If you saw my Note last week, you will know that I am deep in heartbreak territory.
I thought I might be able to write about it a little today, but it turns out I am not yet ready, every time I try to form words, I only form tears instead.
And so I will share something else today.
Silent Flight.
There is something so romantic, so wildly abundant in those two words together. I called my very first collection of original artworks Silent Flight (in fact, there are still a couple of pieces left, if you please including my absolute favourite, the Tasmanian Masked Owl). The collection consisted of thirteen highly detailed coloured pencil and graphite portraits of owls.
But those two words, Silent Flight, have not left me, there is still work to be done under them, or so owl spirit tells me.
Every day.
Loudly.
As you probably know, I am writing a book called The Wild Forgotten, one that will be filled with art and poetry and words we have woven together here in this space, and it is beautiful but a little overwhelming, to be honest.
It is a big project, and it seems to expand like that world behind the wardrobe door.
So, a smaller offering is coming first, and as soon as I possibly can (the owls are urging me on. They’re gorgeous, but they can be bossy, to be honest).
A little book of art and poetry and wildly woven words, all about owls. I will gather all the owl drawings I have made, and make a few extra, re-weave some words I have already written, and add many more, and sculpt a sweet book of curiosity and wonder about these incredible beings.
This last week I have written three new small pieces to be included, and I thought I might share one with you here.
What if I really were to grow wings?
What if I really were to grow wings?
What if in fascination I become entranced by the rusty ochres and midnight moon feathers of my kin, and feel feathered fingers emerging from my scapula? Feel muscles rearranging, expanding and contracting and sliding over each other until they are supple and strong, so strong, to carry my abundance.
What if these great wings unfurled, as the shadow cast by an eclipse, all encompassing, reverential, a prayer to the wind and the wild and the breath of trees.
What if I were to glide through the night on them, their edges cutting the inky black like hand hewn knives, silent and silver and salubrious.
What if I were to lift these great wings in the sweeping of a hand scooping water, talons forward to land in tall grass and cover my quarry in devotion and adoration, a supplication to the wild order, an inhale of breath at the exhale of another.
What if these wings carried the memories of generations as they fought gravity with grace and took me to shelter in branchy green and watch the world with elegant curiosity and the certainty of intimate connection.
What if I were to grow wings?
More about this project over the next month - I already have the outline, the 30 some full page artworks uploaded, and am working away to get the numerous sketches I have made over the last few years scanned and processed.
It is something I am very excited about.
Noticing Details
My (almost) daily walks have taken on a different meaning these last 6 days, as I try to find wonder enough to heal my hurt.
This morning I held a lengthy conversation with two young ravens as they hopped down the fence at the watershed beside the path I was walking. They were unsure of this human, not willing to trust, eager to stay a little ahead of me in safety, but curious enough to not want to fly away altogether. I have been watching their blue eyed parents feed them in the street plantings further down the path, and I appreciated their willingness to at least let me whisper my adoration to them. To let me see the darkness of their fledgling eyes, the still fluffy feathers growing out around their face, and their lustrous inky black plumes on wings and tails. I coo-ed my delight to them, telling them they are so beautiful, more than simple English words allow, and that they carry the song of goddesses and gods, worshipped by so many through time. I think they already know the latter to be true. When the fence ran out they took flight and away they went over the mangrove, but sure to return once they could see the back of me.
There are little wild lives all around us just doing their thing, perfect in their authenticity and utter presence, not wrapped in should haves and could have beens like we humans are so good at doing, pointless thoughts which eat up our days, greedy and relentless.
And so I am reminded to be kind to myself in this grief, and that soon I might find a way to remember with fondness, but (try not to) dwell on that which cannot be changed. To do that I find the delight and wonder in the little things. The interactions with wild beings, the way the light plays on surfaces, the sounds of birds and trees, the intricacies of this work I am called to do.
The details.
“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.”
~ William Morris
Secret…
Did you know I have a Secret Shop? I mean, it is a secret, but it is not like Knights Templar secret. A secret garden level secret. It is there, you just can’t find it without the key - but I am very generous with keys, keys are something I find fascinating, and so I share them far and wide.
In this secret shop there are original artworks that are not in my main shop. They are studies or pieces that didn’t fit a collection or other things in between. This weekend I decided to add eleventy-seven (well, more than 60 anyway) pieces from earlier in my art-making career. Pieces that when seen together like this tell the tale of my interests and passions and growth and journey.
And it is an utter delight to share them with you.
You will find mystical moon maidens
And magical creatures
And faery of all kinds
There are folktale
And wildlife
And tarot cards and more.
And all for an incredibly affordable exchange.
Are you tempted?
From my wild heart to yours,
Wow your art is magnificent
“Just glide” and let your wings takes you towards tomorrow