Same Name, Different Bird: How the Kotare Compares to the British Kingfisher

One of the questions I get asked quite a lot is whether the kotare is the same kingfisher people remember from home.

The short answer is no.

Having lived in both the UK and New Zealand, I've been lucky enough to spend time around both of these beautiful birds. They share the same name, but they each have their own personality.

The British kingfisher is tiny, bright and fast. If you've ever seen one flash along a river, you'll know it almost doesn't feel real. One second there's nothing, then suddenly there's this streak of electric blue and orange, and before your brain has caught up, it's gone.

The kotare is different.

It sits.

And waits.

You'll often spot one on a fence post, branch or power line, looking completely calm, like it has all the time in the world. Then, without any fuss, it drops down and takes whatever it's been watching.

That stillness is what made me want to paint it.

Why I wanted to paint the kotare

Most of my paintings start with a moment.

With the kotare, it was that flash of blue-green, the warm ochre chest, and the way it can sit so still before suddenly moving. There's something about that quiet focus I find really beautiful.

I think that's why birds keep pulling me back in. They're small, but they can completely stop you in your tracks.

My Kotare Sacred Kingfisher print is based on that feeling. Each print is signed, numbered and hand-embellished with a subtle silver shimmer, so it catches the light a little differently depending on where you stand.

It's a limited edition of 100 per size, and once it sells out, that's it. 

Is the kotare the same bird as the British kingfisher?

No. They're both kingfishers, but they're very different birds.

The British kingfisher is the one many people picture first: small, bright blue and orange, usually seen near rivers, streams and canals. It's a proper little dart of colour, built for diving into water after fish.

The kotare, or sacred kingfisher, is a bit chunkier and more relaxed in its hunting style. You'll see it around coastlines, farmland, wetlands, riverbanks and even perched along roadsides. It doesn't only eat fish either. It'll happily take insects, skinks, spiders and other small prey.

So although they share a name, they don't behave in quite the same way.

The British kingfisher is like a tiny blue torpedo.

The kotare is more like a watchful little sentry.

Why the kotare feels so special

In Maori tradition, the kotare is often associated with patience, watchfulness and calm.

And you can see why.

It has that still, focused presence. It doesn't flap around making a drama of itself. It waits, watches, then acts.

That's the part I keep coming back to in my own work. I'm not just trying to paint what a bird looks like. I'm trying to capture the feeling of seeing it. That tiny pause in the day where everything else quietens down for a second.

A kotare on a wire.

A ruru calling after dark.

A fantail flicking through the bush.

They're small moments, but they're the ones that stay with you.

What about the British kingfisher?

The British kingfisher has its own kind of magic.

For me, it's tied up with rivers, cold light, and that flash of blue you almost think you've imagined. There is something very special about seeing one because it happens so quickly. You don't usually get a long look. You get a glimpse.

And sometimes a glimpse is enough.

There's also the old phrase "halcyon days", which is linked to the kingfisher through Greek myth and has come to mean calm, peaceful days. I love that both birds, in completely different parts of the world, have ended up connected with stillness and calm in their own way.

Maybe that's why we notice them so much.

They remind us to stop.

Even if only for a second.

Why do I paint so many native birds?

Because they make you slow down.

That's the simple answer.

A bird doesn't pose for you. It doesn't care whether you've got your camera ready or your cup of tea halfway to your mouth. It appears, gives you one perfect little moment, and then disappears again.

Painting is my way of holding onto that moment a bit longer.