tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34135229342424117882024-03-05T01:19:43.453-08:00The Old BurrowA blog about Art, Spirit and Story.
A place of hidden depths, ragged writing and peculiar pictures by artist and illustrator Cathy van Hoppe.
THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-26803182871337415272023-06-05T13:23:00.005-07:002023-06-06T01:08:26.154-07:00Liberation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwjrd9u5ybCCwHDKXWWbxPyRjcyPdc8eVGt8oEJoPbrRVZ-VpTMwpPcE6Su0FL3LZQ4IA0WnYcnYiWAfVwx4m1on8XLna_QhxJlun2Kdn5yLOOI9Fgw2Nuq6ah-xry7O5oS4RRMFhD-34f-Q7OsnP2p08Txilxe0ewIRr-Tc_W2b7ViPdsTvnBHwBy/s4032/DDFFE189-ED5B-4DE9-AE6A-F38615D744F6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwjrd9u5ybCCwHDKXWWbxPyRjcyPdc8eVGt8oEJoPbrRVZ-VpTMwpPcE6Su0FL3LZQ4IA0WnYcnYiWAfVwx4m1on8XLna_QhxJlun2Kdn5yLOOI9Fgw2Nuq6ah-xry7O5oS4RRMFhD-34f-Q7OsnP2p08Txilxe0ewIRr-Tc_W2b7ViPdsTvnBHwBy/w480-h640/DDFFE189-ED5B-4DE9-AE6A-F38615D744F6.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p> When I paint, it is normal for the image to arrive effortlessly in graphite, followed by a long passage of time painting and then as I lay the paint brush down for the final time, words come. But not for this one.</p><p>The words for this picture arrived over two years ago. I made a few attempts at creating a picture for it but none were successful, and in time, I forgot about it and moved on to other things.</p><p>This painting was completed, not too long ago and as usual I waited for the words but this time none came. I knew the feel of it, the freedom, the contentment, the love without reason but nothing else. So I left it and got on with getting ready for ‘Spring Fling’ our local open studio event. </p><p>As I was going through my box of labels I found my old poem, I could hardly believe it. It was perfect, just as though they had been created at the same time, precisely as companions for each other.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPSdi2yZF5uPzRWpDTJHhlUdMDBTo-Lv9w0-fW-ogh0JqGQeHo0P5rFav3EJ62SRASuFS1c-0GdGMAIthwqmQ_zd6pOG5dvpwSx5HWBOLPZtyS84jB0xOIvobq2GUOTSNzDO1WN9s8Lj_yUtMobrU9NUXOQ4fgva_R_m4cwj11-df1i7USit7HhjZ/s2528/56EB4B11-8DBB-454F-B563-24B485A38799.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1989" data-original-width="2528" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPSdi2yZF5uPzRWpDTJHhlUdMDBTo-Lv9w0-fW-ogh0JqGQeHo0P5rFav3EJ62SRASuFS1c-0GdGMAIthwqmQ_zd6pOG5dvpwSx5HWBOLPZtyS84jB0xOIvobq2GUOTSNzDO1WN9s8Lj_yUtMobrU9NUXOQ4fgva_R_m4cwj11-df1i7USit7HhjZ/w640-h504/56EB4B11-8DBB-454F-B563-24B485A38799.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-c60475c6-7fff-6c72-4c1e-597e6bad16b0" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-c60475c6-7fff-6c72-4c1e-597e6bad16b0" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">LIBERATION</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Bear, my Sage</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eternity in flesh and fur,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I, clothed in all the</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finery of his imagination</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> follow his footsteps and marvel at</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All the wonders of the world</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am in awe of the majesty that we are</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: start;" /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-92148034719712768652022-10-17T09:34:00.004-07:002023-06-01T13:18:20.226-07:00 illuminated heart<p><span style="font-family: times;"> I had someone visit the studio today. Its always such a lovely feeling to share this quiet space with someone who senses the subtlety of the pictures. And when I couldn't explain the latest piece that is still on the easel there was a silent understanding, its palpable.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">There is no real way of explaining my pictures in words, they are heart-made and and supposed to be heart-felt.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">This one is 'with all my heart'. It speaks of the early hours of dawn and that soft space where we feel completely whole and connected to all life.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpkXeXnZ5yqcua7jfNHuGU79F_bx0mWbbbspJ1OqRnQKyKiBE-slpHObq6Che9TLi1xa7lQefa5naiLIyzvtXZwGyLDqPTRi60TwQvJ9Jr83Zidwn5LQOSy5IAi5agVD_cF2XFawmd88da4jALTEFjv0ENcuCBa0qaSwPaLDqI1sJ0MV5xuYSS_9ZP/s1584/deer%20kin%20d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1584" data-original-width="1362" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpkXeXnZ5yqcua7jfNHuGU79F_bx0mWbbbspJ1OqRnQKyKiBE-slpHObq6Che9TLi1xa7lQefa5naiLIyzvtXZwGyLDqPTRi60TwQvJ9Jr83Zidwn5LQOSy5IAi5agVD_cF2XFawmd88da4jALTEFjv0ENcuCBa0qaSwPaLDqI1sJ0MV5xuYSS_9ZP/w550-h640/deer%20kin%20d.jpg" width="550" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><p></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-45298501742755293822022-01-03T05:29:00.001-08:002023-06-01T13:21:11.833-07:00The Blackbird King<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> For a while now it seems as though there's been a blackbird trying to catch my eye. I love the softness of his stare and the bright yellow ring around his eye.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For some reason I chose to paint on hot-pressed paper. I love its smoothness and its capacity to show great detail but it also shows every line out of place, every slight mishap with a wash. I think in hindsight, that the soft atmosphere of dawn would have been better captured on a slightly more textured paper but as always I am still learning and will probably or hopefully never stop.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Still I am happy with the feel of this picture and the look in his eye and sometimes those pictures that are less perfect just hold my hearts attention a little longer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So here is the Blackbird King...</span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0gOwhY1HQNGbuP1rwL-7kzgP-Ex2Psxbw5Iw7ccnYMv6qw4IlJPo9TDwRu__dvohMJsR20PsFfWUoCrUH6id6uZTSGFQ73-CchHhWZr_cPvDyVpHRcySuWbngWCCl2wKMiVwOjI1j3M/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2387" data-original-width="3662" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0gOwhY1HQNGbuP1rwL-7kzgP-Ex2Psxbw5Iw7ccnYMv6qw4IlJPo9TDwRu__dvohMJsR20PsFfWUoCrUH6id6uZTSGFQ73-CchHhWZr_cPvDyVpHRcySuWbngWCCl2wKMiVwOjI1j3M/w634-h412/blackbird+adjust1.jpg" width="634" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Blackbird at dawn</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Crown of the morn,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Still starlit eyes</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sing forth the day</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-67716580570843004432021-04-30T02:56:00.002-07:002023-06-01T13:23:54.157-07:00Badger Light<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> I've always had a fondness for that dear old badger from Kenneth Grahams 'Wind in the Willows'. and, I have very much admired his grand Victorian home beneath the earth - nearly always depicted with cosy chairs and a glowing fire. All the niceties of the Victorian era without the stuffiness -I seem to remember he didn't mind elbows on tables and that was such a relief to me as a child.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The cosiness of his home, I would even go so far as to say, has inspired most of my furniture choices - when I have had the choice . Small tokens and gestures towards creating my imagined version of that safe haven beneath the old oak in the Wild Wood.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Today I live in the woods myself...which I am so very grateful for. My home is very small- more like Moles than badgers, but the hug that the surrounding countryside gives every time I look out of the window is a blessing I will never take for granted.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Here is another picture from the Forest lullaby series, that celebrates the blue hours. A Badger at dawn going home with his lantern.</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZgEYMgEjBpFcorc2aafTuWIoUDanP7aFo8N5NZ-AEayMcJiJAY6To6c27nAwF7m3GT9i5Z9iGswtFZlyzkgMmmkRIzKIpHd7B-Fa2BKlezXlsJTc88d7D7KtAnvFySvHbxcqPGzqJsY/s2048/badger+light2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1689" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZgEYMgEjBpFcorc2aafTuWIoUDanP7aFo8N5NZ-AEayMcJiJAY6To6c27nAwF7m3GT9i5Z9iGswtFZlyzkgMmmkRIzKIpHd7B-Fa2BKlezXlsJTc88d7D7KtAnvFySvHbxcqPGzqJsY/w528-h640/badger+light2.jpg" width="528" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-41797817634264306812021-02-14T05:05:00.002-08:002023-06-01T13:25:37.696-07:00The Forest<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: times;"> I am extraordinarily lucky. I live within the sound of the river and have a forest of old beech and ash, oak and pine hawthorn and rowan on my doorstep. It has been my sanity and my magic.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">The forest and its creatures are my extended family, my neighbours, my kin.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">And so here is another little forest lullaby painting, a pipe smoking rabbit from the forest.</span></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6AmGJR-D9sjUumNtYGC2PQBk7abKRZ6HarIg_R55f-n_gecIR8kbfbHXqf7yjCO0jWSGn8OLZ8Dw1D9SQbbSlm6cua8MjuE0OSd-rn9SPSs1_w_hNschwip9gZs_X0KeYem9CGVVsgA/s2048/rabbit+tobacco2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1498" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6AmGJR-D9sjUumNtYGC2PQBk7abKRZ6HarIg_R55f-n_gecIR8kbfbHXqf7yjCO0jWSGn8OLZ8Dw1D9SQbbSlm6cua8MjuE0OSd-rn9SPSs1_w_hNschwip9gZs_X0KeYem9CGVVsgA/w469-h640/rabbit+tobacco2.jpg" width="469" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">One puff for sorrow,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">two puffs for wonder</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">three puffs for magic</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">four puffs for slumber</span></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-28247968303053003892021-01-27T03:40:00.001-08:002023-06-01T13:26:27.779-07:00Remembering Innocence, Wonder and Magic through the language of the Heart<p> </p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">For as long as I have been painting there has always seemed to be an innocence about the work that I do. I have made some attempts to try and bring about an 'edge' to it, to make it more grown up, but none have been successful, so far.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Despite all that Life has brought before me, sadness, loss, grief, fear, all the usual suspects, the sense of wonder and magic about the cosmos and all its manifestations refuses to leave. Yes, I am regularly naive and some might say un-worldy, but it occurred to me that maybe that is not always a bad thing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I have felt for sometime now the limitations of intellectual analysis of everything that surrounds us. Where once I was interested in quantum physics and its shared ground with what we loosely term spirituality now I am more inclined to be in awe of the moss climbing the tree trunks. The sublime magic of frosty branches decorated with icicles or the deer on the path that looks me straight in the eye, for one moment soul to soul with another being. Our insatiable desire to dissect things, to fix things, to understand things. To judge things. These well regarded and many times useful strategies have woven a spell that leaves our natural magic in the shadows, but I feel its time for being remembered is close at hand.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The language of the heart is the language of alchemy. Turning grief to gratitude, fear to joy, sorrow to grace. It only loves, and through that 'mind-free' love, magic and wonder is revealed, and for me that is where peace and joy is found.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Having been ill for so long, I did think that maybe the illness would change this. That it would bring more of the dark, more edginess, but it is not to be so.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Here is my first little painting of the year. A tiny mouse named Petrushkin.