In my deepest, most ancient memory of me, I am sitting in this magical spot that once used to exist at The Homestead where I grew up. There was once this old barn, and this little place had once been an old shed just off the barn. Drive shed, tool shed, who knows. But now it was just the ruin of the foundation blocks/cement (whatever), surrounded by this delightful grove of scrubby green, with the old barn at my back, the gentle afternoon sun drifting through the leaves. The birds chirped all around me, all on my own. I sat there for hours, every once in a while reaching behind me to pluck a Gooseberry, watching fairies in the dancing beams of light.
It was, and it still is, my most favourite place. I have spent my life, over and over, recreating little vignettes of that magical place.
It always just had this sense of something mystical about it. Cut off as it was from the world I knew, the house, the road, the tracks behind, the neighbours, the people.
From a very young age, I have desired solitude. A haven, a sacred space, a domain cut off from regular uses, a place where I could just be myself.
I guess I’ve known from a very young age that to be the best version of myself OUT THERE, I needed to define a place, sacred ground, just for me. A space that embodied elements of that magical little enchanted grove where I could watch the light move through the leaves, lost in exquisite solitude.
Now, my quest has been over the years, is how to channel that out into the world? How to teach, guide, encourage, how to inspire others to find their own sacred groves where they can be themselves… away from the big bad world. Recharge, of a sort.
And, once I found it, what do I call it? Mystical Art for Introverts?
Anywho. Where to start? Em.
You know, I’ve thought about this a lot in the last few months. And, over time, it has become the mantra that has defined my path. This journey, the winding road from a cottage on a lake called Irish, to this decade or more since, nestled here within another idyllic spot, at the heart of a village encompassed by a growing city, with paths of wild that wind along the river, with hidden trails to pockets of wild abandoned old orchards and meadows and new forests.
“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic — the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.”
― Charles de Lint
Over half that decade since my life on that lake called Irish, I have defined and honed, and tinkered with and abandoned once or twice, which is to say this blog came to be a conduit.
Living as I do in the lap of idyllic landscapes, I truly do desire to give back to the world some of its lost heart. Everywhere I am, the same sense of disheartened sentiments at everything from the price of gas to the price of your own home have begun to dominate random conversations between friends and strangers alike.
And, ugh, the political landscape has been brutal. One crisis, issue, scandal, breaking news event ad nauseam, and I hear so many directing ALL that negative energy at whichever party runs the show. Whether or not they are to blame or not, irrelevant today, as many just need SOMEONE to blame.
Disheartened.
So, back to the point, why am I creating and selling these silly little fairies on Etsy? Why have I re-imagined my own photographs and reimagined them with a fey-touch?
Ok, numero uno.
IT MAKES ME HAPPY
Silly? Yup. And full of childish whimsy, and quite frankly, I think we could all do with a touch more of childish whimsy in our life. Little spots of magic and mystical hoogy-moogy to lighten our hearts – even if for a brief glimpse as we walk out the door into the big bad world. A little reminder, perhaps, that magic is often right there in front of us if we but believe it could be.
“I want to be magic. I want to touch the heart of the world and make it smile. I want to be a friend of elves and live in a tree. Or under a hill. I want to marry a moonbeam and hear the stars sing. I don’t want to pretend at magic anymore. I want to be magic.”
― Charles de Lint
So… I guess that’s why.
by PaulaB 