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I post on here each new moon (or more); check
the lunar count-down to see when that is.

See you then!

All comments most welcome :)

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3.12 time-lapse & video
of a St Brigid's cross
Imbolc offering

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In which I introduce my
new, improved blog with
a one-minute dream-
painting time-lapse

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3.40 time-lapse of an angel taking form to bless & welcome back the light 21.12

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Feature article for Caduceus on
African Dream Root & Zhouyi, with a 1.14 time-lapse + 27 illustrations 18.11

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After Shambhala…
including a couple
of videos 06.09

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On the 4th Animus exhibit + process pics of my glass work for it 23.07

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A 6.27 music video
for Emma Gillespie

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2.03 time-lapse of a
skylight painting at Rennaldburn 25.05

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Inaugurating a new,
I Ching-themed blog

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A 7.21 music video
for Oisin HendriX 28.03

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A snowy guest post
by Cathy Van Hoppe 26.02

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First in a series
of dream image
time-lapses 28.01

next new moon
is on Thursday,
February 15th at
9.06 p.m. (GMT)


    Paean to Bride


    Bride, Triple Goddess

    The Old Irish root of the word Imbolc, the name of the cross-
    quarter festival on February 1st-2nd, is i mbolg, in the belly.

    In this early spring time, just before lambing season, all of life is held in the womb
    of the Mother, pregnant with life force to be birthed as the full abundance of Spring arrives.

    Imbolc is sacred to the Goddess Bride (or Brighit/Brid…and Brigantia/Brittania in England)...and Bride
    is a multi-talented Goddess, patron of poetry, healing, fires and smithcraft…as well as sacred springs and holy wells.

    For this reason, I decided to make a St Brigid’s cross ~ much fascinating detail here if you’d like to make your own ~
    and offer it up at Rennaldburn’s spring, hidden away in the woods high above the house.
    Here’s a little three-minute video of the experience:

    small tales


    Whatever the medium, when I create something there’s inevitably a bit of a yarn around it.

    So this blog, which has had many and varied ~ and some might say fairly erratic
    and technically tormented ~ incarnations , is hereby reborn as small tales.

    Here I’ll share the stories behind and above what I’m creating; after focussing
    on curating Animus ~ Art for the World Soul, for the last couple of years, I’m now
    relishing the renewed focus on using imagination as a path to spirit myself.

    For me, part of the process of keeping this pathway open is to image my dreams each day. (okay, most days :)
    This one-minute time-lapse, of which I intend to do many more, illustrates a recent flying dream
    in which the branches of a vast tree form a platform from which I can take off and land.

    Overarching angel of the feast of lights


    Whatever ones tradition, festivities at this darkest time of the year are all about light;

    a declaration of faithin the re-birth of our holy Sun…so it felt like the perfect time to etch

    an illuminated image to celebrate the angelic and open-hearted spirit of the time.

    With it, I give a joyful welcome to the return of the light ~ and a prayer that

    all beingswe share our sacred earth, skies and waters with be blessed.

    A three-and-a-half minute time-lapse of the process is here:

    transformations with Silene Capensis and the I Ching

    This post is an expanded version of an

    article published in Caduceus, issue 92.


    The starred images are my illustrations of I Ching ‘hexagrams’. These are six-line figures made up of two ‘trigrams’, out of eight alternatives: ‘Earth’, ‘Thunder’, ‘Water’, ‘Lake’, ‘Mountain’, ‘Fire’, ‘Wood/Wind’ and ‘Heaven’. When these eight energies interact to form each of the I Ching's 64 hexagrams, an illuminating essence is transmitted that helps the reader align to the flow of their lives.

    (Go here for more about the ancient Oracle known as the I Ching, also referred to as the Book of Changes, or Zhouyi...and here if you'd like to do a divination yourself.)


    * Sketch of the I Ching hexagram wood/wind under fire with an Undlela flower

    Becoming a person of the plants

    is not a learning process, it is a remembering process.
    Somewhere in our ancestral line, there was someone that lived
    deeply connected to the Earth, the Elements, the Sun, Moon and Stars.
    That ancestor lives inside our DNA, dormant, unexpressed, waiting
    to be remembered and brought back to life to show us
    the true nature of our indigenous soul
    Sajah Popham

    I’ve just had an experience with the dream plant Silene Capensis/Silene Undulata which has been so profound and far reaching I feel an account of it could help others who have an interest in such things. I hope to give a sense of how this beneficent plant teacher worked with me by sharing the very specific details of our interaction. (The rough sketches included are ones I did at the time to understand my dreams more fully and are included as such rather than as Art.)

