What's a guy to do after he's been declared a living legend? Ideally, keep on living and legending. That's what Floyd Scholz has been up to since, in 2014, the Ward Museum of Wildfowl Art in Maryland awarded him that status. Scholz, 66, is known and venerated around the globe for his exquisitely lifelike carved and painted birds. And don't think for a second that he plans to slow down anytime soon.
"I just love bird carving," Scholz declared. "If I had Bill Gates' checkbook, I would still come down here every day and carve birds."
By "here," Scholz means his home studio in Hancock. It's a human aerie. He and his wife, Beatriz, own 270 acres atop a steep slope with a glorious Green Mountain view. A V-shaped slice of Rochester is visible just a few miles to the south. During a recent visit, Scholz pointed out the 26 bluebird houses he installed around the hillside. A wild turkey he calls Lonely Tom, apparently a committed celibate, ambled solo down the unpaved road. A Yorkie named Raven handled greeting duty with adorable gusto.
One could easily stand around slack-jawed, taking in the panorama. But there's a lot to look at inside the studio, too. Avian body parts in various stages of completion are scattered across a broad worktable. Awards, ribbons, plaques, framed magazine articles, photographs and memorabilia line the walls. A corner nook holds hundreds of Scholz's prized books on birds. Many of them are about raptors — including his own 1993 volume, Birds of Prey. ("It sold half a million copies," Scholz marveled.)
Since the early '80s, Scholz's sculptural focus has been raptors. "There's an aura about them," he explained. "They're very exciting, dynamic birds with sharp beaks and talons and piercing eyes." Aside from his genuine admiration, the artist added, "I had to make a business decision about my craft, too. Was I going to go with chickadees at craft fairs, or people who could write big checks?"
Those in lofty positions tend to go for "eagles, falcons, peregrines — birds that project power," Scholz said. The swath of collectors in that category is broad and, according to Scholz, ever growing. The price tag for one of his life-size eagles with outstretched wings, he said, is "north of $100,000." After all, such a sculpture can take him a year or more to complete.
And what astonishing achievements they are, carved from tupelo wood he sources "from a bayou in Louisiana," burnished and painted with impossibly fine brushes. An eagle and a red-tailed hawk perched in Scholz's studio are so realistically detailed, it would hardly be surprising if they suddenly took flight. Although it might be terrifying. Again: beaks, talons, piercing eyes.
But Scholz's birds aren't going anywhere, except into the homes of grateful collectors. Some of them are celebrities, and not all of them want raptors. Elizabeth Taylor, for example, commissioned a pair of white doves and an African parrot. The late actress and Scholz became good friends. Once, during a visit to Taylor's home, he recounted, she introduced him as "my carver" to fellow guest Shirley MacLaine. "She was hard of hearing and thought my name was Mike Carver," Scholz said with a chuckle.
Actress Glenn Close has found her way to Scholz's mountain home "multiple times," he said. He also befriended collector and musician John Sebastian — best known for his 1960s group, the Lovin' Spoonful. Scholz's website includes photos of actress and conservationist Bo Derek with a pair of blue-footed boobies, and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. with a peregrine falcon. In 2016, Scholz carved a special commission for retiring Red Sox slugger David Ortiz, aka Big Papi. The maple burl sculpture is not a raptor, but represents significant elements of the player's life: a Sox helmet, Madonna figure and, atop a bat, two palmchats — the Dominican Republic's national bird.
When Connecticut-born Scholz inherited carving tools from a beloved uncle at age 10, he could not have predicted they would launch a career, but he was immediately drawn to the bird carvings his uncle had started. "I developed an instant passion," he recalled. "It's all I wanted to do: get home from school and carve.
"Added to that," Scholz continued, "grown-ups wanted to buy them. Guess who had a new bicycle from money I earned."
Carving took a backseat when Scholz was an NCAA decathlon champion at Central Connecticut State University. "I'm six-four, so I could leap like an antelope," he said. He expected to compete in the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow, but the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan provoked U.S. president Jimmy Carter to boycott the games.
Scholz ruefully recalled that disappointment, as well as the simultaneous end of a romance that left him broken-hearted. The new college graduate took off for Vermont, holing up in the cabin of family friends in Granville. It didn't take him long to find a community of fellow musicians — bluegrass is Scholz's other passion.
"What saved me was my carving hobby and picking on my banjo," Scholz said. "You can't be sad when you're picking a banjo. I started going to bluegrass festivals and made a lot of new friends." He's played in Vermont bands over the years and named late banjo master Gordon Stone as a mentor.
In 1983, someone suggested that Scholz enter a bird-carving contest in Long Island. He did, presenting a piece called — wait for it — "Jeezum Crow." It won best of show in the amateur category.
"I still have the big blue ribbon from that show," Scholz said. "The crow sold to the president of Bausch + Lomb. So here comes the money again as an incentive. I started thinking I could do this as a living."
Scholz began going to Burlington to sell his carved birds "to tourists on Church Street." Frog Hollow Vermont Craft Gallery started carrying them. After the parents of a People editor saw his work, he got a feature in that magazine. Scholz's career snowballed from there, taking him around the world to display and sell his works, speak at conferences and other events, write eight books, attract media attention and ever more avian-obsessed customers. Scholz is a teacher, too; in 1996 he founded the Vermont Raptor Academy in Bennington, where he presents six seminars a year.
"Not to be cliché," Scholz joked, "but I carved out a niche."
Why do people like birds so much? The artist has thoughts.
"Americans spend billions a year on bird seed and other products. Birds, more than any other taxonomic category, are loved," Scholz asserted. "They're beautiful, they sing, they fly, they're free. They taste good. They're living, breathing works of art.
"A couple weeks ago we listened to the bluebirds singing," he added. "The return of the birds is also a symbol of rebirth."