Aviary for a new millennium #6

Some lucky, perceptive teenage boy bought this for $75 - a happy kid, a smart kid. Probably not the envy of his class: there were certainly more gimmicky birdhouses that were bid on: easy to open concepts with all the depth of a penny newspaper history of the United States, but my birdhouse was the only one created in the spirit of Pete Voulkos, the abstract-expressionist potter who lived in Montana. This is a birdhouse that voices the anger of a new generation. This birdhouse is a protest. A protest against conventionality, a protest against birdhouses made more for humans than the birds, a protest against the very bird-housey-ness of bird-housey-issitude acceptable among the sorts of people who clamor for birdhouses in a bird-housey kind of way with just that attitude that cuts against all bird-housey reason. A more contemporary approach would have me put it all in a wood chipper, and all the nails in a grinder, and put the results in a clear sandwich bag: Birdhouse Cole Slaw.
This birdhouse was made with thin plastic - from the wrappings of the fan blade of the fan I purchased to keep my studio ventilated - stretched and folded and ripped apart on the wooden body of the bird house and then tacked with tacks and nailed with nails and toothpicked. And I added some duct-tape. Upon all this I painted layer over layer of paint, shiny acrylic, and touched it all off with a ghostly figure on the back panel. I was going to be more representational in my approach, but as I worked on it I thought, "why would I want to do that?" And so I applied color recklessly along with stretching and folding the plastic in order to distort the shape of the structure.
In the end I wanted a birdhouse that didn't seem like a birdhouse: nor anything else, nothing else even other than its own structure, that existed in itself as itself. I was attempting a birdhouse that was itself itself and not reliant on the label, the convention that occurs to the viewer, the viewer who through training responds out of habit rather than through analysis, with the deduction, "this is a birdhouse." In this sense, that the birdhouse harbored its own unique identification, relying not on the conventions of symbol association and indexing, but existing with an indeterminate scale and size, it was a minimalist statement. In the sense that it contains a surfeit of materials over-elaborated into a convoluted design it is baroque. So my birdhouse is a baroque-minimalist statement of anti-birdhousiness indexed to birdhouse qua birdhousing. What you have is a birdhouse that vacates the notion of birdhouse while engaged in the code of birdhouse an sich. See how these things nest, nestle and nest again?
But when I look at the pictures above I'm afraid that my birdhouse still adheres too close to conventions: three holes, peaked roofs, a box with a perch. I was hoping to make it look more like a tree or a cloud. A birdhousing should be a fuselage, an enhancement to flight, rather than an evasion of flight.