    I write as a westerner with no previous experience with African traditions ~ but as one who approached this sacred plant with great respect and a genuine desire to learn from her wisdom.

    As well as having undertaken a sixteen-year creative exploration of the I Ching, or Zhouyi, I’ve been working with my dreams on and off for decades ~ and virtually every day for the last few years.

    So at the beginning of this year, when my work on the Zhouyi was reaching a culmination point, I sought out a plant spirit to help me deepen the process. I was led me to Silene Capensis, otherwise known as African Dream Root, with the response of wood/wind under fire, transformation.


    * Illustration for wood/wind under fire, transformation, with its hexagram lines

    I found out that this is known as an ubulawu, with the power to induce visionary and prophetic dreams and to communicate with ancestral spirits. It’s sacred to the Xhosa people who call her undlela ziimhlophe: ‘white ways’ or ‘white paths’. I’ll call her undlela from now on.

    I began on the first night of the Balsamic moon, the three days prior to the New Moon which are the most visionary and mystical of the month. Undlela is said to have little effect on waking consciousness, flowering instead in the sleeping mind...but as soon as I’d absorbed the foam whipped up from her sweet, liquorice-like roots I felt a shift; a subtle but distinct feeling of expansive radiance.


    A feeling of expansive radiance...

    That first night, my consciousness responded immediately with a dream revealing a tendency to sink into an old pattern when faced with a particular challenge.

    The next day, my Zhouyi reading was Grace, fire-under-mountain which ‘represents a flowering plant, which means brilliant, luminous, ornate, bright, decoration, to honour.’ 1


    * Illustration for fire under mountain, grace/harmony, with its hexagram lines.

    When consulting the Zhouyi, each of the lines of the hexagram has the potential to 'change': when it does so, it draws ones attention to a particular aspect ~ like a shaft of light in a landscape which highlights one part of it over another.

    I had a changing line, the fifth, which read ‘There will be rejoicing. You are now asked to become a formal member of this group and present a sacrifice at the ancestral graves. You must offer something at the shrine, the marriage gifts, but you have very little to give. Go through with this, even if you are embarrassed, for it will open the Way. Soon you will have great cause to rejoice.’ 2

    This then changed to Loving Family, fire-under-wood/wind, confirming the immediate resonance I felt with Undlela. The fact that this is a plant rooted in another land, with which I have no ancestral connection, felt like it was addressed with ‘you have very little to give.’

    But this was alright, was the message. The humble offering of my sincerity and integrity was enough for me to be accepted as part of the family.


    * Illustration for fire under wood/wind, loving family, with its hexagram lines

    There was also another synchronicity: when I looked up the symbolism of the white campion, part of the same family ~ Silene Latifolia ~ I only found one reference. This talked of the three Graces in Botticelli’s Primavera, and how the central Grace’s flower is a white campion plant, symbolic of human love.


    Primavera by Botticelli

    These days taking Undlela were hugely joyful and productive. And whenever I stopped doing and really felt what was happening in my body, particularly as I lay down to sleep or woke in the night, I felt a vibrant, humming energy coursing fluidly through me, as though a layer of obscuring density had dissolved to reveal a naturally harmonious flow. Another quote from the Zhouyi about Grace reads: ‘Medically, this process clears away stagnation of yin energy and opens the yin channels.’4

    If I could see auras I would have been surprised not to have seen myself as illuminated as that’s just how I felt. I continued to be aware of this beautiful, luminous flow throughout these three weeks I took Undlela each day.

    The next night, my Zhouyi reading was wood/wind-under-mountain, which I call healing as it refers to addressing states of corruption which have their roots in the past.


    * Illustration for wood/wind under mountain, healing, with its hexagram lines

    The first line was changing for me ~ this states that ‘rigid adherence to tradition has resulted in decay.’ 5

    The outlook is very good, if one can ‘take on the responsibility like a son or daughter who redeems the ancestors and go through it to the end’. 6

    This becomes heaven-under-mountain, accumulating integrity, which speaks to the great spirit which can arise within when ancestral wisdom is honoured and embodied.


    * Illustration for heaven under mountain, accumulating integrity, with its hexagram lines

    So I affirmed my Dreaming intent heal all ancestral wounds and distortions it is my Karma to transform. For this sacred task, I humbly request guidance from you, Undlela.”

