Color Me Cobalt

About the Artist

Hi there! I’m Saraiya (Rae for short), a nature and wildlife artist working across multiple mediums. I’m less interested in strict representation than in capturing emotion and energy, although observational drawing grounds much of what I create. Whether in art or in writing, I work at intersections—especially where art, language, and ecology meet. I’m an enthusiastic, boundless creative, ever craving to be nearer the wild, perhaps even to be a bit wilder myself.

I began birding at thirteen after receiving a field guide for my birthday. I spent a summer identifying birds around my neighborhood in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and hand-feeding peanuts to scrub-jays, which set in motion my love for the spunky and intelligent family of corvids. An eighth-grade science teacher invited me to participate in Cornell’s Project FeederWatch, a citizen-science program. I spent lunch and after-school periods counting birds at feeders. Shortly thereafter, at the recommendation of that same teacher, I entered the American Birding Association’s Young Birder of the Year program, placing first in my age category in 2006 after several years of participation. I attended multiple ABA conferences for young birders, each one expanding and fueling my love for birdlife. I’m incredibly grateful to have had that unparalleled education and exposure to wildlife in my formative years. Every time I take my daughter outdoors, I think about opening the portal to that type of nature wonder for her.

I am a graduate of Colorado College and hold an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona in Tucson, where I lived for nine years and worked as an arts educator through multiple community nonprofit programs. I returned to my hometown of Colorado Springs a few years after the birth of my daughter and took up teaching at the Bemis School of Fine Art while continuing to grow the art business I began in Tucson (Raebird Creations). I’ve been a teaching artist for over a decade. As with birding, I believe art should be accessible to all and enriched by diverse styles and approaches.

As a birder, I prefer to go slow—birding by ear, sketching in the field, and sometimes leaving my binoculars behind. I know,gasp, birder sacrilege. Without them, I notice more. My four-year-old is also frequently beside me, and we can spend hours in one place watching Blue Jays and fox squirrels. It’s an exercise in attention and presence.

About the Story

Artist Saraiya Kanning created this watercolor splash of the cover before she started the line drawing.

My curiosity for Pinyon Jays piqued in Mar. 2025 after reading the 2025 U.S. State of the Birdsreport produced by the North American Bird Conservation Initiative. The report identifies 112 “Tipping Point” species, birds that have lost 50% or more of their population in the past 50 years, among them the Pinyon Jay. Surprised by the report and determined to take some small action, I created a month-long Instagram challenge for artists to illustrate one tipping point bird a week in April and share some tidbit about the bird in their caption. After creating a richly blue watercolor brush pen portrait of a Pinyon Jay and learning about their uniquely collaborative behaviors, I felt compelled to learn more about the nuances behind their decline and pitched a story to Birding.

In the process of writing the piece for Birding, I further learned that Pinyon Jays have declined an estimated 83.5% since 1967. That statistic stuns me even now. Pinyon Jays can still be found in piñon–juniper woodlands if you spend enough time in the right habitat. Their presence feels deceptively secure, something biologist Scott Gibson, interviewed for my feature article in this issue, pointed out to me. We tend to imagine that species in steep decline are rare to the point of invisibility, yet many are still living near us, their losses unfolding quietly.

I sincerely think if more people, including those who don’t already identify as birders, knew about the species listed in the State of the Birds report, if they had opportunities to witness them in the field and dive into the world of another species, they would find treasure they wish to protect. Urban life and technology often steal away from us these treasures. I think of environmental amnesia, the phenomena where each generation accepts the current degraded state of their environment as the baseline, having known little of what came before. In this regard, I found the comments of biologist Amy Seglund, also interviewed for my article, particularly intriguing concerning the theory that Pinyon Jay flocks were once much larger. Flock sizes of which I would have no generational memory. I want to know that kind of history, even if it will never be part of my lived experience. I want to know where we were and where we are heading as a planet, and I want to share those findings with you, the reader. Maybe the course can be altered.

The five scientists interviewed for this article take center stage as individuals who are passionate about their work. They aren’t just sharing data, they are also sharing their love for the Pinyon Jay and for piñon–juniper woodlands. They experience a closeness to Pinyon Jays while out in the field that many of us will never have, and their quotes and stories are a window into that world. Each person I interviewed shared such compelling information. They were all exceedingly generous with their time, the surest proof that they care about this species and want others to know about this bird.

