Of Birds and Butterflies | Mixed Media Project

Franco sat high in the oak tree, his green net resting against the rough bark. He felt no discomfort. Below, the bright afternoon sun beat down on the manicured turf of the neighborhood park. There, his father stood with a bucket of baseballs, calling out with a thunderous, but hopeful voice. "Franco! Come on down, buddy! Time to practice your swing!"

Franco didn't move. He pressed himself closer to the leaves, holding his breath.

Inches from his nose, a red admiral butterfly uncoiled its tongue to sip succulent sap from a scar in the wood. Its wings opened wide, showing bands of dark velvet and fiery orange. To him, that sudden flash of color was grander than any home run.

A sharp whistle cut through the summer air reminding him of his whereabouts.

Franco's father, Richard, tossed a ball high into the empty catcher's mitt. The loud thwack echoed against the metal bleachers. It was a good, strong sound that his father loved. Richard's pulse beat to a rhythm of numbers, averages, and cheers under Friday night lights.

Franco looked down at his stained hands and the faint yellow dust of moth wings. He reached into his pocket and touched his small, well-worn field guide.

Next week, he would turn thirteen. The age when, according to his father, boys were supposed to trade their youthful wonder for a heavy aluminum bat.

A shadow shifted in the upper canopy. Franco's gaze shot up as he caught sight of a pair of cedar waxwings. They landed softly, crests perked, passing a single red berry back and forth. He waited. Smiling, the expected ear-full appeared.

Intoxicated by the beauty of it all, Franco picked up his dusty binoculars, let out a soft breath, and decided he would stay all afternoon right there in the branches.

Richard had other plans. Impatient, furious, and embarrassed that he couldn't coax his son down, he gave up. Apologizing profusely to the coach, he pulled his son from the tree.

They drove away, speeding toward home in radio silence.

The smell of fried chicken hung heavy in the kitchen. Without a word, Richard slapped a university sports brochure onto the table. The text on the cover read: Eagles Elite Summer Prospect Camp.

"It’s four thousand dollars just to get you in front of the scouts, Franco," Richard said, his voice flat. "I don't have that kind of money to throw away on a whim. The only way you are going to a four-year college is on an athletic scholarship. You have the raw talent to be a starting pitcher. If you don't take this seriously, you can forget about school entirely."

Franco lowered his head, staring into his lap as though an alternate personality would rise to replace his passion. No one materialized. So, he continued staring blankly at his dinner plate. Anything to avoid his father's face.

He glanced briefly at his mother. She leaned over and cupped her hand over his. "Now is the time, son. Tell him, else you'll regret it the rest of your life."

Franco girded up, his chest heaving slightly as though summoning courage.

"Dad, I don't want to pitch. I can do the athletic drills, and I know I'm fast, but I hate it. It's not my passion. I dream of birds and butterflies. I want to study forestry, or ecology. I want to be out in the field as a scientist, not on a diamond slinging my arm."

Richard stared at Franco with venom in his eyes. He knew this day was coming, and he was ready with his hard-line pitch.

"Passion doesn't pay tuition!" he barked, slamming his hand on the table. "You're turning thirteen. It's time to grow up. Either you get on that mound tomorrow, or you can find a way to fund your own life after high school. No baseball, no college. Period."

Richard paused, waiting to see if his words stirred within Franco. His final pitch cut deep. "Any boy your age would be hankering for a letterman jacket just to attract the girls. Or, maybe you're not into that?"

Franco knew he wasn't supposed to in front of anyone as his father taught, but felt a tear escape. With beseeching eyes, he turned to his mother, Charlotte, who was standing by the sink, wringing a dish towel."

Mom, please," Franco implored, his voice cracking with emotion. "Tell him. You know how much this means to me. I can’t spend the next five years pretending to love something that makes me miserable just to pay for a degree. Help me make him understand."

Charlotte slung the dish towel into the sink. Her nose flared as she stepped between them, eyes flashing with a fierce, quiet rage she'd suppressed for the past five years watching her son's passion flourish while enduring her husband's disdain.

She too was ready. She'd kept quiet during their numerous conversations about what he wanted for Franco; not about what Franco wanted. She started, not hesitantly, but forcefully with words that instantly cut even deeper and silenced her overbearing husband.

"Enough, Richard!," she hissed, her voice cutting through the tension. "You will not hold his future hostage to force your unfulfilled athletic dreams on him. Were it not for my son, I'd have packed up and left long ago."