    I’m responsible for disposing of a dead body by chopping it into little pieces, Tibetan sky burial style. Though this isn’t the most pleasant job I’ve ever done, I completely accept doing it without feeling a strong emotional charge or reaction about it.

    Later in the dream, I find a beautiful natural woodland by my home, with a particularly striking ‘ancestor tree’ with a vast hollow trunk.


    Journal sketch of the hollow ‘ancestor tree’

    From this tree, I climb up to a Buddhist temple on a steep hill which has just appeared, where I find out that a girl had just lost her mother, while a younger boy had just lost both his parents. I feel this unbearable loss as though it is my own, and grieve intensely for them.

    The next night, I asked to clarify my vision of learning from Undlela.

    I’m setting out on a big journey down a river with a swift current out into the open ocean. Though this could have been scary and stressful, I’m part of a small crew ~ a family ~ so there’s the feeling of knowing I’m supported, with a skilful captain in charge who has a deep understanding of the journey before us and how to ensure a safe passage.

    We’re using the boat as a bodyboard, and also navigating it sideways, neither of which make logical sense. But, I realize only as I write this now, using a bodyboard sideways was exactly how I saved my son from drowning years ago when he was out of his depth in powerful ocean waves.


    Journal sketch of the bodyboard boat heading into the ocean

    The following night, I didn’t go to sleep, staying up solidly to complete the first draft of my book. The night after, I had a dream of the waterfall where I live being on a vast scale...


    Journal sketch of the vast waterfall

    And the following night, I dreamed of reclaiming my power:


    After a Zhouyi reading the next night, of mountain-under-water, overcoming obstructions which advised me to stop pushing, I let go of any dream intentions.


    * Illustration for mountain under water, overcoming obstructions, with its hexagram lines

    I then had another dream which sounds horrific, but wasn’t.

    I’m on my way to meet up with some friends in a town when I see a beautiful green dress on sale in a shop window. My friend encourages me to try it on so I do, in a changing room full of personal bits and pieces. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and being amused at how blubbery my lips are; like Mick Jagger’s, I thought.

    Then the view shifts and I’m watching events unfold like a film. The next scene shows me, after I’d inexplicably been murdered in some bizarre way, strung up by a complex web of strings high against the ceiling.

    The style of the film is more of a classy thriller than a horror, though, so when the point of view changed and I saw my chopped-off head sitting on the floor, I just thought

    “Really, that’s totally over the top; they’re not staying true to the spirit of the film!”


    Journal sketch of myself as a ghost

    I’m then back in my body ~ or my spirit, rather, as I’m now a ghost. I see the shop attendants come and see what had happened and exclaim over it, though very mildly ~ certainly not running off to call the police.

    I don’t feel anything except slightly bored, and wander over to look in a display cabinet before going upstairs, where, in classic ghost style, the floorboards creak beneath me. I hear a girl in one of the bedrooms react fearfully, and wait ‘til she opened the door to ask her curiously “Can you see me?”

    When I woke, I considered what I was being told. I’d been asking Undlela to guide me down the White Paths for a few nights now, and this was my response. My first reaction to becoming a spirit myself ~ a future ancestor ~ was to go window-shopping, which felt like clear counsel to purify myself and my intentions more deeply first.

    The next night, I asked Undlela to ‘guide me down my path with a heart.’

    This confirmed my feeling of being assessed as not yet ready to go further, when I found myself at a checkpoint with bowls of drugs lying around and police going through people’s papers and possessions at length. This sounds like a paranoical situation, but it wasn’t ~ what I most remember is feeling a loving union with a kitten I held.


    Journal sketch of a kitten at the checkpoint

    As with my boat-crew/bodyboard dream, it’s the process of revisiting my dream images and descriptions in order to write this account which is revealing further insights ~ one reason that I believe journalling dreams both verbally and visually is so helpful. Though I saw the dream as ‘confirming my feeling of being assessed as not yet ready to go further’, I now see another reality: my attention is being drawn to the kitten, which, though I faithfully portrayed it in my image, I passed over because it was a kitten: no serious inner-quester is going to share a revelation that kittens are cuddly and adorable!

    But, using my feelings as a guide, I’m being shown that the outer checkpoint isn’t the point; my own, inner feelings of love and resonance are my path with a heart.

