowing details of composition and design to create a dialog between past, present, and future. Yet the birds themselves are conspicuously absent from my photographs. Referencing Audubon is not just about paying tribute to a great artist, it is also a cautionary tale. Out of the 435 species in “Birds of America,” 7 species and 2 subspecies are extinct as a result of human actions. Dozens more are endangered, threatened, or rapidly declining in numbers. A recent study published in Science found that the North American bird population has dropped by 3 billion birds, or 29%, since the 1970’s. Even some birds that are still relatively common are rapidly disappearing. The reasons are complex: habitat loss, pollution, poaching, invasive species, global warming, and other factors add up to a very uncertain future for many birds. Rachel Carson began “Silent Spring” by asking her readers to imagine a spring without birdsong. Like Carson, I am crafting a “a fable for tomorrow.” My goal is to visualize a landscape devoid of avian life, haunted by the ghosts of lost birds.

These photographs were made using infrared film and modified digital cameras to capture light waves above 720nm: a part of the spectrum invisible to the human eye. The unseen and unknown are recurring themes in my work as an artist. Here, invisible light is a metaphor, evoking lost species and vanishing habitats. IR photography yields apocalyptic black skies, inky water, and foliage that radiates otherworldly light. They may be beautiful images, but they are also ominous, and filled with ambiguity.

Emily Dickinson famously characterized hope as “the thing with feathers.” I sometimes wonder if perhaps despair has feathers of its own. Yet, even when tinged with melancholy, birding is ultimately a hopeful pursuit. Staring up at the barren treetops, you never know when some small feathered creature will suddenly appear and fill your heart with wonder. As a record of my personal bird-watching pursuits, I hope “After Birds” will inspire viewers to seek their own connections with the natural world. This project is a meditation on loss, but it is also an invitation to learn from past failures, take note of conservation success stories, and make every effort to preserve our birds and their habitats.