Cynthia Yatchman is a Seattle based artist and art instructor. A former ceramicist, she received her B.F.A. in painting (UW). She switched from 3D to 2D and has remained there ever since. She works primarily on paintings, prints and collages. Her art is housed in numerous public and private collections. She has exhibited on both coasts, extensively in the Northwest, including shows at Seattle University, SPU, Shoreline Community College, the Tacoma and Seattle Convention Centers and the Pacific Science Center. She is, a member of the Seattle Print Art Association and Women Painters of Washington.
Sparrows are plain. They make of brown a color duller than grey. Even in the safety of numbers, they only approach the feeder when the solitary big guys, the jays, the cardinals, have had their fill. Or they peck away on the ground from the spill of their more haughty and glamorous superiors. They’re the cleanup crew, the leftover brigade. They know their place but they‘re also subservient to their needs. So it’s feed or perish. Like it’s nest in uninviting places or the next brood won’t get born. They make me wonder why, of all the birds that feed from my seeds, I write about the sparrows. Maybe because they’re inconspicuous. They’re self-effacing. Yet they survive. Maybe it’s that I don’t know jays, I don’t know cardinals, but I do know sparrows.