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84LDZbKOxioikgsdHIv9x6UPQYYkgVUx5pzzmfVIVQDhjNhIm56HSqlLXJ_iUXdTKkjw_AE5IzSp7qET-Tnbjy5hNjZgj8oFtE7F82lZ9Zt5PL9lat-fCyQWh5_TclrfmgiM9kz4QGFE/s2048/mousekin2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1496" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84LDZbKOxioikgsdHIv9x6UPQYYkgVUx5pzzmfVIVQDhjNhIm56HSqlLXJ_iUXdTKkjw_AE5IzSp7qET-Tnbjy5hNjZgj8oFtE7F82lZ9Zt5PL9lat-fCyQWh5_TclrfmgiM9kz4QGFE/w469-h640/mousekin2.jpg" width="469" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Petrushkin mouse minds the hours,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He keeps them safely tucked up in bed,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And while they sleep soundly,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He walks the forest paths to fill his heart,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">With tree and moss and rook,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Until divinity is in a dew drop,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And the gods whisper sweetly in the trees,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">mouse-kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">soul-kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">bliss-kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">all-kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">this-kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">so-kin</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">no-kin</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> </span></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-36165053029742065742020-12-25T05:35:00.007-08:002023-06-01T13:26:53.682-07:00A Gift From The Old Burrow<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sLSd1ng4NfBSsK0PfNEihH0MiNaXH0mzZQgMonsIjugyFuxs8pdeSln-_z47f7-1Tx0dzLGQEHHOooOJNCRYktPxgoA10PxYs4-ZUNBCY7MZ2HtRihbPrzzr6FPn2rLL8nD7R8Upf2A/s2048/mistletoe+colouradjust1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1345" data-original-width="2048" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sLSd1ng4NfBSsK0PfNEihH0MiNaXH0mzZQgMonsIjugyFuxs8pdeSln-_z47f7-1Tx0dzLGQEHHOooOJNCRYktPxgoA10PxYs4-ZUNBCY7MZ2HtRihbPrzzr6FPn2rLL8nD7R8Upf2A/w640-h421/mistletoe+colouradjust1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Dear Reader, I know I have not been here very regularly at over the past few years, but I wanted to share with you a little of what I have been doing very slowly as I have been convalescing. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So here is my little Christmas gift to you. It's a little pilot magazine with art, stories and musings about the Imagination. I hope you enjoy it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.flipsnack.com/Theoldburrow/the-old-burrow-portals-beyond-imagination.html" target="_blank">The Old Burrow e-magazine Winter 20/21</a><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Warmest wishes to you and your loved ones,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Catkin</span></p>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-8042267968121654462019-09-12T06:08:00.000-07:002019-09-12T06:08:49.128-07:00Spring Cleaning In Autumn<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As often happens, the urge to prepare for Winter grows stronger at this time of year. The need to make things clean and comfortable for the hibernation time ahead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This year it seems to have extended to The Old Burrow website.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">While not much has been happening at the surface here, a lot has been happening below ground...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have felt a change happening for a while now and to be honest I think it is still in progress. I write as much as I paint these days - a restriction and probably a gift of the ill health that I have been passing through. Last time I was very ill was over 14 years ago and that was the time I learnt to draw and paint - because there was literally nothing else I could do. So I like to assume it is a rough but guiding hand from life to grow in a certain direction. Lets see how it turns out....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Meanwhile you might like to take a look at the <a href="http://www.theoldburrow.com/home.html" target="_blank">website</a>. There are a few new pages to meander through and a bit of a new direction in that the Imagination seems to be as much a focus as the gifts it brings. I love the quote from John Keats...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>'Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk'</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A rough sketch - more bears and ruffs and stars.</span></div>
THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-2734092123105311262019-04-07T05:24:00.000-07:002019-08-03T05:36:06.858-07:00A Cloak of Velvet Darkness<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8LsZLpRBocSPO2R0jPn2QC0NCv0h-cz3q10RqNUD6yxYLfY8qo2Q0UBx9amYXHzqEJi-Xx_snZ9vlIWXvKUlaDwiGUoE4jtLRF6Ng6RnMAJ5geji5gUgMcgCP1nEYWCyIkYib_rBqRs/s1600/let+me+light+you+up+7a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8LsZLpRBocSPO2R0jPn2QC0NCv0h-cz3q10RqNUD6yxYLfY8qo2Q0UBx9amYXHzqEJi-Xx_snZ9vlIWXvKUlaDwiGUoE4jtLRF6Ng6RnMAJ5geji5gUgMcgCP1nEYWCyIkYib_rBqRs/s640/let+me+light+you+up+7a.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I don't honestly know why I keep painting stars, but they appear in my drawings and paintings just as effortlessly as my dog appears by my side, wherever I walk, or sit.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It's a quiet appreciation. One that I wear next to my skin, usually covered up by the thick garments of everyday activities and conversations.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I have half-heartedly looked into the meaning and symbolism of stars but these days I have less enthusiasm for the type of brain bending research and analysis of which I will more than likely never be certain.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">More absurdly is the fact that I rarely see them. When the stars are shining in their cloak of velvet darkness I'm very often sitting by the fire sipping chai and watching something nostalgic and spacious on the telly.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But I know they are there, I never forget. Shining homecoming jewels that decorate the canopy above our tiny smoking chimney-pot in the woods. They remind me of my smallness amidst the magic of the universe and there is something about feeling small in Natures miraculous vastness that leads me to feel whole and centred.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So maybe, on reflection, I do know why I paint stars so often and why I like the characters to hold their soft gentle light in their hands - little portraits of wisdom and contentment, magic in the mundane, the extraordinary in the ordinary.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm fairly sure this is yet another illustration for the slow growing tale 'Troll Song'. In this chapter Unn has grown a little and has voyaged across the seas to foreign shores in search of the wise folk who dwell in woods in may places across the Underworld. She is becoming fearless and content in her homeless wanderings and the stars who have watched her journey across both worlds cannot help but want to be near her...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>'Starlight danced in her hair as day settled into night. Her heart ached with both beauty and sadness.</i></span><i style="color: #783f04; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">"Show me" he said. </i><i style="color: #783f04; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">And so she did ...</i><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">'</span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Oh starlight,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What is it that binds you to my eyes?</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>That makes me remember w</i><i>hat I am</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And forget all Otherness</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My heart flickers as softly</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">as a well settled home-fire</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And I glow from deep within my being.</span></i></div>
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<br />THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-41319008801079725422019-02-08T08:49:00.000-08:002019-05-10T08:04:16.455-07:00Sidetracked by a Bear and a Red Flower from the Universal Imaginarium<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Creativity moves sideways, it is by its very nature almost always unexpected as the mind gives way to that special place that allows things to flow without reason or judgement. I guess that's why we love it so much. Time out from that mind of restricted being and hey presto, the world is full of magic again. From this space every creation in this Universal Imaginarium is wonderous in its own right and joy returns, and from my perspective sanity too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last blog post I mentioned my having to get to grips with my pencil again...literally a new grip. When one finger refuses to play ball, well I have nine others to use. Not easy but possible. So I did start the painting and it is, for now, going reasonably well. But, because it is slower than usual, creativity exploded in another direction and so little sketches appeared and then a little paint. And, so I told myself, it's only a little one - 10cm x 10cm - and gave in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In truth it's always been this way, two or three pictures going at once, two or three books. The creative juices nibbling away at blank paper as and when it feels to do so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So here is the Bear and the red flower that drew me into the woods again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I'm not sure what it is called yet - the amount of puns available to play with are endless. The first to arrive was 'Bear my Soul', then there was 'Bear with me' and courtesy of my daughter 'Bearer of Good News'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>A little edit - It's decided - I found the poem I wrote at the time it was painted...</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>Bear my Soul</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>In all the world</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I love our solitude the best</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>the deep warm dark</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>of this long forgotten</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>brings my heart to its resting place</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> and you bear</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>and all the world</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>'is' my soul.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Oh, and just a little sneak peek at the bigger one still in progress...</span><br />
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<br />THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-53511341998525513202019-01-18T05:02:00.000-08:002019-01-18T05:02:00.688-08:00The Story Keepers Tent<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I love the idea of stories being held safely somewhere, held back for their right time to be spoken or read or listened to. There is such a sense of a journey within a story for me, I guess that it is no great leap to feel that there must be a certain readiness to embark on a particular journey - in spirit if not in practical terms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Many years ago I painted this picture called 'The Story Keepers' ...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PF1dp4wmOKgVvElJUINAMmCVWN2NS4HO37kJqkcxAFpqBFt0C4fa7daiOoZoqLerFYl9qAxaooyJqtwn0SjPqrAgUh3etWhwqtaazI5dfiDbzlJH-TNKwO392jCMpuHNyeBfk3cAMdQ/s1600/story+keepers+copy+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="709" height="622" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PF1dp4wmOKgVvElJUINAMmCVWN2NS4HO37kJqkcxAFpqBFt0C4fa7daiOoZoqLerFYl9qAxaooyJqtwn0SjPqrAgUh3etWhwqtaazI5dfiDbzlJH-TNKwO392jCMpuHNyeBfk3cAMdQ/s640/story+keepers+copy+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">... and now, in this slow time where I cannot paint as much as I'd like, I have returned to writing and the role of the Story Keeper has deepened and widened.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Some of you may remember the slowly forming tale which for now is called Troll song. Many chapters on now, the Story Keeper has made his appearance. His character has only just begun to form but already I can appreciate his guardianship of story and the difference between him and a storyteller. He is an overseer of story, a facilitator of journeys, an adept traveller to other realms. He is the link between people and the stories and story tellers they need, I guess you could say he's a kind of medicine man of Story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He no longer has a balloon shaped dress, he is more the beard and cloak kind of character now and I am looking forward to getting to know him better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In his possession is a small tent which I think hold some of his belongings, and, though I'm not quite sure what they might be I'm fairly certain that they will not be ordinary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There is still quite some pain in my body that prevents me from drawing as much as I'd like, my drawing hand has lost all its cartilage in my usual drawing fingers so I am having to learn to adjust my grip but I remain hopeful and positive that things will work out as they are meant to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So here is a sketch of the Story Keeper's tent and some little details form the work in progress that I hope will become a painting before long...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"><i>" You must give birth to your images</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><i>They are the future waiting to be born.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><i>Fear not the strangeness you feel.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><i>Just wait for the birth, for the hour of new clarity."</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><i>Rainer Maria Rilke</i></span></div>
THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-39814574881450520402018-10-29T05:45:00.000-07:002018-10-29T05:45:19.847-07:00Harsh Winters, Retreats and the Exploration of Silence<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's been a long time since my last blog post. And, for those kind souls who read this blog regularly I am truly apologetic for vanishing without explanation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Life has its seasons I guess and sometimes a very harsh Winter comes our way. It forces a kind of hibernation, a withdrawal from our normal lives. It can be a very testing time - providing little in the way of nourishment and using up all your reserves. Survival depends on something beyond our control and a kind of surrender begins to develop.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I feel that it's possible that good things can come from that which at first glance might appear bad. Watching the people around me, there are those that have emerged from tough times with a new depth, their eyes shining and their hearts warm and open. They are so inspiring.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">During this time I have taken the opportunity to participate in some retreats and explore the Silence of being and in a way I am grateful for the gifts cloaked by misfortune. There are strange paradoxes that occur within Silence that can transform great pain into great joy, it isn't easy at all and I feel ill-equipped to explain it any further. There are small sentences that come out of me that feel right and then there are large monologues that come out of me that miss the mark entirely - So amongst most people I know I have been quite quiet of late.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Silence, for me, has become more than just the mere absence of sound - it is a sort of felt sense of something quite serene and joyful, beautiful and uncomplicated that is always under the everythingness that we see, feel and experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Only yesterday I came across some powerful words from Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi - One line from his poem, an Ocean without shore...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> <i><span style="color: #444444;">I courted a Secret which existence did not alter; for it was asked of me:</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">' Has thought enchanted you?'</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Artwork has been happening but I guess it is only recently that I have felt up to sharing. This one is one of my favourites so far. It is a little picture that emerged after a retreat early this year. When I look at it I can feel a gentle Silence, I hope that others will sense it too... It's not completely finished yet but I'm nearly there...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The initial sketch came on a bright sunny day. It always amuses me how often stars appear in my work.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>And Silence swam as starlight between the trees</i></span></div>
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THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-85636803678635369322017-10-16T06:07:00.000-07:002017-10-16T06:07:01.023-07:00Pattern, Rhythm and Harmony<div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A little sneak peek into the latest project. It is part of an innovative plan by a lady who lives in Edinburgh and I will fill you in when the time is right.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But for now here is a little sneak preview of some designs...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have always loved pattern and ornament and am so happy to be able to turn my paint brush in that direction. I love the rhythm and harmony of pattern and repetition, like a mantra for the eyes and an invitation to slip away from thought into imagination or silence. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The paintings I have done are destined to be transferred onto a 3 dimensional dome with a magical purpose. There is the possibility of mixing and matching designs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A Little Colour</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A Sirin's Tale</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Caw!!</span></div>
THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-83811546449838263532017-09-27T02:29:00.001-07:002017-09-27T03:33:55.124-07:00Monsters in the dark<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Shadows amongst tree trunks, groaning like a low wind. Many of the paintings that come out of me take place in a dark forest. I find comfort there - powerlessness amongst Nature's greater force gives me back my smallness and sets me free. The paradoxical result of which is great strength, willingness to stand alone and yet a feeling of being undivided.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Many Folk-tales take place in dark woods. Some schools of Psychology and Shamanism have a perspective that says that the dark forest is a place where our demons hang out, a place where we are afraid to visit but where we may go and face them if we have courage. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm not sure courage is required - but a leap of faith is necessary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Faith is an amazing experience - I'm not talking about religious faith or a faith in anything in particular. More that faith is an arising of a sense of comfort that when faced with anything external feels absolutely unthreatened for no particular reason. An undeniable underlying feeling of peace.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And yet sometimes I quiver and feel overwhelmed with fear for these shadows. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One of my favourite teachers talks briefly about faith and belief <span style="color: #990000;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHPKvHSfHgI" target="_blank">here </a></span>...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I found myself sketching these demons for the next part of 'Troll Song'. A chapter of the book in which Unn, under the guidance of the Forester, has the chance to face her demons. A right of passage we must all pass through to some degree if we are to live or die peacefully. (<i> for those who are new to this blog you can find a little more of Troll Song <span style="color: #990000;"><a href="http://theoldburrow.blogspot.co.uk/2017/07/" target="_blank">here</a></span></i>)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The demons themselves didn't come out anywhere near as scary as I had in intended but I think they are in keeping with the rest of the book in so far as it has grown, all be it very slowly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The chapter is not written but it may go a little along the lines of this...</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Forester crouched low before Unn so that his eyes could meet hers. His gentle voice spoke weighty words.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> "There will be forked tongues flickering in the darkness Unn, the sound of skin tasting the air. Their sole intent is to stir up deep fear from within you. But, do not misjudge them Unn, Demons are beyond the realm of providing satisfaction for human desires in the ordinary way. They mirror our fears and provide an opportunity to realise who we are without them."</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>"You will be afraid Unn, you will meet great fear but, it is also just possible that great courage and peace will arise within you for no reason whatsoever and then you will be grateful for the monsters in your life."</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Foresters hands pressed into the earth as he leveraged himself to standing. Stroking Unn's hair and saying nothing more he took two giant strides and was gone from the forest clearing, leaving Unn alone in the nearly-dark-light.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Shadows began to groan and the Demons moistened their tongues in readiness for a feast of fear.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Feast of Fear</span></div>
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THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-19135996007459522942017-08-03T02:43:00.000-07:002017-08-03T02:45:19.643-07:00A sense of wonder<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I love the feeling of wondering. That sort of light-hearted curiosity that happens when the Unknown is present. Just as the eyes twinkle before an adventure, it sets the imagination free. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Painting kindles my curiousity and I cannot help but follow the sparks of imagination as they fly through the endless sky of mind. Images and tales are born and some manage to find their way to paper and font.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Sometimes I paint a little then write a little, then I paint some more. The wonderings and imaginings feed the painting and the painting feeds the story. Round and round it goes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Simple questions appear: "Who is this character?" "What is happening here?" "What lies beyond the land in the picture I can see before me?" Mind Scribbles become words until I feel satisfied that I know enough about that picture for that moment but there is still some space left for wondering if I'm ever in need of a little adventure. It's a lovely terrain to be in, full of space and potential.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps inside out and back to front, I don't know, but that is often the truth of how it all unfolds here in The Old Burrow.. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">So here is a painting and the fragment of that slow growing fable (Troll Song) that arrived a couple of weeks ago... I invite you to hide in the forest just beyond the painted glade and watch as a patch of story unfolds...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;">Unn entered the dark glade timidly, The Forester's eyes were closed but he had known she was coming - of course.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">"Thirty days in this place" thought Unn nervously. Her skin shivered, the air between the trees was full the kind of quiet that occurs just before a happening of great magnitude. It felt to her as though the Forest's unknown darkness might just swallow her whole. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"She surely would leave here a different person to the one who had arrived - if she ever left at all. Something was going to get lost in here and it was probably going to be her." And somehow that was okay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She was both frightened and curious but still there was the sense of a small warrior within - and with this she stepped forward onto a low rock and looked up.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Forester opened his eyes, they moved softly and deeply over Unns face. Such warmth and kindness, unlike anything in her life so far. Wild and rolling eyes were the kind she was used to. Or others covered by a kind of emotional cataract, cloudy and withdrawn. Eleven long years under their gaze but no more. She blinked herself back into the forest. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The gentle man of the forest produced a small and humble branch from somewhere. His movements were so mesmerising that like a master magician it was difficult to be sure of anything the eyes saw. Smooth and effortless gestures that were at once slow and swift. Just like everything that had happened since meeting the Troll it was as if Time was not the master anymore. Just a mere servant employed irregularly for the baking of pies and striking of beautiful clocks, admired but not cherished.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">From the end of the branch a pale spider began to drop slowly along a line of invisible silk. Unn swore she could hear its tiny feet moving skillfully along the sticky thread. What she had taken for granted her entire life suddenly revealed itself as the magic it truly was. And then came another sort of magic altogether - a star began to form at the end of the thread. It hummed softly, the forest branches quivered with delight.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">"What can you hear?" the Forester asked. His voice so normal, so unexpectedly genuine that it conjured up a deep feeling of trust.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Unn listened to the soft humming of the star as it rippled through the air but there was something much louder, much more obvious, an enormous, vast, penetrating silence.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I can hear the sound that silence makes." the words left her lips all by themselves. They were new even to her own ears.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The Forester smiled. He sat upon the large boulder as though he had known it since it was a small pebble. As though they had known each other all their lives the boulder effortlessly and lovingly supported him. Wriggling his toes he tickled the rocks surface affectionately before standing tall amongst the night sky. And then, just as a fisherman casually retrieves a fish from his line so he effortlessly picked the star from its silk and popped it into his pocket. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;">The spider crawled away into the forest. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Climbing down off the boulder, he reached for Unn's hand and they walked away from the glade, into the trees. The gentle glow of starlight leaked from his blue pocket - just enough to lead the way and not too much to disturb the night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">There was a fondness in the way they moved though the forest. Hands and leaves caressed each other as they walked amongst the branches. Feet fell into an embrace with earth at each step. A feeling of home began to grow inside her and shine gently like starlight from a pocket.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">"Now lets see where those demons are hiding" winked the Forester.</span></span><br /><br /><br /> <br /><i>* excerpt from Innan Tordid (a 30,000 year old book of wisdom from the Underworld)<br /><br />Always smiling and rarely speaking the Forester is somehow more than just human. His movements are as effortless as the stars crossing the night sky and he is capable of curious magic if the mood takes him. His heart is kindness itself and occasionally he lets visitors find him.</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> </span></div>
