Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Netsuke - Miniature Japanese sculptures which originated in the 17th century. They were used as decorative toggles.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
It seems so very long ago that I completed these cards. I suppose in a way it was. The Star was completed in May 2009 and The World in March 2009. Looking back on my entries is very interesting as I didn't post much about the Star painting and absolutely nothing about The World. Of course, at that point I didn't know much about marketing my work and how to let people know exactly why I was creating it. I suppose, at the time, I was just making it for myself, without considering that my blog readers might have an interest in the process or the meaning.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The intricate stonework instantly caught my eye. It reminded my of the Louvre, as did the lovely statue at the entrance. A choir stood to one side of the door, a charming addition to the setting. Christmas carols filled the night air and before going in a moment had to be spent enjoying the lift of so many voices.
But it was chilly and the purpose was to go inside and see the Glasgow Boys, an exhibit that will soon be finishing it's run at the Royal Academy.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
I got my first sale through RedBubble!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
My name is Kristen. I live in the kingdom of Gwaldwin. I have lived here all my life.
Tonight I am happy, despite the sorrowful story that happened here so very long ago.
Though it happened long before my brothers or myself were born, I know the tale off by
heart. My father has told it to me a thousand times over on nights when I could not sleep
or whenever I was ill and the night after my mother died. He always began it the same
Once upon a time on a night of great turmoil, your story began.
Many houses had been burned. The knights rode through the streets slaying all who were
not loyal to his majesty, Harold the Wicked, as he is remembered now. My father, a
painter, earned what little he could with his talent. My mother, a servant to a noble
family, was earning even less, being a woman. So they could only live in the smallest of
cottages with the smallest servings of food. They couldn’t afford to disobey the kings
My mother was pregnant with me at the time. She was also very ill. She had a fever that
ran high and her body was wracked with violent shivers as she lay bundled beneath what
few blankets they had. my father saw death upon her face. He knew what had to be done
to save his beloved wife but it was terribly dangerous. It would be a long journey with
many perils, but the greatest would come upon reaching his destination. He had to go to
the great mountains, a seven days journey, and he would have to get and bring back the
tears of a dragon.
That night he left the cottage, knowing he would have to move as quickly as possible. He
knew my mother may not be alive upon his return, but if he did not go she would die for
certain. He wrapped her in all the remaining blankets and left what little food he could
manage to collect, along with the freshest water he could find, near her shaking body. He
left her with two farewell kisses, one to her fevered brow and one to her soft sun browned
My father traveled quickly. He knew his wife had very little time left on this earth.
Despite the small misfortunes he encountered along the way he did not slow down. He
traveled at night even, so he could perhaps cut the time it would take him in half. So, on
the fifth dawn of the fifth morning since he had left, my father, tired and bedraggled,
arrived at the Emerald Caves, where the mightiest dragon known was said to live.
My father entered the largest cave. He knew that the Queen of the Dragons would be
here. After lighting his lantern he walked slowly down the dark passage of the damp
cave. It got warmer as he went further. He could hear the dragon snoring softly. Soon he
was upon her, a massive looming shape in the shadows. Her sides moved up and down
with each breath. My father came as near to her as he dared and sat, waiting for the
mighty creature to awaken.
My father shook himself awake and looked around. The dragon was gone. His lantern
had burned low while he slept, but there was still enough dim light to see that the
looming shape was no longer present. Slowly he got to his feet and left the cave. He
found the dragon outside, sunbathing on a patch of course mountain grass.
He approached her and said in his loudest voice, “Dragon! Awaken from your slumber!”
The dragon did not move and so my father said, “Dragon! Mighty dragon! Awaken and
grant that I may have some of your tears?”
The dragon slowly lifted her red, scaly head and looked at my father. She yawned and her
foul somewhat sulphurous breath caught my father off guard. Then she blinked her
golden eyes lazily and rested her head back on the ground.
“Dragon, wondrous, mighty, dragon! What must I do to have thee grant my humble
wish?” pleaded my father.
The dragon did not move. She only opened her eyes and gazed at my father most lazily.
My father was in great despair, having not planned for such a predicament. He sat on the
ground and put his face in his hands. suddenly, he had an idea.
My father looked into the dragons glistening eyes and began to tell a tale. It was a sad
tale of stupendous and beautiful dragons fighting in terrible battles. One dragon in
particular was the strongest and fastest of them all. She fought bravely and won every
time. She won the final battle most victoriously, only to die a short time later while
As he finished the story my father looked up to see the massive dragon with her head
bowed. A huge pearly tear had run down her snout and was ready to fall with a great
splash. My father grabbed the jar he had brought and caught the tear as it fell. Then he
sealed the jar and thanked the dragon profusely.
When my father arrived home he found the town in ruins. The small cottage was half
burned but his wife had made it onto the street safely. She lay there, nearly dead. My
father dropped to his knees beside her and opened the tear filled jar. He slowly poured it
down my mothers parched throat and over her pale face. She swallowed weakly and lay
still. My father wrapped his arms around her and they slept, side by side, until the sun
came creeping over the valley.
As the suns first rays danced over my parents faces my mothers eyes fluttered open. She
stretched and my father woke as well. My mother stood very slowly. Her body was as
healthy as the day she was born! My father hugged her happily and they kissed. I was
born a few months later.
My mother died giving birth to my youngest brother when I was eight. That was seven
years ago this very day.
I must go now for it is almost midnight. Every midnight on this sorrowful anniversary of
my mothers passing, I turn into a dragon and my mothers spirit and I fly across the sky,
hand in hand.