Larger format, limited edition prints. Size of prints varies depending on image. Giclees are printed on a heavy archival matt surface and are limited to only 100.
Original painting is sold in antique frame
Companion piece to Trance and Descension
Companion piece to Trance and Transition
Companion piece to Transition and Descension
FRAMED ORIGINAL: AVAILABLE $2900.00 - please contact Julie of Krab Jab Studio ( http://www.krabjabstudio.com/ ) if interested
In The Homeric Hymns, the Thriae were a trio of nymphs on Mount Parnassus, who were said to have taught and given Apollo the gift of prophecy. They were called Melissae, bee-priestesses, with pollen in their hair and honeybee wings.
Dreamsign -- the elusive anomaly that a dreamer can learn to use to gain lucidity. It is a moment when clarity pierces the fog. Ironically it is often in the form of the nonsensical and out-of-place. Suddenly the fabrications of the mind become apparent as such. Exhilaration and control take the place of fear, anxiety, or confusion, and perhaps carry over in some small measure to the waking. Muhru is dreamsign. The sound of his wings beat like a pulse through all dreams, and he is the guardian of the thin line the separates the knowing from the unknowing.
The tempo increases, and we must follow, drawn on by the rhythm and the music that beats through the earth into the soles of our feet.
We walked once where the shadow used to fall:
watched the eclipse blot out the sun,
and the streaming beams between the
pinhole gaps of leaves became
a cascade of glowing crescents across the ground.
Where the shadow used to fall,
the rain did not.
Dense, dry, fallen carpet of the years
pooled at the Giant's feet.
Blanket of crisp leaves and needles. Sap and compost.
My shadow falls, where its shadow used to fall;
and when the sun fades to my back,
I stand upon the hundred rings.
I reach my fingers up up UP to a ghost canopy.
The sunset melts amber sap down my shoulder blades,
down my spine.
And I watch as my shadow grows tall,
then melts into the shadow-less evening.
The giclee print of this piece is a small limited edition run of 100 prints.
Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.
At the mirk and midnight hour
She heard the bridles sing,
She was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.
-Child ballad #39A Tam Lin
The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-1898 by Francis James Child
There is a Chinese story of the dragon's pearl.
On day, a young boy was out looking for food. He came across a beautiful giant pearl nestled in the rice fields. He takes it home with him and shows it to his mother. Afraid that the other villagers will be jealous, she quickly hides it inside a near-empty rice jar.
The next day as the mother prepares to make food, she opens the rice jar and to her astonishment, jar is brimming with rice. The pearl gleams among the white grains. "It is a miraculous pearl!" she and the boy exclaim in wonder. Joyously, they share the rice among their neighbors, careful to keep the source the the plenty a secret.
But as secrets have a way of doing, it eventually got out and the villagers became wild with jealousy.
They came raiding the house of the boy and his mother, determined to possess the magical pearl, and in the confusion and violence, the boy swallowed the pearl.
He was transformed into a beautiful dragon, and he danced away into the heavens with the flaming pearl.
Illustration for Altimer's Cross.
In ages past, she could care for herself.
She knew every rock and every tree and every stream.
She was the heart of the world, and all the land obeyed her.
But that was the past.
She is in me now, and I help her read the signs.
When the animals flee, I am the tree that shelters them.
When the trees choke the land, I am the fire that cleanses them.
When the fire burns free, I am the rain that quenches it.
And when dark things come, I am the knife
-- from The World Tree
Cover illustration for Peter S. Beagle's upcoming collection THE FIRST LAST UNICORN AND OTHER BEGINNINGS, which will be printed by Tachyon Publications.
What else is there to do while idling away the hours in a forest?