AVIAN FUSION — Where Nature, Technology and Art Meet.
While the discussion is still ongoing as to which came first—the chicken or the egg, it is certain that the bird was the source of inspiration behind the airplane. From Icarus to Otto Lilienthal to New Zealand’s Richard Pearce to Ohio’s Wright Brothers—man has long sought and found the ability to fly like a bird, and in particular the long-duration soaring birds of the oceans. While this is not a story of aviation history, the world of aviation is filled with passion, ideals, emotions and the longing for the freedom of flight. We cannot speak of aviation history without addressing the long-held desire in our souls to leap into the air and play upon the invisible waves like a bird. Artist Jeff Krete, a sculptor of both avian and aviation subjects, pays powerful artistic tribute to that passion in all of us and the short history of manned flight.
In 1959, when I was 8 years old, I was given a pair of Carl Wetzlar binoculars for Christmas by my parents. These binoculars were the greatest gift of my youth—solid, heavy, German-made, and optically precise. Grasping their pebbled grips in my young hands and training them on a distant subject, they enabled discovery in a whole new way. They opened up two linked, but different, worlds for me—the world of aircraft and the world of birds.
I was a lucky young fellow, for I lived just two miles from RCAF Station Rockcliffe, one of Canada’s oldest and most legendary military airfields, and four miles from RCAF Station Uplands, one of the biggest bases in the land. My parents’ home was brand new—standing far, far out on the very edge of the first stumbling attempts at suburbanization. Today, my old neighbourhood is considered “central”, but back then, it was far from it. We were surrounded on all sides by farms, farmers, fields, woodlots, streams, creeks, rail lines and dusty country roads. Today, Smyth Road is four lanes wide, but in the 1950s it was a gravel road, with shoulders sloping down to drainage ditches. Our small development was a peninsula of the future, reaching outward to take hold in farmland.
Summer after summer, I wandered the fields and roads with my “binos”, training them on hawks in flight, redwings mobbing a raven, a line of mourning doves on a country phone line or a late summer sky seamed with threads of Canada geese. But even more so than the birds, I was attracted to the aircraft that always seemed to be in the air around me—the thundering Lancasters and Harvards from Rockcliffe, the wailing CF-100s from RCAF Uplands and whistling Vickers Vanguards climbing out of Ottawa Airport. I was small, dirty, dishevelled and curious, lying on my back in Farmer Borthwick’s pasture, training my glasses on everything that flew.
At the beginning of this lifelong obsession, I thought I was alone in this avian curiosity. It wasn’t long, however, before I understood that nearly every kid in my neighbourhood was afflicted with this disease, this attraction to all winged things. These days, nearly 55 years later, my circle of friends and colleagues reads like a support group for aviation addicts. Among many of these are graphic designers, architects, artists, poets and musicians. Something about flight, its poetry, its drama, its tragedy and its visuality appears to attract the right-brained, the romantic and the communicative.
Being a professional graphic designer, I have many talented colleagues who can create avian magic with their Adobe Creative Suites and imaginations. Many more friends and acquaintances are superb aviation artists in every genre—airbrush, acrylics, water colours, oils and photography. Of these, one stands out beyond the rest for his combination of skill, talent, work ethic, high standards, imagination, passion for detail and accuracy. His name is Jeff Krete.
Krete has the ability to draw the breath right out of me when viewing his exquisite wood carvings of waterfowl and wildlife. His work gives us an impassioned look at nature’s spectacular detail and captures, in basswood and paint, a millisecond in time, a fleeting moment we would otherwise never see. Each sculpture has the effect of stopping you dead in your tracks, compelling you to look and to feel as though you are seeing for the first time. Unlike a photograph or a painting, we can walk around this captured piece of time and nature, providing the visceral feeling that we are witnessing time stood still.
