Fairy Nights
I never used to believe in fairies. Utter nonsense. I was resolute. My life was facts, science and concrete. Until...
One day I was visiting my friend Linda. It was summer and we sat outside sipping wine while dinner was cooking. As I gazed around her beautiful garden, something fluorescent pink caught my eye under the boughs of the weeping willow. It was small, about the length of my hand.
What's that? I asked, getting up for a closer look.
Oh that's a little plastic sofa, Linda said matter of factly. It belongs to our fairy friends.
I turned to her and laughed, but Linda was quite serious.
We didn't think anything of it at first, she said. We just thought it had been carried in by next door's dog. But then a little table and chairs appeared, and a swing, all perfectly arranged and to scale. My granddaughter explained that fairies were living with us in our garden. They liked it here and planned to stay.
It's been there ever since. Now and again it moves and the chairs are sometimes in or out. We don't bother it. And the dog hasn't either. We leave biscuits and Brian occasionally leaves out a capful of whiskey...
We both looked at the fairy den in quiet reverence. Linda seemed nonplussed. I was bent double, squinting and straining my eyes to see if I could detect movement.
Soon dinner was served and the wine flowed. Brian joined us and the three of us chatted and laughed under the stars. The evening had a magical quality. We were happy, our hearts open to mystery and wonder.
The next day I placed a small owl ornament in a shady area of my own garden. It pleases me to think right now some fairies might be setting up camp there.
I've moved my armchair chair to observe the scene, been saving my bottle caps for the next fine evening.
I never used to believe in fairies. Utter nonsense. I was resolute. My life was facts, science and concrete. Until...
One day I was visiting my friend Linda. It was summer and we sat outside sipping wine while dinner was cooking. As I gazed around her beautiful garden, something fluorescent pink caught my eye under the boughs of the weeping willow. It was small, about the length of my hand.
What's that? I asked, getting up for a closer look.
Oh that's a little plastic sofa, Linda said matter of factly. It belongs to our fairy friends.
I turned to her and laughed, but Linda was quite serious.
We didn't think anything of it at first, she said. We just thought it had been carried in by next door's dog. But then a little table and chairs appeared, and a swing, all perfectly arranged and to scale. My granddaughter explained that fairies were living with us in our garden. They liked it here and planned to stay.
It's been there ever since. Now and again it moves and the chairs are sometimes in or out. We don't bother it. And the dog hasn't either. We leave biscuits and Brian occasionally leaves out a capful of whiskey...
We both looked at the fairy den in quiet reverence. Linda seemed nonplussed. I was bent double, squinting and straining my eyes to see if I could detect movement.
Soon dinner was served and the wine flowed. Brian joined us and the three of us chatted and laughed under the stars. The evening had a magical quality. We were happy, our hearts open to mystery and wonder.
The next day I placed a small owl ornament in a shady area of my own garden. It pleases me to think right now some fairies might be setting up camp there.
I've moved my armchair chair to observe the scene, been saving my bottle caps for the next fine evening.
I never used to believe in fairies. Utter nonsense. I was resolute. My life was facts, science and concrete. Until...
One day I was visiting my friend Linda. It was summer and we sat outside sipping wine while dinner was cooking. As I gazed around her beautiful garden, something fluorescent pink caught my eye under the boughs of the weeping willow. It was small, about the length of my hand.
What's that? I asked, getting up for a closer look.
Oh that's a little plastic sofa, Linda said matter of factly. It belongs to our fairy friends.
I turned to her and laughed, but Linda was quite serious.
We didn't think anything of it at first, she said. We just thought it had been carried in by next door's dog. But then a little table and chairs appeared, and a swing, all perfectly arranged and to scale. My granddaughter explained that fairies were living with us in our garden. They liked it here and planned to stay.
It's been there ever since. Now and again it moves and the chairs are sometimes in or out. We don't bother it. And the dog hasn't either. We leave biscuits and Brian occasionally leaves out a capful of whiskey...
We both looked at the fairy den in quiet reverence. Linda seemed nonplussed. I was bent double, squinting and straining my eyes to see if I could detect movement.
Soon dinner was served and the wine flowed. Brian joined us and the three of us chatted and laughed under the stars. The evening had a magical quality. We were happy, our hearts open to mystery and wonder.
The next day I placed a small owl ornament in a shady area of my own garden. It pleases me to think right now some fairies might be setting up camp there.
I've moved my armchair chair to observe the scene, been saving my bottle caps for the next fine evening.
30cm x 20cm (12” x 8”)
Acrylic/collage on paper
Original artwork
This painting is of a remote country scene. A verdant Irish landscape smoulders under a nighttime sky, alive with stars. A heavy cloud weeps gently on the hills, creating a idea of rich earthy scents and sensations.
The foreground is slightly out of focus, hinting at more dense foliage behind the viewer. Our eyes are drawn instead to the horizon, where a solid house is strategically situated to survey the entire scene, both before as and beyond our line of sight. It shelters under two tall trees whose silhouettes appear almost human in form.
The house on the hill has a clear line of sight to the viewer, but perhaps not of the house on the edge of the picture. This closer house appears to be tucked away, concealed, even cowering. A tree in full bloom shields it, tall enough to catch the moonlight. This house rests on the edge of a damp marshland as if by choice. Its location is less convenient than the house on the hill, selected for its hidden location rather than its comfort.
Overall the scene has a surreal, magical quality. The vastness of the sky offers a place of rest and escape. In spite of the fears and longings of the inhabitants here, there is a wider story to be investigated and understood.