The Once and Future NIADA Souvenir

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

            I WENT out to the hazel wood,
            Because a fire was in my head,
            And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
            And hooked a berry to a thread;
            And when white moths were on the wing,
            And moth-like stars were flickering out,
            I dropped the berry in a stream
            And caught a little silver trout.

            When I had laid it on the floor
            I went to blow the fire a-flame,
            But something rustled on the floor,
            And some one called me by my name:
            It had become a glimmering girl
            With apple blossom in her hair
            Who called me by my name and ran
            And faded through the brightening air.

            Though I am old with wandering
            Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
            I will find out where she has gone,
            And kiss her lips and take her hands;
            And walk among long dappled grass,
            And pluck till time and times are done
            The silver apples of the moon,
            The golden apples of the sun.

                                             ~William Butler Yeats

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Many Thanks...

...to all who watched or participated in my Faerie auction! Special thanks to Midori Snyder and the Endicott Studio blog for linking up to it. Anyone who hasn’t yet enjoyed The Endicott Studio's Journal of Mythic Arts and the Endicott Studio blog has a great and growing treat in store.

I’m off tying up a veritable tassel of loose ends, and launching some fascinating new ventures, as well. I’ll be back here soon, with new grit in my gizzard.

A fine new season to us all! And to all our animal companions, as well: my bird has taken to flying in great swift circles around my bedroom at about six in the morning. Clearly, he is ready for Spring.

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Faery has her wings...

This faery is ready to fly to eBay, tonight or tomorrow. I’ll announce her debut on my eBay mailing list (if you’d like to sign up for that, see the link at right). These are the same wings as pictured below, in the Jan. 29 entry. It’s harder to capture the colours when somebody’s wearing them! The faery would stand about 8 inches tall, were she not sitting on a mushroom. The fibers in her ‘skirt’ are distressed silk gauze, in very pale green & pink. I believe she is dressed for a fay event, but she did not tell me what that might be.
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Faery Wings

A scan of the wings for the fairy I’m aiming to put on eBay this week, much enlarged. They’re brushed Kato Polyclay over archival tissue paper, with gold-filled wire armature. I also dusted them with Pearl Ex powders before baking. No paint was used; the colours are mixed Kato. More anon...

(And more on people’s delightful Inscrutable Scribble speculations... far more entertaining than what I’m actually doing!)

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Golden Mermaid...

A little Mermaid who swam off on eBay last year.  She's Kato Polyclay -- her tail is colored with clay rather than with paint. Love the Kato metallic clays.  I added a bit of Jacquard Pearl Ex powders on the surface, too.  Were she a human, and standing up, she'd be about 8 inches tall.

The 'Thank You' was to eBay viewers, but serves well for you, kind friends who view this Blog! There are bright e-mails hoarded in my basket, which lift my spirits daily... Thank You!

Those same prized e-mails *will* get answered... truly! I have not mastered time, alas. That’s first on my list for 2007. Key to all things, perhaps...

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Swan Maiden, on moss

The White Birds

I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea:   
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can pass by and flee;   
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,   
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that never may die.   

A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose,            
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,   
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:   
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam—I and you.   

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,   
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more:            
Soon far from the rose and the lily, the fret of the flames, would we be,   
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea.

                                                  ~ William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

The Daughter of Lir, again, with a hand for scale. Tech note: you can  see the brass rod extending  from her hip -- it fits into a brass tube in her base (partly seen, lower right) and also can hold her steady when inserted in the material of choice (moss, for instance).

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