Every collection needs a town crier.
For Wesleyville, that honor belongs to Jasper Wallace.
“As the snow melted away, Jasper Wallace hopped onto the branch outside Glasgow Apple Cider House’s window. He had eagerly waited for this moment, the first step out for spring. There was only one way to welcome a new spring. He perked up his chest and chirped out a sweet melody. He noticed the youngest son stopping on his way out to the bus stop and smiled at Jasper. He knew that he was the first robin of the season.”
Jasper Wallace
If you’re familiar with birds, you might notice something a little unusual about him. Jasper isn’t painted after the American robin that visits our lawns every spring in Western New York. Instead, he’s modeled after the charming little English robin, with its bright orange breast and curious personality.
I know full well we don’t have English robins here.
But Wesleyville isn’t bound by field guides.
It’s a place where old apple cider houses still stand, neighbors know one another by name, and every painting tells the story of someone who might have lived just down the road. In a world like that, I think an English robin is perfectly welcome.
Truthfully, I’ve always preferred them.
There’s something about their round shape, fearless curiosity, and warm coloring that feels almost storybook-like. They seem less like wild birds and more like tiny companions who have wandered into the garden to see what you’re doing. They have inspired artists, poets, and gardeners for generations, and I’ve admired them from afar for years.
So when it came time to paint the bird who would announce the arrival of spring, I didn’t reach for strict realism. I reached for the bird that best matched the feeling I wanted to capture.
Those quiet moments are the heart of the Wesleyville Collection. They aren’t dramatic events or grand adventures. They’re the ordinary moments we remember for decades—a familiar song drifting through an open window, muddy boots after the thaw, the first blossom, the first robin, the first deep breath of warmer air.
Whether Jasper belongs to England, New York, or only to Wesleyville doesn’t really matter.
He belongs wherever someone smiles at the promise of a new season.
Perhaps that’s the real purpose of art—not always to recreate the world exactly as it is, but sometimes to paint the world exactly as it feels.
And in my world, Jasper Wallace will always be the first robin of spring.
