The art of Robert Bateman and the Order of the California Condor.

Youth – those years when the search is everything, when you devour the world in great bites, never enough to satisfy your hunger for adventure. After traveling 1,500 kilometers through a peninsula as beautiful as it is arid, as contrasting as sea and land, your mind still refuses to be sated.

In a brief urban pause to resupply, in a small apartment of a college I open a nature magazine, and my eyes opened wide at the sight of a canvas, a painting of a monumental elm —a living sculpture. And there, drawn in its solid silhouette against a pale sky, a hawk perched high on one of its tallest branches. Tiny, pushed by the artist into a corner, the upper left edge. What audacity! It startled me deeply.

The composition does not seek to glorify the raptor. Its deliberate restraint, almost brutal in its refusal, confronts us with an overwhelming reality: it communicates, it transports you to that prairie, to the commanding presence of the bird of prey and its living environment. The author: a Canadian painter named Robert Bateman. I was in my twenties.

I now have five of his books, filled with hidden moments and paintings of wildlife —stolen fragments of life he shared with the natural world. I never grow tired of looking at them, again and again; they always speak to me in new languages. Each time, I discover something different. Perhaps that is one definition of true art: when such revelations continue to happen.

In the early 1990s, the organization I founded, Unidos para la Conservación (UPC), launched a campaign to raise awareness about an ancient cloud forest in southern Mexico —El Triunfo— home to the mythical Resplendent Quetzal. This bird, sacred to the Maya culture, now faces serious threats from habitat fragmentation and climate change. At the time, there were some good photographs of the species, but UPC began commissioning wildlife artists to create artworks of flagship species we were working to protect. We reached out to Robert Bateman’s agency, Mill Pond Press, to ask if he might be interested in painting such an extraordinary bird.

Robert not only agreed, he generously donated the painting and 500 signed, numbered prints. The funds raised supported our campaign, which also included the release of a postage stamp using his paiting in collaboration with the Mexican Postal Service. The resources were, of course, invaluable —but even more powerful was the level of commitment shown by an artist like him. His example inspired both us and Mexican society at large to reach a higher level of engagement. We are all in this together; we are brothers and sisters in the battle against extinction.

Robert and I first met at a photographers’ congress where he had been invited as a speaker. Over the years, we worked together on other initiatives, and Robert was always so gracious in supporting us. I remember when I was producing a book on birds for Birdlife International, Birds and People: Bonds in a Timeless Journey. I asked him to write the foreword and to include one of his paintings.

We crossed paths without actually meeting. I was leading a RAVE expedition (Rapid Assessment Visual Expedition) to the El Triunfo Cloud Forest Biosphere Reserve with a group of international nature photographers. One evening, while checking the visitors’ logbook of this unique biodiversity Hotspot, I noticed a small sketch of the endemic and rare Horned Guan in the lower corner of a page. Reading the note beside it, I immediately recognized Robert’s and Brigit´s, Robert´s wife names—he and she had been there just a week earlier in a birdwatching trip. We missed each other by this stroke of unlucky serendipity.

On a much sadder occasion, when I launched a series of actions to honor the world’s smallest cetacean —the Vaquita Porpoise— whose population at that time had dropped to just 30 individuals, Robert once again offered his generosity. He painted the endangered marine mammal and signed 100 prints to support the cause.

So when I created the Order of the California Condor in spring of 2025, to honor those who have dedicated their lives to the protection of wild nature, I thought immediately of him —a man whose powerful artwork has inspired me deeply, a man who has traveled the world giving lectures and capturing the true wild spirit of this planet, a man that has supported endless organization and receive numerus recognitions and awards, a man that is 95 years old, Robert continues his work, painting every day.

Just a week ago, on September 9, my friend and colleague Vance Martin, himself a recipient of the Order of the California Condor, and I flew from our different homes, a different country, to Salt Spring Island, off the coast of British Columbia, Canada. It is the home of Robert Bateman and his wonderful wife, Brigit Freybe Bateman. We went to honor him and to invite him to become one of the founding members of the Order of the California Condor.

He lives in a beautiful forest beside a small lake. He was already waiting for us, standing outside his home as we arrived. The ceremony was intimate; only Brigit and his staff were present as I handed him the bronze condor sculpture that every member of the Order receives. There, we confirmed that Robert had painted a pair of these unique birds —a fascinating work, with two condors flying in different directions, yet both locked in the same thermal, true masters of the air.

The next day, I returned to interview him about his art. As we talked, a Pileated Woodpecker landed on a tree just outside his studio and lingered for a moment—the very bird he was painting on a canvas only a few meters from that window. It was a sighting I had been waiting for years to add to my bird list. I think of the bird’s appearance as a silent witness to the bond between peers, between creators.

Now, as I sit back at my own home, I treasure those moments all the more —the privilege of brotherhood with a warrior, and the honor of celebrating a master painter.

Patricio Robles Gil