I didn’t set out to start a global art project.
There was no five-year plan. No investors. No branding workshop with sticky notes on the wall.
There was just me, a cold Kiwi shed, a grinder, and a bit of steel.
And an idea: “What if I cut a bird silhouette, stuck it on a lamppost, and saw what happened?”
That’s how Metalbird started.
Not as a company. Not as a product line.
As a quiet experiment in mischief and meaning.
The First Bird on the Shed Wall
The first Metalbird wasn’t for sale.
It wasn’t even meant to last.
It was a Blackbird silhouette, jagged at the edges, rough as guts. I cut it out of steel in my shed and hammered it into a post, just to see if people would notice.
They did.
Not because it was flashy, but because it made them look up.
For half a second, they thought it was real. Then they realised it wasn’t. And in that gap... between assumption and realisation... something shifted.
People paused. They smiled. They talked about it.
That was enough for me.
No Master Plan
At the time, I wasn’t thinking about legacy. I wasn’t dreaming of product ranges or international shipping.
I was just playing around with the idea of public art that didn’t ask for permission.
Something you could stumble across on your way to the dairy. Something that belonged to the street, not the gallery.
So I cut more birds. A Robin. A Tūī. A Fantail.
I stuck them on lampposts, fence posts, and trees around Grey Lynn.
The Unexpected Ripple Effect
Then something happened I didn’t expect.
People started asking if they could buy one.
At first, I said no. This was about art, not commerce.
But then a woman emailed me and said:
“My dad just passed away. Can I get one of your birds for his favourite tree?”
That stopped me in my tracks.
It wasn’t about selling steel anymore. It was about helping people mark moments.
Love. Loss. Memory. New beginnings.
All wrapped up in a bird silhouette.
From Backyard to Backyard
One order led to another. And another.
Suddenly I was cutting birds not just for my local park, but for backyards all over New Zealand.
Then Australia. Then the US, Canada, the UK, Europe.
What started in a shed became a global art project that lives in millions of homes and gardens.
Not About Legacy. About Luck.
People sometimes say, “Phil, did you ever imagine it would get this big?”
Short answer: No bloody way.
It wasn’t about building a legacy. It was about following a hunch.
Seeing what happened when you mixed steel, art, and heart.
Turns out, when you do that honestly, people respond.
Why It Took Off
I think it worked because it’s simple.
A bird silhouette isn’t complicated. It’s not trying too hard.
It’s just a shape that holds meaning.
People see their own stories in it:
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A tribute to someone they’ve lost
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A marker of a new home
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A daily reminder to pause and breathe
It’s not about the object. It’s about the moment it creates.
The Beauty of Staying Local
Even though Metalbird is global now, we’ve stayed local where it counts.
We cut our birds close to home:
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NZ and Aussie birds from NZ and Aussie steel
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US birds from American steel
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UK and EU birds from local suppliers
That matters to me.
It means each bird has roots in the place it flies to, not just a barcode and a shipping label.
The Joy of Rust
All our birds are made from Corten steel.
Why? Because it rusts.
Not the flaky, fall-apart kind of rust... the good kind. The kind that weathers with time. That softens into the landscape.
That’s part of the magic.
When you hammer a Metalbird into the ground, it changes with the seasons.
It becomes part of the garden, not just a thing in it.
Still the Same Shed Guy
People sometimes ask if Metalbird feels different now that it’s big.
And sure, we’ve got more designs. More countries. More orders.
But at the core? It’s still just me and a team of good people trying to make honest art that people connect with.
No big ego. No corporate gloss. Just birds. Steel. Stories.
Why This Matters
We live in a fast world. Things break. Trends move on. Life gets noisy.
A Metalbird is the opposite of that.
It’s a small act of stillness in your garden.
A reminder that some things don’t need to change.
Some things can just stay, rust, and quietly hold space for your memories.
From My Shed to Your Backyard
When I look at the global flock now, it still feels surreal.
Millions of birds in millions of places.
Each one hammered in by hand.
Each one part of someone’s life story.
That’s not legacy. That’s luck, love, and a bit of Kiwi stubbornness.
Want to Be Part of It?
If you’ve been thinking about adding your own Metalbird, you’re not just buying a bird... you’re joining the next chapter of this accidental art project.
Find your bird here.
From my shed to your backyard. Let’s keep it going.
Suggested Image:
A photo of Phil in the original shed, grinder in hand, with old bird prototypes on the wall. Cut to a backyard somewhere in the world with a rusted Metalbird catching the morning light. Two sides of the same story.