Richard turned toward her, momentarily forgetting their son was listening. "And if it weren't for your son, I'd have left long ago too. Coddling him like a girl. If it weren't for me trying to teach him to be a man, he'd be running around like a..." His voice trailed off.

The words exchanged between them in that moment exposed the creeping crack.

Franco sat quietly, understanding to a point their meaning. It was him who held the slender thread that bound them.

At that moment, he wanted to acquiesce so that the pain in his chest would subside.

But Franco didn't get a chance to forfeit his dreams of becoming a scientist.

Charlotte moved toward her husband and stood directly in front of him, shielding her son by placing her hands behind her, grasping his fingers in support. She didn't care at this point. Words had been spoken that couldn't be retracted or ignored.

"Richard, I've been waiting for the right time to address this issue. Now is as good as any. Plans are in place for my and Franco's future the day he graduates."

"What do you mean, plans? Both of you can't survive on your own. You're too weak minded."

"Your opinion of me and my son stopped mattering long ago. My parents knew exactly how rigid you'd be. They warned me not to marry you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt hoping they were wrong. But they weren't. Once I realized that, they have been secretly saving for Franco's college fund since the day he was born. He is going to whichever collage of his choice, majoring in whatever degree he chooses, and he isn't playing baseball to do it."

Richard’s face flushed red, his jaw tightening. "Your family? You bypassed me? That's a betrayal, Charlotte. You’re making him soft. A man provides, or a boy earns his way."

"Don't talk to me about providing," Charlotte countered, releasing her hands on Franco and stepping even closer to Richard, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If you push this, I'll call my father tonight. I'll tell the entire family exactly how you threatened to deny your own son an education because he prefers science to sports. We're a close-knit family. I'll let them know how you refused to support him. You can explain your pride to them yourself."

Richard stared at her, the color rapidly draining from his face. The weight of her family's social and financial judgment was a boundary he dared not cross.

He looked at Franco, then back at Charlotte, before rising, nearly toppling the chair, grabbing his truck keys off the counter, and walking out, slamming the front door behind him.

Charlotte heaved a heavy, solemn sigh. She lowered herself into her husband's empty chair. Covering her face with her hands, she released the pent-up tears she'd held back for years.

Franco rose and walked slowly over to her. "I don't fully understand the situation I've placed us in, but thank you. You'll never know how much what you said means to me.

Graduation came and went without any drama from Richard.

Keeping his distance from them both, he created within their walls a house of silent discord. The rift created that evening at the dinner table never healed.

Franco's first semester of college was celebrated by his mother and her family.

Charlotte filed for divorced. Though painful, the split fractured, then released the suffocating pressure that had hung over the household for years.

With his education secretly funded by his maternal grandparents' generosity and supported by his mother's unwavering love and belief, Franco finally found his own path. He was no longer the boy hiding in the branches. He was a married man With a supportive partner who also chose field science as a vocation.

A decade later, he stood in a sunlit coastal wetland, a waterproof tablet in hand, and binoculars slung around his neck. As a licensed wildlife biologist, he spent his days tracking migratory birds and preserving delicate insect habitats. His thoughts of birds and butterflies that afternoon sitting on the branch of a tree near the baseball field embedded the love of nature in his heart.

Thanks to his mother's courage and her selfless actions, he was completely satisfied with his career choice in the field he loved.

Franco and his family of three wouldn't rest until his mother was situated in their home. He would protect her as long as she lived for what she sacrificed for him when he was defenseless.

For my current mixed media project, I wanted to create an outdoor scene of beauty among nature that would appeal to a young boy. I chose the color palette to reflect a more masculine tone.

Below are my steps in which I utilized Canva, my design program, to blend the different type images which began with a blank, white canvas. I then added layers of elements to assist in the blending process.

I list below the images included in my design. Several images are pure fractals I created the advanced fractal rendering program, Apophysis 7X.

^{Female face encased in a leaf ~ Cedar Waxwing ~ Wild Onion Flower- Contributed to the #LIL by @borjan ~ Two butterflies - Contributed to the #LIL by @edgarafernandezp ~ Wolly Thistle Flower - Contributed to the #LIL by @borjan ~ Pure Fractal titled "Veil2" ~ Pure Fractal titled "Leaves of Joy" ~ Pure Fractal titled "Butterfly Spiked" ~ Pure Fractal titled "Mermaids" ~ Pure Fractal titled "Turbine"}