I was particularly interested in asking each interviewee about where they see hope when it comes to Pinyon Jay decline. As someone who frequently feels despair over the state of the environment, I wanted to know how these scientists navigated their work and if they saw light through the shadows.

About the Art

This silk painting in the serti method stylistically captures the complex patterning of a Great Horned Owl. Serti, a French-derived word meaning “fenced,” involves using resist to form barriers to otherwise free-flowing dye. Check out Kanning’s Instagram reels to watch a series of videos showing the process from start to finish (instagram.com/raebirdcreationsart/reels).

Seven of the art pieces featured in this article, including the cover, are single-line contour drawings, meaning they are drawn, with a few exceptions, with one connected line. The process is fluid and expressive. For contrast and depth, I added hatching, a type of ink texture used for shading. Each single-line contour drawing starts out as a watercolor splash of blues, greens, ochres, and browns to capture the colors of Pinyon Jays and their companion plant, piñon trees.

Pinyon Jays have a deep ecological relationship with piñon pines that reaches far back into the recesses of time and evolution, which fascinates me. While Pinyon Jays are a stunning blue, utterly enchanting and charming, I have a special love for the piñon pine itself. The tree is unique: a short-stature pine with puzzle-plated bark, needles blue-green and resin-sweet. The smell of piñon trees is familiar to me, like an old and trusted friend whose sensory presence is imprinted across my childhood and youth. Writing and illustrating this story felt like it was just as much about piñon trees as it was jays. I even struck out in the foothills near my home in Colorado Springs seeking out piñon cones to sketch, sampling the aromatic sap on my tongue along the way.

The art appearing on pp. 26–27 and leading off the first feature article in this issue is a watercolor created through layers of wet-on-dry paint as well as lifting, a process where some watercolor paint can be removed to bring back soft highlights. The first version of this painting was dramatically different, created with dye on silk and using resist, a type of dye barrier. Silk painting is a sister medium to batik, textile art that originated in Java. Compared to watercolor, this method of silk painting, also known as serti (from French, for “closed” or “fenced”), results in a flatter style with a superficial resemblance to stained glass. I often take compositions and subject matter and transfer them across multiple mediums in this way, experimenting with the strengths of each medium until I find what I’m looking for. It’s a form of play for me.

The silk painted version came out wildly vibrant—just the way I like it. In the end, though, I chose the watercolor over the silk painting due to better contrast. It was also harder to get the exact range of Pinyon Jay blues with the silk dyes, a species-specific problem I wasn’t able to troubleshoot before the deadline. Phthalo Blue is the primary color used in the large full-page watercolor, with some Prussian Blue and French Ultramarine. 

Upcoming Opportunities to Make Art with Saraiya!

In this self-portrait from a few years ago, Kanning begins an artwork.

Draw a Pinyon Jay
a webinar hosted by the American Birding Association

Draw a Pinyon Jay using single-line contour and hatch marks in this free guided art session with Saraiya Kanning. No prior artistic experience is necessary, just a love for Pinyon Jays—or anything wild. Supplies are simple. You’ll need: drawing or multi-media paper (even computer paper works), an ink pen of your choice (I’ll be using Micron black ink pens, but feel free to use what you have around the house), and access to a computer.

When: Sat., Apr. 11, 2026 • 1pm–2:30pm MDT.
To register, email Saraiya
(RaebirdCreationsArt@gmail.com).

Sketchbook Explorations and Play!

Kindle your creativity, try new styles, and experiment with line and color while drawing and painting a variety of subjects. Our medium will be graphite pencil and watercolor.

When: Mon., Apr. 13; Mon., Apr. 20; Mon., Apr. 27; and Mon., May 4, 2026 • 1pm–2:30pm MDT.
Where: on Zoom. You don’t need to make an account; contact Saraiya (RaebirdCreationsArt@gmail.com), and she will send you the link.
Cost: $120 for all four sessions.

Connect with Saraiya

Instagram: @raebirdcreationsart

website: RaebirdCreations.com

Purchase prints and postcards of Saraiya’s

Pinyon Jay art: etsy.com/shop/RaebirdCreationsArt