The Goldcrest That Inspired a Stamp
In the autumn of 2012, I spent a few quiet days in the village of Gees, in the Netherlands, where my work was on display at a sculpture garden and gallery. My family was staying in a small holiday home tucked into the woods, surrounded by warm-colored trees and the hush of falling leaves.
One morning, we heard a dull thud against the window. Expecting to find a pigeon, I stepped outside — but to my surprise, I found one of the tiniest, most delicate birds I had ever seen: a goldcrest, motionless on the ground.
My father, a lifelong bird enthusiast, recognized it immediately. The bird lay quietly, eyes closed, beak half open, gripping a tiny piece of straw. I picked it up gently and held it in my hands, hoping that my warmth would bring it back. We waited.
Then — just for a moment — it opened one eye. It noticed us standing in a small circle around it, then quickly closed its eye again. Playing dead. But we smiled. It was alive. A few minutes later, the goldcrest flew off. A fleeting moment, but one I never forgot.
After that, I began painting the goldcrest in watercolor — delicate brushstrokes, tiny details. It became one of the first birds in my watercolor collection. What I didn’t know at the time was that this encounter would later find its way into the world in a completely unexpected way.
Years later, I was contacted by PostNL to create artwork for a new set of stamps, themed "Garden Birds." I hoped the goldcrest would be included, but there was some hesitation: goldcrests aren’t often seen in urban gardens. I had to admit — I hadn’t seen one again since that morning in 2012.
But as if on cue, just days later, I opened my front door and there it was: a goldcrest fluttering nervously among the hedges in my own garden. It stayed just long enough to remind me that some birds don’t need to be loud to be seen.
That was enough confirmation for me — and for the team at PostNL. The goldcrest became part of the stamp series, quietly taking flight across envelopes and postcards throughout the Netherlands.
Sometimes, it’s the smallest encounters that leave the longest impression.
