
A $15,000 singing bird is an unusually expensive way to start a conversation. Add Kelly Clarkson, a Brooklyn curiosity shop and two competing accounts of a shopping trip, and the conversation gets considerably louder.
Clarkson says she felt judged while visiting Art of Play. According to News 12’s reporting, she said an employee suggested something more affordable after she asked about a $15,000 item. She compared the experience to the famous shopping scene in Pretty Woman.
The shop disputes her version. It says the bird she asked about, Molly, is permanently mounted on the wall and is not for sale. Its explanation is that a nearly identical bird owned by Seattle artist Bliss Kolb was available for $15,000.
Clarkson challenged that account, maintaining that she had been told the bird was for sale before being offered something comparable. The shop subsequently described the exchange as a misunderstanding and said it had contacted her directly.
Both sides have therefore made public claims about the same encounter. The available reporting does not settle their disagreement. It is possible to enjoy the sheer oddness of an expensive mechanical bird becoming the centre of a celebrity dispute while keeping those claims attributed.
The object itself deserves a moment. On his official design page, Kolb describes the Singing Bird on Wall as a wall-mounted creation with seven movements. A wooden gear system, cams, levers and cables work together to move the bird.

Its song comes from leather bellows pushing air through a brass whistle. A plunger changes the pitch. The design pairs painted wooden bird parts with metal hardware, making the apparently simple act of singing the result of a surprisingly elaborate mechanism.

Kolb’s page documents the design and its workings; it does not identify the photographed specimen as Molly. The illustrated bird accompanying this article is a playful interpretation of the story.
For the fuller exchange, read News 12’s coverage alongside the artist’s description. Then send this to the friend whose idea of window-shopping is always wonderfully specific.


