“Some day you will be
old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
(C.S. Lewis)
I've been reminded of this incredible artist, lost to me since childhood, and now here blooming again. Hers is the world of fairy tales, that never goes away entirely, just goes dormant until you find your way back into it again. That first world, that old well loved house, which poets, artists, shamans, conjurors, and all our favorite storytellers recreate.
“And now my old dog
is dead, and another I had after him, and my parents are dead, and that first
world, that old house, is sold and lost, and the books I gathered there lost,
or sold—but more books bought, and in another place, board by board and stone
by stone, like a house, a true life built, and all because I was steadfast
about one or two things: loving foxes,
and poems, the blank piece of paper, and my own energy—and mostly the
shimmering shoulders of the world that shrug carelessly over the fate of any
individual that they may, the better, keep the Niles and Amazons flowing.”
(Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures)
image: Sulamith Wulfing, from Pigtails in Paint
