Green And Grey On St. Patrick's Day.

A sketch of a nearby barrow. There is a children’s graveyard associated with it (the small stones you see); since stillborn or unbaptized children could not be buried on hallowed ground, in a proper cemetery, people in Ireland in 18-19 centuries buried their stillborn and unbaptized babies themselves. Such improvised unofficial graveyards were normally located in church ruins, on ring forts or on barrows, that is, in spaces that were vernacularly considered sacred / liminal.

This one has a very peaceful vibe in life. I like to think that whoever lies there looks after these children ‘entrusted’ to them.

Hi I adore your name!

(I'm gonna ignore that I thought it was pronounced ay dawn like the word for forehead my whole life ;_;)

Awww, thanks so much!

Ladies, gentlemen and glorious non-binary people, I give you Áed Dub mac Suibhni and St. Findchán! It's a series of illustrations I made for my husband's conference presentation on how love wins in Early Ireland. Shared with his permission of course.

The Tomb - Menlo Castle The castle, originally built in 1569, was abandoned in 1910 after a fire broke out that incinerated everything (and I mean everything) inside and took the lives of two people. One of those people was the owners' daughter, who had a disability and hence was physically unable to run for her life. She was cremated alive, and her body was never found. After an unsuccessful search for the body the Blakes - the owners - left and never returned, leaving the castle that became their daughter's grave to the elements. It is reported to be haunted.

Another current wip

A commission of Brigid for @bloodtreachery (awww, it was SUCH a pleasure to do it!). I put an emphasis on her aspect as a poet, hence the fire of poetry ablaze! The poem in the flames is a liberal translation of these lines from The Hosting of the Sidhe into Old Irish (courtesy of my wonderful husband):

...if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart.

A landscape with two kelpies

Brave little flowers on campus on Imbolc day.

What the Tuatha Dé Danann could have seen when someone finally cried 'Land ahead!'

Celtober 2023 Days 10, 11 and 12: Siblings, Medicine, Sacrifice

Now Núadu was being treated, and Dían Cécht put a silver hand on him which had the movement of any other hand. But his son Míach did not like that. He went to the hand and said ‘joint to joint of it, and sinew to sinew’; and he healed it in nine days and nights. The first three days he carried it against his side, and it became covered with skin. The second three days he carried it against his chest. The third three days he would cast white wisps of black bulrushes after they had been blackened in a fire.

Dían Cécht did not like that cure. He hurled a sword at the crown of his son's head and cut his skin to the flesh. The young man healed it by means of his skill. He struck him again and cut his flesh until he reached the bone. The young man healed it by the same means. He struck the third blow and reached the membrane of his brain. The young man healed this too by the same means. Then he struck the fourth blow and cut out the brain, so that Míach died; and Dían Cécht said that no physician could heal him of that blow.

After that, Míach was buried by Dían Cécht, and three hundred and sixty-five herbs grew through the grave, corresponding to the number of his joints and sinews. Then Airmed spread her cloak and uprooted those herbs according to their properties.

Cath Maige Tuired