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THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-88518473624691987102017-07-03T06:22:00.000-07:002017-07-03T06:22:21.949-07:00Fire of Life<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last year I prepared a little wooden book for Spring Fling, a large open studios event we have here in Dumfries and Galloway. In it were the first two chapters </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">of the slow growing tale called 'Troll Song'-</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"> some paintings and some sketches as well as a little bit of a commentary about how the story and artwork evolved. And it is still growing and evolving...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">'Troll Song' appears to me to be a </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">human tale set in an Other -World. Winding through Forest and Sky it throws a new perspective on the very common and ever growing human experience of yearning for deep contentment and a feeling of home. I suppose a synopsis might go something like this...</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Unn is a young Wayfarer in search of a true home. She is a bridgewalker - one who can travel between worlds. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">In the Over world the animal kingdom guards her seemingly lifeless body while the wise Troll of the Mountains takes her deep into the Underworld to find her place of true belonging.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Another painting has appeared and I am in love with the orange sky and the quivering branches that dance within it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The picture shows Unn's first glimpse into a new way of seeing - a gift of sight that few experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">To see the sketches you can visit the blog post <span style="color: #990000;"><a href="http://theoldburrow.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/trees-and-stars-root-and-rock.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #990000;">here</span></a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;">The first draft chapter of the story is </span><a href="http://theoldburrow.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/of-trolls-and-dark-places.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #990000;">here</span></a><span style="color: #444444;"> and the second is </span><span style="color: #990000;"><a href="http://theoldburrow.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/trees-and-stars-root-and-rock.html" target="_blank">here</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He's really only about 3cm high!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"How amazing the forest looked from up high..."</span></div>
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</span>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-21383693952374467052017-06-08T06:57:00.000-07:002017-06-08T12:46:10.267-07:00Where the winds blow<div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I finished another piece today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Quite some years ago now I began this painting. A few unusually carefree brush strokes and experimental scribblings and I could see something good was emerging - and that was it - I screeched to a halt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For fear of ruining the picture that was emerging I lost the ability to move freely without fear and so it lay sitting in a drawer for years until I no longer cared if it worked out or not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">From that space I could paint without worry - my attention gently focused on the painting and the movement of the brush, I even became a little curious about what was growing before my eyes and it was for the first time in quite a while that I have felt relaxed whilst painting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was so long ago that I drew this piece that now when I look at it I am left wondering what fortune and bravery really are. In the culture I was brought up in, bravery was definitely linked with a 'go-getter' attitude. A sort of feisty, energetic quality that could bend Life's happenings to its will. But as we all know or all learn sooner or later Life succumbs to no ones will forever and fear and bravery may as well sit on the shelf twiddling their thumbs together for all the use they are. Maybe, sometimes, it is the absence of fear <i>and</i> bravery that allows people to move effortlessly and freely like the wind, and that which seems like Luck blows in through the gaps where fear and bravery once were.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So now I have a painting I am happy with but in all honesty I would change the words if I could...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>“The Truth is the only thing you’ll ever run into that has no agenda.”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Adyashanti - Emptiness Dancing</i></span></span></div>
THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-91247571514601835852017-05-21T03:52:00.003-07:002023-06-06T05:17:49.767-07:00Deeper, Quieter,<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #666666;">A little extra blog post to make up for my absence in March and April...</span></i></span></span><div><span style="color: #666666; font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUphpfsTXBkEPb-rmcTCTZiq3giZLDNRWtqjjFO_sj9FHxNqhkAKWf_9I38DvgeZMf0Tr_Ka1Low57VddxPAC5MXIrpv0KnEzMHFYnzu-3vVNNeojLXNs_hZ0OW7_siRobcUp78WzIV6Cw3hmRdostSBic4ojtHmBs3-BZOa0Z6scvdJRl2r9YAdO/s1083/3A2459B5-60F9-446D-A994-B1C8038625E5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1083" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUphpfsTXBkEPb-rmcTCTZiq3giZLDNRWtqjjFO_sj9FHxNqhkAKWf_9I38DvgeZMf0Tr_Ka1Low57VddxPAC5MXIrpv0KnEzMHFYnzu-3vVNNeojLXNs_hZ0OW7_siRobcUp78WzIV6Cw3hmRdostSBic4ojtHmBs3-BZOa0Z6scvdJRl2r9YAdO/w640-h426/3A2459B5-60F9-446D-A994-B1C8038625E5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">Dotted amongst this valley of farms and forestry are a scattering of Fringe dwellers, a congregation of Creatives mixed with a medley of madness as delightful as any of Alice's underground Wonderland creatures.</span></div></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It seems that art thrives in this environment. Ou</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">r tiny community in the hills <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">regularly holds beautiful exhibitions and music events. <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">T</span>he remoteness somehow seems to ad<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">d to the magic as travelers' find unexpected bea<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">uty<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>and talent within our tiny hidden population in the hills.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">There is an otherworldly quality to this place a<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>s<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">pecial blend of earthl<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">y and ether<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">e</span>al, something deeper and quieter, a peace that travels within all things, an underlying sacredness in everything </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have always been receptive to the beautiful stillness within some religious artworks. The religion itself didn't seem to matter - only the artworks ability to emanate a deep sense of quietness that somehow soothed the space it sat in.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So now, very tentatively, I am beginning to merge my fascination with religious art and combine it with the other things that speak to my heart. In all honesty I have no idea where it will go or if it will touch other people. I think my main hope might be that the images will communicate some sense of depth and quietness and maybe a sense of reverence for this precious human life and all that it entails. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #525252; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>A translation of a poem originally by Rainer Maria Rilke</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>You darkness from which I come,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I love you more than all the fires</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>that fence out the world,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>for the fire makes a circle</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>for everyone</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>so that no one sees you anymore.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>But darkness holds it all:</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>the shape and the flame,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>the animal and myself,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>how it holds them,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>all powers, all sight —</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #525252; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0em;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #525252; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0em;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>and it is possible: its great strength</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>is breaking into my body.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I have faith in the night</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i></i></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i></i></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
David Whyte<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>To be happy is to live as the unknown.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">An inquiry question from a book called </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Way of Liberation</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">by</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Adyashanti</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
