Parrots are the stars — and no Monty Python

It did seem a little odd to find myself on a train on its way to Birmingham in search of parrots. Yes, parrots, those squawky, gaudy exotic birds beloved by collectors and artists alike for their flamboyancy, intelligence and talent for mimicry.

But so it was: my destination, the Barber Institute of Fine Arts at the University of Birmingham; my goal to find out about the parrot in art.

And was I glad I'd gone - for two reasons: one, the subject matter, the other the gallery itself. Not only did I learn a lot from this unique exhibition but also, thanks to the parrot, I became acquainted with a gem of a gallery, the Barber, justly cited as one of the finest small galleries in Europe.

The Parrot in Art: from Dürer to Elizabeth Butterworth, to give the exhibition its full title, traces humankind's special relationship with these birds and explores their place in the history of art.

An unusual subject, it somewhat indulgently perhaps but charmingly combines the twin passions of its curator, Prof Richard Verdi. A distinguished art historian and long-term, soon to retire director of the Barber, awarded the OBE in this year's New Year Honours list, Prof Verdi is a self-confessed lifelong "parrot freak".

"Other animals have featured in art exhibitions and books," this 40-year-long owner of two cockatoos says. "There have been shows on the dog in art and even a book on the rhinoceros in art, but this is the first devoted to the parrot."

Verdi explains that the parrot's many roles in history were the inspiration for the exhibition.

"No bird has been more often portrayed in human company - and no bird played such multifarious roles," he said.

The parrot has assumed more guises than any other bird in art. From eyewitnesses to the Fall of Man, respectful companions to the Virgin and Child, surrogate partners' or lovers' to beautiful women, exotic trophies and pets, to sly impersonators of human behaviour, these themes are all developed in the finely illustrated catalogue.

There are some big names among the artists in the exhibition. They include Dürer - his celebrated engraving of 1504, The Fall of Man - Jordaens, Jan Steen, Tiepolo, Reynolds, Goya, Landseer, a meticulous and anthropomorphic painting of Queen Victoria's macaw on top of the pecking order of royal household pets, on loan from Balmoral, William Nicholson and Joseph Southall among others. Finishing with a bang up-to-date parrot sketch - no, not Monty Python's but Quentin Blake's - and neither a Norwegian blue nor dead, but a full-of-life confection of cockatoos on a Christmas card by the children's author and illustrator.

The earliest is a mid-15th century anonymous German woodcut of The Infant Christ with a Bird (a long-tailed parakeet, says Verdi), made as a New Year's greeting to bring hope and good fortune to the year ahead. Here Verdi argues, the parrot is a symbol of prophecy, one of several meanings behind the parrot in art.

Although playing an incidental or decorative role in much art including medieval bestiaries, by the later Middle Ages parrots were part of religious iconography. Moreover, by some convoluted path the parrot has worked its way to become a symbol of the Virgin birth and often accompanies the Virgin and Child (such as the delicate Schongauer c1475 engraving on show). It is in fact one of only two birds ever appearing with the Virgin; the other is the goldfinch.

The Virgin with parrot' theme holds well into the 17th century, then transmutes into the more generic Woman with a parrot', the commonest subject of all for parrots in works of art. In sensual paintings of the 19th century parrots suggest surrogate lovers or companions, a diversion for solitary, often nude, women.

One example is the magnificent Tiepolo on loan from the Ashmolean: A Young Woman with a Macaw (c1760). Combining the exotic with the erotic, the young coiffured woman with bared breast abstractedly fondles the Scarlet Macaw on her arm. Meanwhile, the bird gazes at the viewer with a knowing eye.

Next up, the Parrot as pet'. First brought to Europe as an exotic trophy by Alexander the Great and kept as pets since the Middle Ages, it was not until Renaissance times that paintings depict parrots as household pets. At least for the aristocracy where they act as status symbols of wealth and international influence. A 16th-century English nobleman's family portrait shows a Blue-fronted Amazon walking freely on the dining table in front of his seven children. By the 17th century, if Dutch art is anything to go by, they have descended the social scale and are owned by the bourgeoisie.

Parrots as People' appear in Goya's bravura 1799 etching, Que Pico de Oro! (What a golden beak!'), where the parrot is lecturing on a sham medical subject (so say Goya's notes) while the human audience look on open-mouthed, or dumb, and Henry Stacy Marks' A Select Committee (1891). Inspired by visits to London Zoo's parrot house, it shows a Hyacinth's Macaw lording over various cockatoos and macaws that nod off, interject and so on, neatly summing up human social behaviour.

Finally, for the sake of completeness, included are some natural history illustrations. Without them, the exhibition would be lacking.

Take for example, the Blue and Yellow Macaw by Edward Lear, in Verdi's view "the greatest parrot illustrator of all time"; Rainbow Lorikeets (1811) by Ferdinand Bauer, the illustrator who accompanied Matthew Flinders' exploration of the Australian coastline; and several beautiful works by Elizabeth Butterworth whom Verdi considers the greatest living parrot illustrator and a worthy successor to Lear.

This exhibition is a delight. It runs until April 29 and is not that far away - less than ten minutes on a train from Birmingham New Street station plus a walk through the university campus. You don't have to be a parrot lover to enjoy it. I'm not and I certainly did.