BIRD OF SPRAY

Bird of Spray is not his real name. Beyond that, he's not saying, and frankly, who can blame him.

He grew up in Brentford, West London — a world populated by parakeets, Canada geese, and the kind of people who know everyone on the street and have opinions about all of them. From an early age he found himself transfixed by birds: their noise, their confidence, their spectacular refusal to be embarrassed by anything they do. Are they talking to us or each other? Why are they always yelling? What, exactly, are they yelling about? These are not questions he has stopped asking.

His fascination only deepened on the British coastline, where the annual family holiday delivered him reliably to the seagull — an animal that the rest of the beach regarded as a menace and Bird of Spray regarded as a genius. While everyone else was screaming about their chips, he was watching with quiet admiration. The seagull, he understood, does not explain itself. It simply commits.

His stencil work brings collective nouns to vivid, chaotic life — a Murder of Crows, a Chatter of Parakeets, a Squabble of Seagulls — capturing the comedy of everyday bird existence with the affection of someone who has been paying very close attention for a very long time. Each original is produced as a run of 22, a subtle nod to two little ducks, for those who know their bingo.

That's the background, that's the story, and that's the journey. However, should you ask Bird of Spray, he'll simply reply: "I spray paint birds, mate."