</div>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-59432958136691724982017-05-08T05:08:00.000-07:002017-05-08T05:18:23.005-07:00The Philosophy of Pottering<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Many apologies for having missed the last two months blog posts. Life turned a page and I found myself in an amazing and wonderful new chapter. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I now share The Old Burrow with a truly beautiful soul. I feel so blessed to be able to entwine this life with another. There is something about a union between two that creates a third entity with a power all of its own. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The creativity and wonders that emerge from such a place fill me with such a light and joyful curiosity that it is difficult not to let the mind and the imagination run wild. Ideas are flowing freely, tools are being brandished so you may well see some of our combined creative pieces here in the future. But for now here is a little more of what has been happening at the easel...</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Time is a funny thing, the more you try to squeeze into it the less gets done. The to do list grows longer and society continues to condition us to fear all sorts of dreadful consequences if we don't act immediately or at least very soon please! </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Which, in the end creates more stress and slows everything down and reduces the quality of everything I do. In all honesty I'm tired of it - I've been tired of it for quite some time.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And then I noticed that on the one day a week that I gave myself off (Sunday) I more than occasionally got more done than usual. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">'Pottering about' has kind of an effortless flow to it. It is driven by a contented doing and the results are a peaceful mind and quite often productivity of some kind or other too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Pottering by its nature is always open to patches of spontaneous loafing. Guilt free lounging around - a kind of quiet contemplation that fuels the next episode of pottering. The two weave beautifully together and in this playful and relaxed mix somehow more gets done.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCuzfJ72LXsIN9xfItsltGOSWsl06e6L2E-8kEwQdL_DRxmDNNOSdSVNsoGxGfE9TDFnq7XRMjzn81EsaLW1RJOu9InmhGc5hM0fDOvYvRyPrib_HfYtWBCDcOpE8pnQMaOUbffHlTcg/s1600/eight+sundays+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCuzfJ72LXsIN9xfItsltGOSWsl06e6L2E-8kEwQdL_DRxmDNNOSdSVNsoGxGfE9TDFnq7XRMjzn81EsaLW1RJOu9InmhGc5hM0fDOvYvRyPrib_HfYtWBCDcOpE8pnQMaOUbffHlTcg/s640/eight+sundays+1.JPG" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My only problem was that either side of Sunday were days that had stressful to do lists, emails with urgent requests threatening dire consequences and all other manner of fear led demands via some form of technology.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So one morning I told my Husband ( Oh how lovely it is to be able to say that ), that I was so sick of feeling stressed that I was thinking of re-naming everyday Sunday. And his response was " Yes, let's have eight Sundays a week!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Happy Sunday!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<br />THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-38193446510898429532017-02-20T08:09:00.001-08:002017-05-02T07:35:13.716-07:00Wishing trees<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Leave people alone in nature long enough and a kind of interaction begins to occur. Things get picked up and put in pockets to take home<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">. S</span>ome things get left in special places<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> – m</span>aybe a wish is planted somewhere or a small treasure left behind. Some of us may write in the sand<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">,</span> while those of a more rebellious nature may make a carving or two. And while some last longer than others it's the interaction that I love so much.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It may be true that in the faster paced town and city lives – that I probably am no longer qualified to write about – that people are feeling disconnected from nature. And while that disconnection has probably fast-tracked some of humanities more destructive actions towards the earth on which we live I'm not sure the disconnection is as grave as some fear. From my own perspective I feel that most people given enough time in Nature will begin a re-connection in their own way.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are of course many cultures and subcultures <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">in exist<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">e</span>nce today</span> that have rituals and practices born out of our innate desire to interact with nature<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and co<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">nnect with that un<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">-nameable something that goes by many names.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not far away from where I live is <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">t</span>he Tibetan Buddhist Temple Samye Ling. It is a beautiful place nestled amongst the hills, drawing people from all walks of life and many different countries to take part in their courses and retreats. In the garden there is a tree covered with wishes. It's hard not to feel how lightly the small tree bears its load of a thousand prayers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so of course it became a painting and is now a card .... </span></span><br />
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<br />THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-86320059868120624372017-01-09T07:02:00.001-08:002017-05-02T07:35:35.673-07:00The Moon in All its Glory<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I didn't see it, that huge Super Moon that last visited our skies in 1948. It was obscured from view by Scottish clouds and drizzle. But as it drew closer I was re-writing, tweaking and tailoring an Old <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Siberian</span> folk tale about a Reindeer maiden and the Moon.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the surface it is a delightful tale from the Arctic circle about how the moon came to be. Underneath this it is an unusual tale of female strength and the weakness and changeable nature of conditional love. And if you listen a little deeper still, there are also the quiet, grounded qualities of unconditional love. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have only just begun sketching ideas for the illustrations and <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">they may <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">well change but here is a little peek into a Wintery Fantasy from The Far North...</span></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 26.0pt;">Lusa, The Reindeer</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 26.0pt;">And The Moon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Moon was
not always as it is today. </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Once
he was a pale faced Prince who sailed the skies as a lost soul. Astral winds
swirled in his hair as he roamed amongst the Stars, drifting wherever and
whenever he pleased. For all his freedom his heart was lonely and in time he
began to look for a companion with whom he could share the skies. </span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS36cEdHMGtL1AAPorsDOu9yWB12orWbS9nHx7gFph_YVGDjWjYEbDVQtlMBj9YO-xSxg3IHJYN_DA9JlsJCZi86sS5ZY4O4UBw1nXfvISy2Qog5l2XBSAUzPfe_KOIMlH59uKOdoF0YA/s1600/pale+faced+prince.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS36cEdHMGtL1AAPorsDOu9yWB12orWbS9nHx7gFph_YVGDjWjYEbDVQtlMBj9YO-xSxg3IHJYN_DA9JlsJCZi86sS5ZY4O4UBw1nXfvISy2Qog5l2XBSAUzPfe_KOIMlH59uKOdoF0YA/s640/pale+faced+prince.jpg" width="325" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">On Earth, in
the Northern Lands, lands that the Sun leaves dark for long cold Winters, the Moon spied an Old Shepherd and his
Daughter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Just as the
pale Prince rode the skies, Lusa, her Father and their people roamed the white plains
and glistening Forests of the Arctic carrying their homes with them wherever
they went. The Shepherds of the clan roamed even further still. In Summer they
would travel North with the reindeer to calve and feed on the lush growth and
in Winter they would travel South to find shelter from harsh weather and forage
for food under soft snow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The time
came when the already old shepherd grew even older and could not make the long
journey away from the clan. So on one cold Winter's night – though Winter itself
was a long night lasting many months – Lusa set off on the long journey South
alone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lusa and the herd travelled slowly – walking by torchlight and resting by
fireside. Time passed unmarked by dusk or dawn and Lusa sang contentedly as she
played her gentle drum.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cVaOxPrz40Bd8Ra9KxLIjCrd3kjjG7ZV2QOFv2XlpipzYkFHcqDuHaBJIsyRl97e32cOkGQC82ZYeqy0iN0NwClzdP-vemj_kGNA2StBBBkoxhiPBn9PavMkPDtxOTvFursr1yM8R8E/s1600/lusa+and+the+reindeer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cVaOxPrz40Bd8Ra9KxLIjCrd3kjjG7ZV2QOFv2XlpipzYkFHcqDuHaBJIsyRl97e32cOkGQC82ZYeqy0iN0NwClzdP-vemj_kGNA2StBBBkoxhiPBn9PavMkPDtxOTvFursr1yM8R8E/s640/lusa+and+the+reindeer.jpg" width="415" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Moon flew a little closer – he had heard this music before. Such a
beautiful sound – as vast as the sky and as enchanting as starlight. The prince
bowed low to the trees to listen closer still. With a joy in his heart he
forgot himself and his loneliness in her song.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> So mesmerized was he that he unwittingly sank Earthwards with a love laden
smile and when the music stopped he awoke to find himself knee-deep in snow.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0hcwLIBN2jjy-tMWrJjewmA3wQT1Dj1S9300na-3ipXXHzmrXuJz1P94-PHBCCFt4QN9AYfb3RxVkFCKFQvH3l6uh9Yx2kt9n1ohAdA4Nm_rFvVJfJtsgZUYw3poo3-SZdKBDAfWTWA/s1600/pale+faced+prince+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0hcwLIBN2jjy-tMWrJjewmA3wQT1Dj1S9300na-3ipXXHzmrXuJz1P94-PHBCCFt4QN9AYfb3RxVkFCKFQvH3l6uh9Yx2kt9n1ohAdA4Nm_rFvVJfJtsgZUYw3poo3-SZdKBDAfWTWA/s400/pale+faced+prince+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Scrambling
to his feet he promised himself that this was the woman he would make his
own. He would take her back to the sky to sail the sea of stars in his
beautiful boat and he would never be lonely again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">His lovelorn
hunt began. Through the snow-laden forests Lusa’s starlit voice and gentle song
guided him to her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> As the Moon grew closer Lusa began to feel uneasy – as any creature does when
it feels the hunt coming. But Life gifts both the Hunted and the
Hunter...</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lusa beat three
strong beats on her drum. Boom Boom Boom.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The resonant
sound shook the snow from the trees and the Reindeer stood silent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Out from the
herd the largest reindeer stepped. In three large elegant strides he changed
his skin for man flesh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> Lusa and Taiga, for that was the name of the man with a Reindeer’s soul, bent
their heads together. Their breath caressed each others faces before becoming
glittering rainbow coloured ice-dust in the air.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“The Moon is
coming for you” whispered Taiga.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“ I do not
want to live in the sky with a pale faced prince. I am content here with you” breathed Lusa.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Then we
must hide you.” said the gentle voice of the man with reindeer feet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The moon grew closer still. His light began to shine like a cold sun casting
long shadows across the Snow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Quickly
Taiga turned Lusa into a snowdrift and then turned himself back into a reindeer
and began snuffling for lichen and moss.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Moon
approached the herd. He stood tall and thin, his round face hungry and
expectant. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Where is
your shepherdess?” he crooned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the herd ignored him and just kept on
foraging.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">He walked around the herd this way and that. Bending low and crooked he looked
for trails of footprints in the snow, but there were none.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And so the
Moon flew back up into the skies to see from above where Lusa might be – but he
saw nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The sky
darkened to an inky blue as the moon sailed away. Taiga became a man once more
and returned Lusa to her body.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“ He will
come again” Taiga whispered gently. “Run to the Yaranga and I will hide you
there.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> So Lusa ran to the Yaranga and closed the
flap. Once inside, Taiga transformed Lusa into a small oil lamp and returned
himself to the form of a reindeer. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYnDULbL4OW4VqbWZrcrB_j4s01v3jd7H_vVuDUvdmraY4S7qiLPhAEWxWdDKNc1rGK-_BidzXK8HIuBLKz-e8xQV3xjfNQBuEDwZdhQmBbFSDF7O8i6w4BMkMvwtKOOksW3e-vvz84s/s1600/lusa+the+oil+lamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYnDULbL4OW4VqbWZrcrB_j4s01v3jd7H_vVuDUvdmraY4S7qiLPhAEWxWdDKNc1rGK-_BidzXK8HIuBLKz-e8xQV3xjfNQBuEDwZdhQmBbFSDF7O8i6w4BMkMvwtKOOksW3e-vvz84s/s640/lusa+the+oil+lamp.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lusa waited,
