“The Birds That Audubon Missed”

 

This is a book about two men: John James Audubon (1785-1851) and the author, Kenn Kaufman (b. 1954). Both of them are known as naturalists, skilled observers of birds, and illustrators who painted birds. You have surely heard of Audubon and his remarkable accomplishment: The Birds of America. If you are a bird watcher or a bird lover, you have also surely heard of Kenn Kaufman’s accomplishment; that is, his expertly illustrated field guides to North American birds. Audubon, as you also probably know, created and published 435 life-sized and detailed images showing all the species of North American birds he could find in his extensive explorations during the early 19th century, including as well a number of species given to him by other birders in areas that he did not explore. 

One focus of Kaufman’s book — as the title says — is Audubon and birds, specifically the birds that were neither rare nor hard to find, but that somehow Audubon didn’t in fact notice or document. The second focus of the book is Kaufman himself. As he relates Audubon’s life story as a naturalist and an artist, he also relates his own story, beginning in his childhood when he was fascinated with birds, and continuing when he was a teenager as he hitchhiked around the USA attempting to see as many species of birds as he was able to find. 

Obviously, to cover the topic of birds that are missing from Audubon’s work, Kaufman had to explain how Audubon did find over 400 species of birds, and how he did so without any of the equipment available to modern birders. No binoculars. No telescopes. No photographic equipment. Only a gun. Yes, every bird in the book was illustrated from one or more dead birds of the species in question; in fact, Audubon devised a unique way to suspend a specimen bird on the large-format watercolor paper he used, to trace an outline of the bird, and to use the bird to create a highly realistic image including every feather and detail of the markings, the feet, etc. 

The original goal of Kaufman’s project was to understand how Audubon had managed to locate the species he found, to understand the conditions for his missing some species that might have seemed obvious, and then for himself, Kaufman, to create Audubon-style images of these missing birds. Needless to say, working in the twenty-first century Kaufman didn’t have or want the option of shooting the birds, but he worked out ways to use high-quality photographs and direct observations made with modern optical equipment. Combining Audubon’s life story and intellectual accomplishments with his own, Kaufman creates a really interesting book. And beyond Audubon himself, Kaufman includes a larger history of the development of ornithology prior to and during Audubon’s life. The accomplishments of many other scientists, naturalists and bird-illustrators of that era and their relationship to Audubon are a key part of the content of the book.

Quite a few problematic facts about Audubon have been emphasized in recent years. He had a propensity to claim credit that should have gone to many others, and in a few cases to actually take specimens that belonged to others. Most important: another fact of Audubon’s life has proved very disturbing to those who read his biography: namely, he was a slave owner without any sympathy for his fellow humans who were enslaved. Kaufman’s thinking about Audubon and slavery is harsh. In particular, Kaufman was appalled by the historic fact that Audubon once sold two enslaved men in New Orleans after bringing them from his farm in Kentucky on a failed effort to repossess a stolen steamboat. He writes:

“But I can’t move on. This is too much. No matter how I pretend the Audubons would have been benevolent enslavers (a contradiction in itself), no matter how much John James glossed over reality by referring to enslaved people as ‘servants,’ there is no excusing or condoning this history. He enslaved as many as nine individuals at a time during his family’s years in Kentucky, and a few during later periods, and never expressed the slightest regret about the practice. Those men whom he sold off for a few dollars in New Orleans — they were human beings, with just as much intrinsic worth as the man whoso cavalierly sold them…. Bought and sold, taken away forever from their loved ones and the places they knew…It was monstrous.” (p. 130)

Kaufman does not apologize for Audubon’s failings, or explain them away as a standard of morality in a different time — in fact, slavery had many critics already in the early nineteenth century. Kaufman’s way of viewing this:

“We know Audubon committed scientific fraud, plagiarizing some points and inventing others; why would he suddenly start caring about accuracy? This view strikes me as one-sided. The man's lapses into dishonesty are undeniable, but he also put forth extraordinary effort in seeking knowledge. Can we give him credit for the good work he did, while acknowledging all that was wrong?

“Today we seem to look at historical characters as through a high-contrast lens, blowing out every shade of gray, reducing everything to black or white. We treat some individuals as icons of greatness, holding them up as heroes for years-and then find out more about them, and scorn them as villains. We don't seem able to recognize middle ground. In truth, many who do great work also do some terrible damage. I'd rather see a version of history that acknowledges these individuals for who they were and what they did, without either celebrating or vilifying them.” (p. 300)

Kenn Kaufman: “Thick-Billed Longspurs.” A missing bird painted in the style of Audubon.

In My Home Town: Audubon’s Book

The first book acquired for the University of Michigan library, in 1838, was Audubon’s Birds of America.
One page of the book is always on display: at the moment, it’s this picture of an avocet.

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