    The night after, I received water-over-mountain, overcoming obstructions, again.

    This time it had a changing second line which highlights how it is now important to push through, for everyone’s benefit:

    There is one instance in which a man must go out to meet the trouble,

    even though difficulty piles upon difficulty: this is when the path of duty leads

    directly to it ~ in other words, when he cannot act of his own volition but is

    duty bound to go and seek out danger in the service of a higher cause.” 7

    This becomes wood/wind under water, replenishment, representing a wooden bucket drawing life-giving water up from a well to re-energize and restore all of life.


    * Illustration of wood/wind under water, replenishment with its hexagram lines

    Thinking about how I’d just been stopped at a checkpoint, I felt more deeply into why I wanted to be shown the White Paths. I sincerely affirmed that this was my intent so that I could continue to deepen and strengthen my spirit connection in order to, in turn, guide others to better do so themselves.

    And also that I understood I may need to change or realise something before that way could open for me ~ before I could be permitted to pass through the checkpoint.

    That night, I had a big dream.

    I’ve got a headstone for my dad, who died nine years ago. It’s a wide, fairground-style hippo, very brightly colored, wacky and playful. (Some of Hippo’s symbolic meanings include healing, accessing emotional depths, contact with spirit and protection of one’s family.)


    The carnival-style happy hippo headstone I dreamed up for my Dad

    Someone I know asks how this is going to work since in the dream my dad had died two years before. I casually reply that as far as I know, he’s still ‘on ice’, waiting frozen in a morgue ‘til he can be properly buried. My friend is so profoundly shocked by this that she goes away, looking like she’s about to be sick.

    Later on, I remember that dad had in fact been buried, and I’m looking out for my friend to to tell them this. I’m uncomfortably aware, though, that this isn’t good enough: it’s still ‘not right’ for a daughter to forget whether or not she’s buried her father.

    Throughout the day I turned over the message of the dream until I got it. And when I did, had a huge emotional release, allowing me to feel the depth and truth of this understanding.

    When my dad had died (in waking life), it had been my responsibility to arrange the funeral ~ and to do so in such a way that respected both his esoteric beliefs and his mother’s Christian faith. Since he’d left no wishes, I put a lot of thought into it the best way to do it, and finally decided on a green burial in a beautiful woodland on the crest of a hill, with an interfaith minister who spoke inclusively to everyone’s beliefs at the graveside.

    Though she had to shout them, as a sudden gale-force wind whipped up while the coffin was being lowered into the ground, there was a sense of completion and ‘rightness’ about it all.

    I was being clearly shown that either my spirit or my father’s, or both, didn’t fully feel this completion; that something more was being called for to truly lay him to rest. Since it had been a green burial, I’d found out memorial stones were not allowed, so had let go of mentally designing a beautiful carved boulder for him. But now the fact that he’s buried miles from anywhere he knew in an unmarked grave felt unbearably sad.

    I knew that to create this remembrance of him and put it by the waterfall he loved so much was still what I needed and wanted to do, and got in touch with a stone carver to begin the process.


    Envisioning how a headstone might actually look

    That night, after a Zhouyi reading that affirmed beautifully that I’d understood the message, I had a powerful dream of empowerment and completion.

    My conversation with Undlela brought to mind what I’d read of the complex hallucinatory plant Iboga in Daniel Pinchbeck’s Breaking Open the Head:

    “By letting me perceive the shape of my past self, iboga also seemed to be

    freeing me of the burden of that past. The action of the drug actually was -

    as I had heard it described but wouldn’t believe - the equivalent of ten

    years of psychoanalysis compacted into one interminable night.” 8

    Undlela similarly empowered me to ‘perceive the shape of my past self’ and then transform it. It taught me this without the radical extremity of Iboga’s dramatic one-night ‘wake-up call’, feeling not at all like something out of my control which demanded surrender, but more like a teacher gifting me with ongoing transformational insights as a direct result of me also ‘doing the work’...just as the Zhouyi does.

    The fifth line of earth-under-water, union, here put into the first tense, expresses for me this ‘feel’:

    “Those who come to me I accept, those who do not come

    are allowed to go their own way. I invite none, flatter none ~

    all come of their own free will. In this way there develops a voluntary

    dependence among those who hold to me. They do not have to be

    constantly on their guard but may express their opinions openly.” 9

    I don’t pretend to understand the mysterious inner workings of either Zhouyi or Undlela, of how of their wisdom forms a synthesis with our consciousness ~ and in this experience, with each other’s also. All I know is how it feels to me ~ like a gentle and compassionate step-by-step assessment or diagnosis.

