Paintings

He revels in the radiant glory of the Sun.

The Sun rises in all his glory. Among the flowers the snakes play, reveling in his warmth.

In Celtic folklore, a pooka is a shape-changing hobgoblin, sometimes disguised as an ugly black horse. On Samhain night, they destroy and contaminate any crops left unharvested. Ceridwen, the sorceress, cradles a pooka. Knowingly embraces destruction in a cycle of death and rebirth.

Three stalked the salt marshes at night, watching for a sign. The twilight sky flashed and a star fell. Believing this was their manifestation the three converged to catch it. The other three present, the egrets, knew better and call out in laughter. 

Into the dawn, the shepherd takes flight with her wayward lambs, the lone wolf left hungry in the light of day.

She climbs the hill with her familiar beside her. While communing with the windswept sapling, she hears the crows caw and croak their secrets.

With her spirit burning low, she prepares her herbs and oils and words, lighting herself up from within

Cat of the dusk and dawn.

The wild season is finally here, they begin to swerve and to stare, and be as brainless as a March hare.

- Inspired by a line from the 16th-century English poem: Blowbol's Test

As night falls the charm of the visitation wears thin.

She soars over mountains and through valleys, all of it is hers. She rests and surveys her territory

She waits on the poppy-covered field, caught in a memory, her children approach.

The curse took hold one by one, slowly, the family turned to beasts, just one was spared to mind her kin.

They meet on the hill as the moon rises. In their conclave, they bound and sway, until the darkness engulfs them.

Death slides among the foliage as the white rabbit waits patiently, the woman thinks of the sad inevitable.

The harpy rests in the forest. Her victims are left in a brief repose, before their final descent to Tartarus.

Out in the woods, there was a witch, her girl, prey, and her golems. As well as an oppressive weight to the air in that clearing.

Alone on a windswept hilltop, the beasts approach

Flowering self, light in the darkness

Inspired by the ancient Irish myth of the Children of Lir.

A flora spirit is drawn to a thriving kitchen.

Art for donations to the ACLU

A study of a kelpie

A study of a kelpie