listening to the steady breathing of the herd outside in the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>otherwise<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>silent forest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Prince spied Lusa’s soft warm light as it glowed amongst the trees. Under
cloud cover he slyly lowered himself to Earth. Striding determinedly through
the snowdrifts he cut a straight track to the Yaranga and threw back the
entrance flap. At the sight of the empty space his heart sank and he began a
desperate search. Under rugs, in satchels and under coats but Lusa was in none
of those places.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“ Where are
you?” he crooned. He leaped outside into the cold air. Circling the Yaranga and
then the trees, he looked high and low for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Running through the forest calling sweetly and playfully the Pale Prince tried to lure her from her hiding
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lusa remained a quiet amber light
and said nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">When he was
a way into the forest Taiga stomped his hoof in the snow and Lusa became a
woman once more. She peeked out from the entrance flap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I’m here, can’t you see me?” she teased.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Moon Prince
beamed and ran to the Yaranga and as he neared the entrance Taiga stomped his
hoof yet again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The moon hurtled through the flap but there was nothing. He frantically checked
everywhere. He checked coat pockets and tiny boxes but Lusa was nowhere to be
seen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Prince
huffed and puffed as he stomped out of the tent. His anger rising, he began recklessly
searching the herd and the sleigh <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>tossing Lusa’s meagre possessions
carelessly into the snow as he went.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Taiga
stomped his hoof again. Lusa peeked out from behind the entrance flap .</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“ What’s wrong with you? I’m over here” she giggled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Moon burst
into the Yaranga again and again Lusa was nowhere to be seen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">In this way
Taiga and Lusa kept the pale Prince running. Deep into the forest and back to
the Yaranga. Over and over until he was utterly exhausted. When they could see
that he was weak Taiga stomped his hoof once more. This time Lusa faced the
Moon as herself. This time her strength was far greater than his and she pushed
him to the ground and bound his
legs and arms tightly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">She stood
over him. “I am a free spirit,” she said calmly “I do not wish to be captured
or owned by anyone. Nor do I wish to leave my home.” She left him shivering in
the snow shocked, chastised and cold.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">The Moon pleaded
with her, “Please, I will freeze to death out here in the snow. Please take me
into the Yaranga and let me warm myself and then I will return to the skies and
never hunt you again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lusa pulled
the Prince inside and wrapped
blankets around him. She could not bear to see any being suffer but she was no
fool. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I don’t
believe you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may sail back to the
sky but when you are strong again you will return.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">But the moon promised the kind of promise that has eyes of no doubt and he said
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">“If you set
me free I will share my light with your people.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">So Lusa carried the now warm but still weak Moon back to his vessel and watched
him sail his beautiful boat up into the sea of stars.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;">And there he still shines – our pale faced prince of the skies that marks our
months and steers our tides and sheds light upon the Northern lands in their
season of darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day, out of
love and respect for all the free spirited people, he leaves a small beam of moonlight
twinkling in their eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-79834350924901726872016-12-05T07:56:00.000-08:002016-12-05T11:17:44.202-08:00The Sacred Market Place – a guest post by Artist Shenpen Chokyi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In my hideaway valley I'm surrounded by amazing stories and amazing people. People who walk the wild edges unafraid and full of curiousity. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here is a guest post from one of those amazing people. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At this time of year when we in Western cultures are busy buying and consuming Shen writes about the Sacred Market Place.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6t3nTXxXa2KeCEziSVnyqURapO6-vwRTClBTgEvi1kn92n5We9-Kx1Wz7Cvuw3TzVHZ9kn-_Osp0IB5Wl_HTqYfR8P-Q8wE6ZSh8UHptOFYtNWoaoIHP9bz0qUloVxgI_9pmPJjjPe1k/s1600/shens+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6t3nTXxXa2KeCEziSVnyqURapO6-vwRTClBTgEvi1kn92n5We9-Kx1Wz7Cvuw3TzVHZ9kn-_Osp0IB5Wl_HTqYfR8P-Q8wE6ZSh8UHptOFYtNWoaoIHP9bz0qUloVxgI_9pmPJjjPe1k/s640/shens+house.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Shen outside her house.</span></span></div>
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The Sacred market place - Shenpen Chokyi</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is an article about the <a href="http://www.returntotheway.org/animus/" target="_blank">Animus - Art for the World Soul Artists Collective.</a></span></span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span>The name ‘Animus’ is based on the ancient meaning of the word, embodying wind and breath, life and soul. The artists in Animus are actively engaged in a re-consecration of art for the purpose of the re-enchantment of the world. In this post, I’m focussing - in a somewhat expanded sense - on Animus’s first online auction, held <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.1369386426405082&type=1" target="_blank"><b>here</b></a> from December 19th - 20th.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The Sacred Market Place<i> </i></span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The words ‘sacred’ and ‘marketplace’ are usually seen in a polarity, rather than a union, with one another…as in the Biblical passage:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>And Yeshua entered The Temple of God and cast out all of those who sold and bought in The Temple and upset the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves.</i><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Or, more recently, Nietzsche, in Thus Spake Zarathustra:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.</i><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yesterday I read an article by <a href="http://www.monbiot.com/2012/12/10/the-gift-of-death/" target="_blank">George Monbiot </a>about the toxicity of unnecessary products which tested my faith in what I do: as a visual artist, I’m an active creator of things as well as an inevitable consumer of them…and am just putting together the first online auction of the Animus ~ Art for<i><b> </b></i>the World Soul artists collective. Therefore you could say I’m hard at work adding more stuff to the world; not really what I’d want on my epitaph.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The purest, most sacred essence could be experienced as formless…but a recent dream showed me how abstract is this intangibility. The next scene presented a row of offering bowls, each with a tiny written explanation by it:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This made me understand it more fully: undiluted spaciousness is so ungraspable that its rarified nature remains unattainable to those who aren’t yet operating on such an ultimate level. A bridge is needed…and that bridge needs to be clothed in matter if it’s to be useful. As Nigel Richmond said, in his 1970’s book on the I Ching, Language of the Lines’ (free to download <a href="http://www.biroco.com/yijing/richmond.htm" target="_blank">here</a> from Joel Biroco’s insightful site, by the way):<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Each realization takes a liberty with the reality of the one but is also a link with it.</i><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Part of the joy of being embodied in this worldly realm is the sensual joy of what is earthily tangible; angels, in their more ephemeral reality are said to miss that ability to physically feel. We’re only now beginning to move out of a long, long phase in which what is embodied has been seen as, by definition, non-spiritual, making it ‘natural’ for people to treat it as such. It’s telling that the American-English for the body of the earth is dirt.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is what Animus - Art for the World Soul is seeking to redress, for however tame, lame, mundane and civilized our life may appear, within us our unkempt pilgrim soul is replete with the same shimmering birthright of creative, abundant freedom our most extraordinary ancestors embodied.<br />Similarly, however irredeemably urbanised, desecrated and disrespected our holy earth seems to be, her pure indigenous essence is hungry for heart songs, dances which shake the dust from her body, offerings of ochre, plant, stone and love which re-member her wholeness and beauty. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s quite simple. What we - this and previous generations - have desecrated,it’s our sacred work to re-sanctify, to make whole and holy once more. There is no-one else to do it for us; we must joyfully rise to the challenge with courage, grace and devotion: as Hopi Elder Thomas Banyacya told us,<br /><i> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://kotarevillage.org.nz/we-are-the-ones-weve-been-waiting-for/" target="_blank"><i>‘We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.’</i></a><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s our quest in life to find out just how we’re to do this. In Animus, we’ve been called to re-member the world’s harmony through art, choosing diverse forms of creative expression as a bridge to spirit, to the sacred. With the animistic view which attributes a living soul to all things, the art itself<br />then becomes infused with this essence and can become a gateway, a bridge, to this re-memberance, for another person.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">For it could be argued that the art which never leave its creator’s side has not lived fully. As Kahil Gibran describes children,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><i>They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.<br />They come through you but not from you,<br />And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i><br />As the children of artists, artworks have their own destiny to live out. We entrust them to the sacred marketplace in the faith that they’ll find their way to the person to whom they are called, to open new realities for them. They could be described as having talismanic qualities; embodying a particular, beneficial essence. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.sugarsync.com/pf/D234954_60140566_8119546" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Fabeku Fatunmise’s highly recommended, inspiriational talk ‘Why Art Matters’ elucidates this along with many other facets of creation.)</i> </span></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Or using the illustration of a ‘touchstone’; just as a simple pebble in one’s pocket can, when touched, take one out of dis-connected mental loops and be a small but potent re-minder of what is eternal, uncomplicated and natural, they can bring you back ‘home’ ~ over and over.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another potent analogy for me is the Native American tradition of the Faithkeeper. A person who assumes this rôle within the tribe remains centred, at peace within themselves no matter what dramas unfold and misfortunes strike around them. In this way, they become a living thread connecting the sacred heart of life with its often chaotic outer rim.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We’re all called on to be faith keepers ~ to not get thrown off balance by the potentially shocking or disheartening way life can unfold ~ but I’ve just begun to appreciate how an artwork can itself be such a keeper of the faith. A deepening faith in the great unfolding of your own small but precious life…and in life itself.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.1369386426405082&type=1" target="_blank">Here's</a> the link to our auction again: the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1378284678878095&set=oa.1369386426405082&type=3&theater" target="_blank">first image</a> in the album has all the details you’ll need next to it. There’ll be a giveaway of a <a href="http://www.returntotheway.org/manuscripts/" target="_blank">Zhouyi Oracle</a> (microcosmic D.I.Y. edition) as the auction ends, open to everyone who shares the auction :)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Shens website is here - <a href="http://www.returntotheway.org/">http://www.returntotheway.org/</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Christmas Everyone </span></span></div>
THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-16647091069804255602016-11-01T00:38:00.003-07:002017-05-02T07:36:40.050-07:00The Hidden Folk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'The Otherworld', it's a term I hear used a lot lately and I'm grateful to be keeping the company of like minded souls that still feel its pull. What I find most interesting and comforting is the lack of certainty about the world as it appears to our limited senses.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It seems to me that as individuals and as cultures and even as a species, we, in some way or other, manage to maintain our link to the potential of the unknown. Whether it be the cutting edge of Science, or the depths of Religion , or the intrigue of Myth and Folklore. We like the potential and the possibilities that the unknown offers us and even if we dismiss each others perspectives and argue about what the unknown might hold secret I still feel like it is an endearing quality of being Human.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have no particular grasp on what the Unknown might hold - too many or too few years on a meditation mat are blurring the edges of perception for me but I love the way it feels - that vast space of creative potential.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Art and stories can swiftly deliver you to the edge of 'reality' too. At this time of year it is easy to slip into the realm of Folklore. There is something about the dwindling daylight hours that make a fireside tale glow all the more brightly. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This year's Christmas card is taken from Scandinavian Folklore. A small benevolent creature called a Tomte in Sweden, Nisse in Norway and Tontti in Finland. These <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">solitary creatures carry all the charms of human imperfection. They are kind<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, helpful, misch<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">i<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ev<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ous<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and short tempered. Small gifts of porri<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">dge with a little <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">butter </span>are much appreci<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">a</span>ted and will placate him enough that he doesn't feel inclined to tie the <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cows' tails together. ( <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hmm, now there's another p<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ossible picture. )</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And for those of you who are close by and would like to visit an Otherworldly Christmas Exhibition and maybe buy a few gifts for your loved ones Animus – Art For The World Soul is running its 3rd event out here in the hills of Scotland. Yet again it is an amazing collection of Artists rich with a kind of magic that happens when Art, Spirit and Nature weave themselves together. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hope to see you there.</span></span><br />
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THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-26128369094777851642016-10-17T05:51:00.000-07:002017-05-02T07:37:01.848-07:00Just Slow – An interview for Craft Design House<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i>I have always painted and drawn slowly. No amount of pressure has ever made me faster in fact quite the opposite.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">T</span>here have been times that I was told that </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">m</span>y art was too delicate, too detailed, too traditional, too quirky and too slow. Every now and then, in an effort to try to step up and be sensible and make money from my skills I would change tack. Following the advice of those who 'knew the world better' I would attempt to draw large, paint boldly, paint brighter, paint faster. It never worked. More often than not, no matter how I started a piece I would find myself settling quietly into some corner of detail listening to the sound of rain at the window and forgetting <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">myself</span>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I surrender. I love slow, I love detail and I love small. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just last week however a lovely thing happened and I think that maybe things are changing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Craft Design House is a lovely online Gallery that wholly embraces the 'Slow Movement'. The international 'slow movement' is growing. There is slow food, slow cities, slow <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">t</span>v, slow sex, slow fashion and now it seems slow buying of slow art. They asked to interview me for an article and I gratefully accepted. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: black;">So maybe, I might fit in after all.</span> </span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.craftdesignhousejournal.com/" target="_blank">Click here for the <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Article written by Craft Design House</span></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Interview for Craft Design House </b></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-avq53gJ44fd9XfqUtBIOd2Npif07E1psPuBv_AegdTExCZ7UYr6J33Y6qmDLTRFRvs5j2Sd9xncSLhp0RcaOoFHd8Tzwy3j8iOH99XAWvwjCbnttOzaHxBeJhvAVJ526buMFAEB5fpQ/s1600/cdh+interview.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-avq53gJ44fd9XfqUtBIOd2Npif07E1psPuBv_AegdTExCZ7UYr6J33Y6qmDLTRFRvs5j2Sd9xncSLhp0RcaOoFHd8Tzwy3j8iOH99XAWvwjCbnttOzaHxBeJhvAVJ526buMFAEB5fpQ/s640/cdh+interview.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Where do you live? Where is your studio? Is where you’re situated very important to the work you create?</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">I
live near a river in the middle of nowhere and I love it. Up stream is a
beautiful Buddhist temple called Samye Ling. It's full of prayer flags
and wishing trees and even has a fairy hill. Down stream is a beautiful
bridge where two rivers meet and I swear a Troll lives under there. One
day I'll draw him.</span> <span style="color: #990000;"> </span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">I
have always painted things of a slightly magical nature but I am
definitely more at home here than I have ever been before. It's quite
something special. It's as though the paintings belong here.</span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcCSq3baHhxnCuPLpnnYxVyxhkl1HwKTUpaGjtgFB-OwTpS_WM6jWWV2mGb3JYiMymaYlPBYjZnm2kUmM6y0Q5CByGyV4t-UoTO2nBrzqxEMHoOT7QqBqXFoPobzjE6IEe6jU6eaF28Q/s1600/IMG_5468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcCSq3baHhxnCuPLpnnYxVyxhkl1HwKTUpaGjtgFB-OwTpS_WM6jWWV2mGb3JYiMymaYlPBYjZnm2kUmM6y0Q5CByGyV4t-UoTO2nBrzqxEMHoOT7QqBqXFoPobzjE6IEe6jU6eaF28Q/s640/IMG_5468.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;">the river</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZxi4Pj0XPudzwO_P8b9aDocKrfJKnYYMSTOb1n7fe6L8dbuTSkKRJlajHcs8ZrE2iPwYvb2pxu9ZkpFXtPojS4HHB9-7w9oD7BCwI4Z9Gg3pBmUfYJFsoLQ9s4OxytyxZ0skcATb8Zs/s1600/Potala-House-1346479145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZxi4Pj0XPudzwO_P8b9aDocKrfJKnYYMSTOb1n7fe6L8dbuTSkKRJlajHcs8ZrE2iPwYvb2pxu9ZkpFXtPojS4HHB9-7w9oD7BCwI4Z9Gg3pBmUfYJFsoLQ9s4OxytyxZ0skcATb8Zs/s640/Potala-House-1346479145.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #990000;"> <span style="color: #660000;">Samye Ling</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></span><i><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsHRoUHvXYiq2pW6PwN0OUsT4hXc0781xbZA-8eD3PEXJnnhB4slsn_5QIIiLedyonLsQtgXVFJArlKW9EpM9D9Ekk4QOd5rdUiBv7PndgWUf3En9IjO_7ZCWMYe5QWJ8h5GcrWMknB0/s1600/The+Locals.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsHRoUHvXYiq2pW6PwN0OUsT4hXc0781xbZA-8eD3PEXJnnhB4slsn_5QIIiLedyonLsQtgXVFJArlKW9EpM9D9Ekk4QOd5rdUiBv7PndgWUf3En9IjO_7ZCWMYe5QWJ8h5GcrWMknB0/s640/The+Locals.jpg" width="640" /></a> </span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"> The Locals</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b>What are the origins of the figurines? Where do they come from? What are they made of? How did you find them in the first place? Do they have a particular name?</b></span></span><i><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"> I
first came across Matryoshka when I went to Russia in 1986 – oh gosh
that's along time ago! It was still the USSR then and the streets and
the people were all of a grey colour but the market stalls with the
Matryoshka glowed in the Winter light and I was captivated. Each one
delicately painted, telling it's own story. Some were similar but no
two were alike – it was as though you could see and feel the quiet mood
of the artist who created them in the little brush strokes. </span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">I've
always wanted to combine my love of painting and illustration with 3
dimensional work and this seemed like the perfect way to do it. For
along time I was unable to source the blanks but recently I have found a
contact who can get them for me from Moscow and they are more wonderful
than I expected. The ones I paint are an unusualform of Matryoshka
called Nevalyashka sometimes also called Chime dolls.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">They
are made of Lime wood and sound of the bell is quite lovely. Very
mellow, the whole thing is very tactile and quite charming.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b>What does slow buying mean to you/what is its most important aspect as far as you’re concerned?</b></span></span><i><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #990000;"> I
adore the concept of slow buying and quite coincidentally I have just
found out that our village hub is in the process of looking at becoming <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">part of the <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Slow Movement ( I suspect that won't happen in a hurry)</span></span>. I've spent so long away from television and the media I
wasn't aware but it seems the whole slow movement is really catching on. </span></span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #990000;">I'm not surprised though, it was way to fast for me. Every moment of life is
important and valuable and if your head is full of huge to do lists the
moments slip by un-noticed and a huge sense of dissatisfaction ensues. I
feel slow buying is a beautiful way to buy, particularly because it
honours the time taken to produce a piece of artwork which can only
enhance the enjoyment of the piece.</span> </span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBVR_GdCtQgPetqEVF5TUpHqIOSryPgz2uIsp2232lWBU3OEA8JnKQcObPnZv2d5MCEHrsDC6eQI9q6kJiFbmcEEYkpqORoD0AbGxyMZSe6HBLFS426OIiPdMwY3T6MRe1RmTLGpbGoo/s1600/the+voyager+interview+2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBVR_GdCtQgPetqEVF5TUpHqIOSryPgz2uIsp2232lWBU3OEA8JnKQcObPnZv2d5MCEHrsDC6eQI9q6kJiFbmcEEYkpqORoD0AbGxyMZSe6HBLFS426OIiPdMwY3T6MRe1RmTLGpbGoo/s640/the+voyager+interview+2.jpeg" width="480" /></a> </span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I have always painted slowly.
Once a design of a sketch has found its way onto a surface I love settling down
to paint and losing myself in the detail. It becomes almost like a meditation.
The delicate smell of paint and freshly sanded wood, the sound of the wind
outside or rain on the windows. The slow appearance of a picture growing on a
once blank surface.</span></span></span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXtsx1Oy0nKECNmDCCtJfw9dhPccndKCsxftI_F9qM83IdGzl_2Tcm45MMV_pnu3ZqF1oTjddfg2-VO1dYNVA2as8QbgHi5i0-Ppl9UwneL7clmCb0dKqxgGaHlpAOkBHgqZN7viosaE/s1600/a+rabbits+tale+interview+3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXtsx1Oy0nKECNmDCCtJfw9dhPccndKCsxftI_F9qM83IdGzl_2Tcm45MMV_pnu3ZqF1oTjddfg2-VO1dYNVA2as8QbgHi5i0-Ppl9UwneL7clmCb0dKqxgGaHlpAOkBHgqZN7viosaE/s640/a+rabbits+tale+interview+3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></span></span> </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">What do you enjoy about the commissioning/personalising process? </span><span style="color: #990000;">Can you give an example of a recent commission?</span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Working
on a commission can be a delightful process. I have a beautiful
commission in the pipeline at the moment for a couple who live in a
neighbouring valley. They are renovating a very old house. Underneath
the floorboards they found an old note handwritten by a child which said
" Would somebody please tell me what happened to the Crystal bird?"