    Areas of blockage or weakness are simply reflected back to me, allowing me to bring them to conscious awareness if I’m ready and willing to do so, then transfigured within my body, now become a healing matrix. This is the nearest I can come to expressing how completely I felt ~ and still feel ~ held in a loving awareness. So different from the motivation-sapping cosy blanket feeling I used to feel when I smoked marijuana, and which I realized was ultimately keeping me stuck where I was, this is more akin to being enfolded within a field of vibrant, limitless potential.

    What’s particularly striking to me is how rooted in the earthy reality of my own life are these insights. I realise that I came to this teacher plant, renowned for revealing spiritual truths, with the common cultural conditioning that the spirit is somewhere otherworldly, most likely to show its face in an ethereal ‘out of body’ experience...the very same myth of dislocation which has helped to justify such cataclysmic desecration of our sacred earth.

    As John O’Donahue put it, “For too long, we have believed that the divine is outside us...If we believe that the body is in the soul and the soul is divine ground, then the presence of the divine is completely here, close with us.”10

    In this way, the White Paths which Undlela guided me down led deep into my being, to a profound experience of being deeply, joyfully embodied.


    1: Total I Ching: Myths for Change by Stephen Karcher, Time Warner 2003, p201

    2: Ibid, p203

    3: Seeds of Virtue and Knowledge, edited by Maryanne Cline Horowitz, Princeton university Press 1997, p111

    4: Karcher, p200

    5: I Ching or Book of Changes by Richard Wilhelm, Arkana 1989, p77

    6: Karcher, p180

    7: Wilhelm, p152

    8: Breaking Open the Head by Daniel Pinchbeck, Flamingo 2003, p29

    9: I Ching or Book of Changes by Richard Wilhelm, Arkana 1989, p39

    10: Anam Cara by John O’Donahue, Bantam Books, 1997, p84


    A local stonecarver was recommended, and I passed him the message that I was keen to commission a memorial stone for my father. I was told he would do it, but was extremely busy with other commissions at the moment. It seemed I was being shown I needed to be patient, so I was...for several months.

    Then a friend suggested that I could carve the stone myself which, not having previously made marks in anything more challenging than balsa wood, I hadn’t considered. Trying a test piece of sandstone, though, I found the carving process completely engrossing ~ and then the right stone appeared.

    I asked my dreaming wisdom to help me choose what to carve, having an idea of something like a bear, which my larger-than-life dad had been known as. Instead, though, I was guided to one of the last photos he’d taken ~ of a mother pheasant and her chick. Before he’d died, dad had become very close to this family of pheasants, who would sit on his knee and come into the house. The last thing he wrote was of the simple but transcendental beauty of this communion, describing the mother pheasant as ‘holy, holy, holy’. Along with the pheasants and a Rumi quote, ‘Love is the bridge between you and everything’, I carved these words onto the stone.

    After I’d finished, I sat contemplatively in the dark, the ‘holy, holy, holy’ illuminated by a little Tibetan oil-lamp which had burned on a shrine while I worked. I watched its flame grow stronger and brighter as it sucked up the last of the oil, then shrink down into a tiny red and indigo-tinged ball of light and disappear.

    It was a beautiful completion.


    Memorial stone


    A year on, this is how I found the memorial stone; with a heart above the pheasant's head and between the gateway of crossed grasses.


    A fortnight at the bloated grange

    I’ve just finished curating the last Animus ~ Art for the World Soul exhibition, Shambhala at Shambellie’, at Shambellie House.

    Formerly the National Museum of Costume, this lies South of Dumfries near Sweetheart Abbey by the Solway; I worked out that for me to get to and fro each day has been a journey of a thousand miles altogether!

    Participating artists along with myself were:

    Ben Fosker (ceramics),

    Cathy Van Hoppe (watercolour),

    Fergus Hall (gouache),

    Jennie Ashmore (leaf)

    Martin Wilson (slate)

    and Trevor Leat (willow)

    Hein Braat also provided the potent mantas which were playing for the duration of the show.

