Coming down out of the freezing sky with its depths of light, like an angel, or a Buddha with wings, it was beautiful, and accurate, striking the snow and whatever was there with a force that left the imprint of the tips of its wings — five feet apart — and the grabbing thrust of its feet, and the indentation of what had been running through the white valleys of the snow — and then it rose, gracefully, and flew back to the frozen marshes to lurk there, like a little lighthouse, in the blue shadows — so I thought: maybe death isn’t darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us — as soft as feathers — that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes, not without amazement, and let ourselves be carried, as through the translucence of mica, to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow, that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light — in which we are washed and washed out of our bones. Author

Tuesday 30 July 2013

The parlour fairy



This is a piece of mixed media art that I keep playing around with. It's an original painting on canvas. I painted her with H2os and I loved the shimmering effect that it gave to her skin. The wings are painted, with fantasy foil over the top and then I painted more H2os over the top. To be fair the picture does not show the true effect but I so wanted to share this piece. The butterflies are stamped images again coloured with H2os. Can anyone spot a theme here? The butterflies that form her crown are punched usung a martha stewart punch and then coloured.

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