Carving in the Avian World
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Hand-Carving History
A wildlife biologist, hunter, artist, and ex-member of Canada’s Armed Forces, Krete has recently applied his considerable talents with bird carving to the other realm of flight—the world of man-made aircraft. He recently began a ten-year project to sculpt, and then cast copies in bronze of some of the most storied fighter aircraft of all time. The work combines the soft hands-on feel of his basswood works with the time honoured traditions of a Japanese bronze foundry to express the same moment in time voyeurism of his natural pieces. The result is a monument you can hold in your hands—a monument to history, design and courage and a timeless piece worthy of private collections and passionate aviators around the globe.
The following photographs depict the complex process, the eons-old artistry of Japanese craftsmen and the end result of hundreds of hours of planning and execution. In a world of instant response, digital everything, online shopping carts, and mass-produced Chinese knockoffs, it is inspiring to witness an artist expend years of his life to capture a millisecond of time.
Avian Fusion
For century upon century, Man has looked to the sky with envy, as birds wheeled in joyous freedom, flashing with lightning speed, hovering without effort. Out of this envy rose one of mankind’s greatest obsessions—to fly above the earth and travel effortlessly to far-off places. From the outset, birds were given godlike status in mythologies and cultures from ancient Egypt to the great aboriginal civilizations of the Northwest Coast of Canada. Man understood that the only way to become godlike and fly like a bird was to emulate avian wings. Trial after trial resulted in error after error. Man’s earliest attempts with lightweight wood frames and real feathers proved not only disastrous, but that man had no clue how wings actually worked.
By the time the 19th century rolled over, people like George Calley and Otto Lilienthal had established the fundamentals of aerodynamics and had conducted the first successful gliding experiments with flight. Meanwhile, birds kept joyously flying all over the planet. It took another few decades before man had mastered three-axis control of flight and found a way to get an aircraft into the air without jumping from a cliff. Man finally was flying like a bird, though not so elegantly.
Birds begat the world of airplanes, but since the first flights of the Wrights and other innovators around the world, the only time avian flyers and human flyers got together was in the form of bird strikes. Birds, the source of inspiration that fired imaginations, fuelled a centuries-long quest, and spawned an industry, deserve so much better.
Artist Jeff Krete followed two similar and parallel lines of artistic endeavour for years—one avian, one aeronautical—when suddenly those two lines veered sharply toward each other. A year ago, Krete’s imagination took hold of an idea to express both of his loves in one breathtaking piece blending the natural beauty of bird flight with the mechanical representation of manned flight. The result would shatter the conventions of traditional bird carving, yet win him another World Championship.
To represent the inspiring beauty of flight, Krete chose to base his piece around the exotically formed wings of a female great frigatebird, one of the astounding ocean flyers of the Pacific. The frigatebird is an extremely large bird with a length of up to 41 inches (105cm) and a stunning wingspan of up to 90 inches (7.5 feet or 230 cm). Yet the largest would weigh less than 3.5 pounds (1.5 kilos). The frigatebirds have the highest ratio of wing area to body mass and the lowest wing loading of any bird on the planet. Its huge sculpted wing combined with its light weight provides the frigatebird with exceptional flying abilities. They appear as massive black kites, seeming to hover on thermals, almost motionless.
The frigatebird’s astounding evolution into a transcendent flyer could not be counterbalanced in Krete’s design with the heavy wings of an ungainly aircraft. For the frigatebird to morph into man flight, Krete chose the frigatebird of German glider design of the 1930s—Alexander Lippisch’s infamous Fafnir sailplane. The Fafnir, like the frigatebird, has extremely light wing loading—a 62-foot wingspan and an empty weight of just under 500 lbs.
The resulting blend of frigatebird and Fafnir is an astonishing piece of artwork and creativity which energizes all who look upon it and exudes both avian and aero spirituality.
I just this day shared the images of Krete’s Fafnir-Frigatebird wing with professional test pilot Rob Erdos. Erdos has flown close to 150 types of aircraft from the Messerschmitt Bf-109 to the C-17 Globemaster III. One look at that wing imagined by Krete and he said, “In the right conditions and balance... that appears to be a flyable wing.”
The following photographs depict the agonizing hours of research, planning and work that went into Krete’s “Anatomy of Flight”—a tour de force piece by a man who has been in love with flight all his life. I can relate to that.
Dave O’Malley