THE EVIDENCE OF A BIRD, THE ONCE-ALIVE BIRD: CONTEMPLATIONS FROM THE COLLECTIONS SPACE

Collections Corner | Defne Inceoglu

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Illustration by Defne Inceoglu.

Within this collections room I sit; it is cold. The light is dully reflected off of rows and rows of large storage containers and cabinets, each labelled carefully with the species names of the ones they contain. If you peeked inside you would see them all, laying down dutifully.

A cabinet. (Source: author).

I am here because I am researching a gallery which sits nearby, in this same building. I have been brought into this room, like I have in the past, the Ornithology department at the Royal Ontario Museum. I think now of the little feathers, row by row, drawer by drawer.

I am the first visitor of the day. (Source: author).

What is an animal, in a collection? What is a bird, to a collection? A collection is of course, a gathering or storing of things or objects. They are usually put together as alike or respondent. They do exist, over time, carefully kept away from light and heat. They are meant to stay put. We see the evidence of their existence too, they live in these spaces. Cabinets of small bodies are sewed and stuffed into their drawers. They are kept here to be remembered, studied, mounted, shown and taught. The bird, now an object of study for us.

I think about a pile of cards I saw near the back of the room. Groupings and stacks of birdwatching notes, filled out, dutifully. Each little pen mark and scribble marking down the evidence of a bird once seen. They remember the date, the time, the temperature of the day. I count the dozens of lines, compared to the hundreds of cards. The card I held was filled out by a man from Oshawa, out on a nice day watching birds in Durham. Each little line he makes with his pen is with intention; he is vigilant and careful. What is a card, or a line, to a bird?

These things float through my mind as I quietly sift through the folders of paperwork, evidence given to me to study. I look at the plans they had made for these animals to move up into the gallery. They are calcified into their natural poses, described by habitat; grouped in with their fellows.

Turning my head to look down the aisle. (Source: author).

I close up the folders and stack them neatly in order. I am tired from reading and note taking. I lean back in my chair and turn my head to look down the aisle. I study the towering yellow cabinets. I hear people walk by out in the hall, their chattering conversations carry into the room. I am not really alone in here, however.

The objects here collected were once-alive. This is complicated. It would be unwise of me to refer to these as just an object. They hold onto the likeness of the life it was, even now they are identifiable held up against the alive one. But what would any of this mean to a bird, anyways?

And now as I write this, I can hear the sounds of birds chirping outside. I think to myself, that all of my life I have lived with this sound. In the morning it signals to me that we are all in fact still around. They are here, just as we are.