Flight photography is a lottery played at a thousandth of a second. For every frame in this collection, a memory card somewhere holds two hundred rejected wingbeats. What survives is the improbable instant — wings at full reach, eye sharp, sky arranged behind.
There are two kinds of picture here: the portrait, where a single bird owns the frame, and the murmuration, where ten thousand starlings become one animal with no address.
A flying bird on a lock screen points somewhere, which turns out to matter. Screens full of horizontals feel settled; one diagonal wing unsettles them exactly enough.
In this collection