    It’s easy to get the impression from many stately homes is that life there must have been a bit staid, an impression confounded by a poem by the Scottish painter Francis Cadell which John Stewart, whose grandfather lived at Shambellie, showed me in ‘Cadell - A Scottish Colourist’ by Tom Hewlett. The house was one of Cadell’s favourite places to stay, where he was known as ‘Uncle Bunty’ by the youngsters there. He wrote a poem for them in the 1920’s, which begins:

    Beware! Beware the kitchen stair,

    For there the goblins make their lair

    The ghosts you meet will raise your hair.

    Beware! Beware!

    After much gruesome imagery (which I can’t help thinking must have secretly terrified some of the children it was meant to delight) the poem ends:

    Moral. Avoid this mansion strange

    However much you need a change

    It’s full of pestilence and mange

    A Bloated Grange.

    I’ve also done my part to terrify small people at Shambellie during my time there; ‘my’ room was dark apart from illuminated glass, and resonant with the deep and sonorous sounds of mantras sung by Hein Braat...and two cheerful village lads from the village who turned up on their bikes asked me to go in with them as it was so scary :)

    Inside were some illuminated cast glass Buddhas...


    ...Journey Through the Holy Mountains; a small cast glass figure in a boat dwarfed by a range of towering wooden-slab peaks:


    (Here getting prepared at Rennaldburn)

    ...and a series of ‘ice tormas’: throughout each day, visitors got a view of a different stage of an illuminated frozen shell melting back into a liquid state:


    Melting ice torma


    Last ice torma fragment at the end of the day

    This is something that I started doing inspired by my dad, Ken Plattner; he'd told me years ago he’d read something in a Buddhist book about ‘water tormas’. Tormas are little stupa-like offerings usually made of dough or clay, so the only way he could imagine one made of water was if it was frozen! We both tried making some, frozen in bowls; then I figured out freezing a balloon of water (as long as you take it out before it freezes solid) worked even better.


    A water torma ready for overnight freezing

    The Shambellie House of Cadell's poem ~ gently mouldering at the edges as it is after some time of not being lived in ~ is far from pestilential.

    It manages to be grand in an utterly pretentious way, its fairytale towers and turrets, crow-stepped gables and wind-vane half submerged by the surrounding abundant vegetation giving it a homely and intimate feel.

    I have the same affection for it as I might for an eccentric but endearing relative, and it felt a privilege to make my home here, in the daytime at least, for the last two weeks ~ to see the changing view of the gardens out of the permanently shaded windows (UV filters still remain on all the windows after its museum days), run down the imposing stairs...and, as a little offering the the spirit of the house, paint back on the patches of finely detailed William Morris-style wallpaper ripped off by signs for a previous exhibition in the Red Room. (John explained that this room could be identified as the Mens room due to its black fireplace. The neighbouring cream room was the Ladies room...and the dark green room, with its grey fireplace, was where they came together.)

    Although the footfall was not vast, those intrepid visitors who managed to find Shambellie in its overgrown hideaway were hearteningly appreciative of the collective fusion of artists and mediums ~ and the soulful synthesis which comes about when they’re combined: the ‘ability to take you to another world’ guest put it.

    Here’s a five-minute video to give you a sense of that otherworldly synthesis...

    ...which also takes you on a lightning-fast tour of Shambellie’s outer environs, slowing down to enjoy how nature has reclaimed a previous monumental sculpture of Trevor Leat’s, which used to look like this...


    (Whirling Dervish: photo © Trevor Leat)

    ...and now looks like this:


    ...then travels through a Trevor-made willow spiral and peers briefly into the lovely, dark and deep wilderlands surrounding the garden.

    And here’s a two-minute video to give you a feel of the popular Leafworkshop Jennie Ashmore ran as part of Shambhala at Shambellie:

    So many guests commented that visiting the exhibition left them feeling personally inspired to create some artwork themselves, that I set up a table with art materials in the top gallery. I enjoyed going up there each day and seeing new sketches (and origami :) begin to appear, left as a gift to the space. Here's my favourite ~ inverted, as I like doing that with images to reveal their hidden side :)


    In a broad sense, ‘a gift to the space’ could encapsulate the intent of Animus ~ Art for the World Soul as a whole.

    A tapping in to the ancient understanding of art as offering to, and revealer of, those invisible sacred realms which underpin existence...with the understanding that this spaciousness permeates, as well as enfolds us.

    For more unfoldings of an Animesque this space.

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    Below is a previous blog venture:
    the button will take you to fifty-odd posts
    I made on Tumblr from 2015-2016 before
    I returned to the way back here…

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    © shenpen chökyi 2013