Alex Kisilevich avoids the common depiction of birds as static figures, as seen on postage stamps and calendars, to capture the act of searching. The photographs in Hobby at Gallery 44 are saturated in colour, crisper than the eye can see. I feel as if I am in the tree with the bird, camouflaged amongst the maple wing seeds and branches. A subversion of the form of bird photography, the images share a familiar composition with the often kitsch venture. The optical and theoretical depth of Kisilevich’s photographs separates them from their counterparts, allowing an experience to form.
In 77 the focus oscillates—bunches of leaves are sharp and sun-drenched, lending a helpful scale for the bird that sits next to it. A striped shadow sits on the branch below. In the background, the scene repeats. A bird sits on a branch, this time out of focus. I don’t know the name of the bird, but the delight in finding it, nestled in the background of a photograph, mirrors the exercise of bird watching. Despite my lack of nomenclature, I’m drawn to birds. My rudimentary bird watching skills mean that I don’t have the words for what I see, only the sensation. A fleeting feeling of wonder. I’m reminded that happiness is something we momentarily experience, rather than something we are. When I see a bird, it is as if I am levitating above the ground with it and leaving my problems below. I think of nothing but the bird in my eye-line, until it is gone and I am left searching.
It is through the photographic process that Kisilevich is able to communicate the kinetic energy of birding—the act of searching and the bliss of finding. Shooting on film, Kisilevich has little time to manually set and focus the camera before the bird flees. It is this rush of adrenaline, in opposition to the somewhat tranquil final images, that can be felt when looking at the photographs in Hobby—the same opposing sensations present when looking to the sky to bird. The photographs are embedded with the process. In this series, Kisilevich moves away from the rigidness of his studio practice, an exploration of materiality and form, and invites spontaneity into the work. In doing so, we gain insight into the artist on a more personal level. The love of the subject matter comes through.
There’s something about the eyes of these birds that endear them to me. In 19, a simple naivety. 118, a shyness. Head tilted upwards, one eye peering back to the viewer, it’s as if 80 is asking something of us. These acts of projection and anthropomorphism feel apropos. My mom often thinks of birds as signs from loved ones, which is a nice thought: they’re always around, but at a slight remove. Kisilevich shortens this distance, instilling a new kind of intimacy by combining the act of bird watching with art viewing. I love these photographs.
Text by Tatum Dooley