When they asked me if I would like to paint a picture to enhance the
story I couldn't stop grinning. The imagination began to swirl with
images. immediately. Pure magic! That one happens to be for a painting
to hang on a wall but there is nothing to say it couldn't be a 3
dimensional object if that is what was wanted.</span></span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
also have a small commission which is nearly finished for a Christmas
ornament , one of the Nevalyashkas. The client has a cheeky cat that
likes to climb into their Christmas tree and so it makes perfect sense
that her portrait becomes part of a Christmas decoration.</span></span></i></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJsn7EnxPOF-6w_nuWMI8rRHxkaa79cZ5iUhhZzek4wx29tTAZaPZCUHdzcsooNvvrazBRxbOph9O6SYrnMQLo1rGnDQHG4HtUeI1_-cUXLeOplNXnUxbSUGmUmY1HRo1b3hQNXZFJllo/s1600/mingo+xmas+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJsn7EnxPOF-6w_nuWMI8rRHxkaa79cZ5iUhhZzek4wx29tTAZaPZCUHdzcsooNvvrazBRxbOph9O6SYrnMQLo1rGnDQHG4HtUeI1_-cUXLeOplNXnUxbSUGmUmY1HRo1b3hQNXZFJllo/s640/mingo+xmas+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>What options for customisation do you currently offer?</b></span></span><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></span></i></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
can customise most of the Nevalyashkas with a little something to make
it more personal if clients wish or a whole new piece can be
commssioned. Traditional 2 dimensional Illustrations can be commissioned
too of course.</span></span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></span></i></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /><span style="color: #990000;">About the painting process – does it need to be treated first or is it ready to go?</span></b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">The
blanks arrive from Russia wrapped in Russian newspapers and in a box
absolutely covered in Russian stamps. It feels like Christmas no matter
what time of year they arrive. The Nevalyashkas need a light sand and I
seal the wood too before I start to design or paint. Then, once they are
painted they need to dry thoroughly before they are varnished and then
need to be put away in a warm dust free place to dry completely.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></i></span><b> </b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #660000;"><b>Where does inspiration come from? Who are the people/faces you paint? What are your influences?</b></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">My
inspiration, I think, is sort of anything Northern and folktale-ish. I
can't explain why really but my pull to the North, places like Iceland
and Norway and across through Finland to northern Russia is quite
strong. Very odd having been born and brought up in Australia , I know. I
guess somethings just remain a mystery.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">The faces and drawings sometimes come out of nowhere and sometimes might
be sparked by a particular idea that leads me to look at a certain type
of artwork or style and that may lead to another idea and to another
which leads to a portion of the drawing and from there it might create
itself. It's a bit like a walk in the woods you never know what you
might find. An Antler here a Jay feather there, all beautiful and inspirational and unexpected.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b>How integral to your wider work is your illustration at the old burrow?</b></span><i><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><span style="color: #990000;"><i>The
Old Burrow began as a place to simply display paintings but quite
naturally writing is taking its part as well. When people buy paintings
they most often will want the writing that goes with it as well. The
writing is a snippet of a story - an introduction give the viewer a
helping hand into the realm of the imagination. My greatest love is to
see the sparkle in someones eyes as they tell me more about whats
happening in the painting. The gap between Adult and playful joyful
child is very narrow really - it's just sometimes people need a little
nudge.</i></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vKXiT6BhH_fBfaW5408O1wtzwWKwGpizimWEGAkOCDFjtF2U5zL2iwN_bvbQcEoGAQiI2w9Q0QWRs2lEf4hl8C1YZRJ1ZqVqk7F6FWhV_KRduLeEPZQWVgtEKHOZqDTDv64mDtTh0NE/s1600/wayfarer%2527s+5x7+full+colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vKXiT6BhH_fBfaW5408O1wtzwWKwGpizimWEGAkOCDFjtF2U5zL2iwN_bvbQcEoGAQiI2w9Q0QWRs2lEf4hl8C1YZRJ1ZqVqk7F6FWhV_KRduLeEPZQWVgtEKHOZqDTDv64mDtTh0NE/s640/wayfarer%2527s+5x7+full+colour.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"><i>I love the idea of creating a mechanism for story telling, most peoples lives have a bit of magic running through it - to create an artwork to help tell the tale just brings that magic to life. </i></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b>How long will it take from
first contact to completed work?</b><i> </i></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: #990000;">The
pieces vary in the amount of time they take to create, some designs are
more complicated than others. And of course it depends how many orders I
have as well. Usually I tell people 2 - 4 weeks and of course <span style="color: #990000;">I</span> will
let them at first contact if that will be sooner or later.</span></span> </i></span> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413522934242411788.post-51487458007875456482016-09-06T09:08:00.000-07:002017-05-02T07:37:30.502-07:00The Gates From There to Here<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes I like to start the day off with an <a href="http://blogs.bl.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/index.html" target="_blank">Illuminated manuscript</a>. The colours, the humour, the unexpected juxtaposition of characters spark a curious sense of delight within me and I am inspired to play with that strange thing we call the Imagination.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75CdNa5fN5Xmp-dXQ4BQB4sGLWhoJvR7MAwlmGXsXWcb-KjV15KUl2-PCZHLKI67G3379Ka8JEx5Ss17pJl-6nbt2lr6CFjj1ejEmz0zi1J8IVg3i86JXfokVhCU5WV4mySITl_Ic8tI/s1600/29c708796c7add0b49f0eaa7e3af8a7d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75CdNa5fN5Xmp-dXQ4BQB4sGLWhoJvR7MAwlmGXsXWcb-KjV15KUl2-PCZHLKI67G3379Ka8JEx5Ss17pJl-6nbt2lr6CFjj1ejEmz0zi1J8IVg3i86JXfokVhCU5WV4mySITl_Ic8tI/s1600/29c708796c7add0b49f0eaa7e3af8a7d.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnRRWBetTd_zsIB1a1R0wOCqGpJYUD8K6OkX1Li43jjhqxZZh0Y5wE2SZAkBibzo3yqeLpAUJ9Wqov2AGqpnQvSRM9xEAsdypDMl9khd0e4ABzArN2agXgT0xKkvXNGXyHt-4ZjvNouU/s1600/6a013488b5399e970c017c3252c481970b-500wi.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnRRWBetTd_zsIB1a1R0wOCqGpJYUD8K6OkX1Li43jjhqxZZh0Y5wE2SZAkBibzo3yqeLpAUJ9Wqov2AGqpnQvSRM9xEAsdypDMl9khd0e4ABzArN2agXgT0xKkvXNGXyHt-4ZjvNouU/s400/6a013488b5399e970c017c3252c481970b-500wi.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OHRQk8B1mScMVfiuvLaWUP1n7S4h-XslMTbhKkuszCZoTQy9FfzwkWCYGaWoueZ7iQfZ914YgbwbJZo9Z8XuD_G5kqupPVN5Ggga6cuIXT1TmSsJ6YKQPqsY3DbDyAs5JaheLCHCYqc/s1600/Hedgehogs_with_Bagpip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OHRQk8B1mScMVfiuvLaWUP1n7S4h-XslMTbhKkuszCZoTQy9FfzwkWCYGaWoueZ7iQfZ914YgbwbJZo9Z8XuD_G5kqupPVN5Ggga6cuIXT1TmSsJ6YKQPqsY3DbDyAs5JaheLCHCYqc/s1600/Hedgehogs_with_Bagpip.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">For very long time now I've wondered what the Imagination is. One of the most common questions I get asked about my paintings is <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"W</span>here do you get all these ideas from?" And, then I hear myself saying "W<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ell, </span>I think I<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> may<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>just </span>have an over-active imagination". Really, I'm just mimicking the words I heard adults used to describe me as a child but if I think about it, I don't believe it at all.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">For me the Imagination is almost more like a place in consciousness that can be <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">visited</span>. I never feel like the sole creator, more a participant in some kind of miraculous play where anything is possible. <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes th</span>ere is a strange feeling of lo<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">s<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ing oneself</span></span> and yet a <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">feeling <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">that</span></span> an interaction is occurring.</span> Other<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">times</span> I feel far more like a privileged witness than a creator, it's just that <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">when I sit to paint or <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">dra<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">w</span></span></span> I get to bring things from <i>that</i> place <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">to <i>this</i> place</span> so that others can see it too. <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And, when they see it<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, w</span></span>hat I really hope for is that <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">they</span> might be inspired enough to be delivered to the realm of Imagination – so that they may experience the joy that is pure creativity.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In our society, at least in the one I was brought up in, the imagination was something to be restrained. It was for lazy people, for no-good<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">-</span>day-dreamers, for people with their head in the clouds. For some of us that is crushing and for me it forced my drawings into secreted sketch books and my imaginings into a locked closet that I would only share with a very few. The few that had that sparkle of magic in their eyes, the few that would laugh joyfully and play un-selfconsciously with the waterfall of spontaneous creativity that flowed when the gates from There to Here were allowed to open.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKttllSTuf8x0gmYZnuFYiDgKoP4CDm1eAR-MWZLTxaRtme-X4GYWbYSyT34Kq7L4MVPJF1wn-hx3nmySFMBDLLOeAMlBc3E9EUPoOuvTRyOuW7DwYNV5tWSxRcF8cT4DJ-JAL4A4PBps/s1600/IMG_5469-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKttllSTuf8x0gmYZnuFYiDgKoP4CDm1eAR-MWZLTxaRtme-X4GYWbYSyT34Kq7L4MVPJF1wn-hx3nmySFMBDLLOeAMlBc3E9EUPoOuvTRyOuW7DwYNV5tWSxRcF8cT4DJ-JAL4A4PBps/s640/IMG_5469-2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A Faun and a Fish from once upon a time secret sketch<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">books</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and a <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">few</span> more...</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ46KHBE5Kj420Z_suL3uaDVwX8i4q7RdJL-RvsZtD47K1ldc5n64H-_nvCsTn7KOCHs8uGfsh2XfwxAJVgVlmLxAEavXRQB1fGvE9zPvqYdhSVHGhYziyJVgO6GWJOC1RaC6HOgod6Sk/s1600/theoldburrow+home+-+Version+3+reduced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ46KHBE5Kj420Z_suL3uaDVwX8i4q7RdJL-RvsZtD47K1ldc5n64H-_nvCsTn7KOCHs8uGfsh2XfwxAJVgVlmLxAEavXRQB1fGvE9zPvqYdhSVHGhYziyJVgO6GWJOC1RaC6HOgod6Sk/s640/theoldburrow+home+-+Version+3+reduced.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Beyond the mainstream view of things - which is often filled with superficial but widely accepted perspectives - there is often a much greater landscape to explore. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The depth and importance of creativity though often dismissed as a mere pastime by many is recognised by some as so much more. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some say that being in the flow of pure creativity is a divine state. Some say go so far as to say it can deliver Wild information from the Edge and that it is a way of negotiating with Life. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here is a lovely video from Martin Shaw – Master Story-Teller </span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7aCOuWxEm6Q" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7aCOuWxEm6Q" border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxvlL0cUxfaOteZRpxiGl6BNXbJQfyI5g3wLCK9VevM6q_2YETltU3b0EWeFEBkvnDk12_MnldM3pFfsbnt11UKEzxevizFpCNR7SkWwT1c5U8zfF8LbZ_reaS_OQ-3O9uwAkhUmKMAs/s640/martin+shaw.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <a href="http://quoteinvestigator.com/2013/01/01/einstein-imagination/" target="_blank">"Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution. It is, strictly speaking a real factor in scientific research."</a></span></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Einstein</span> </span></span></span></span></i></div>
<i><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span></span></i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">"Imagination is a very high sort of seeing, which does not come by study, but by being where and what it sees, by sharing the path, or circuits of things through forms, and so making them translucid to others."</span></i></span></span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">Ralph Waldo Emerson </span></i></span></span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so here is the latest delivery from the Imagination. After many years in a dusty sketch book it has finally been painted.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> She is Babotchka A n</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ame kindly suggested to me by a friend. Babotchka is </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Russian for butterfly and pleasingly similar to Babooshka (Russian for Old woman ). There was also once a belief that </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">women (particularly witches) turned into butterf</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">lies a</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">fter death. She was born without a name or a purpose but has found one that suits her perfectly. I find that is often the way with creativity, it seems to encourage synchronicities and that is always pleasant.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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THE OLD BURROWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06113082266484981373noreply@blogger.com8