Pheasants, 1961
At the center of the composition, two pheasants move among twisted branches and dense vegetation, in an environment that seems to come alive before our eyes. The male, with his brilliant plumage, stands proudly in the foreground—reds, yellows, golds—almost more mythological creature than common bird. Behind him, the female moves discreetly through the foliage, suggesting a silent dialogue, a natural balance between strength and grace.
What is most striking, however, is the surrounding world. The trees, bare and knotted, seem to tremble with inner agitation. The stylized yet pulsating leaves describe a wild environment charged with tension. The deep, unreal blue of the sky heightens the contrast with the cracked earth and irregular textures of the undergrowth, reminding us once again that for Ligabue, nature is never placid, but dramatic and vital.
Every detail carries the weight of an autobiographical fragment. Intertwined branches, exposed roots, lush yet chaotic vegetation all speak of the artist’s inner complexity, of his visceral relationship with the animal world and with nature—experienced as both refuge and mirror of his restless soul.
Pheasants is not merely an exercise in observation: it is a total immersion in a mental landscape, where instinct reigns supreme and art becomes a tool for taming inner chaos. As in many of Ligabue’s works, nature overwhelms civilization, asserting itself with almost visionary force. And we, as viewers, find ourselves before a corner of the world that feels like a fevered dream: wild, powerful, profoundly human.