.
During my sleepless nights, when my husband holds me in his sleep like a warm, beautiful cat, I read about the history of Scotland, Wicca, Tarot, Herne the Hunter, the Green Man and so much more, and get a weird sense of how ideas and inspiration has been connected, altered, and reconnected through time.
Lately, I've asked myself where my inspiration comes from, and though these things always vary, at this time a childhood fairy tale forest made of Grimm tales and Northern mythology, full of leaves and feathers and sacred trees and old gods has sprung to mind. This feels unexpected and kind of "forbidden", a true guilty pleasure, but I don't think we should ever deny ourselves our inspiration, no matter where it comes from. Also, it's made me interested to see where I can take it, and what unexpected contexts it could be put in.
So lately when I draw, huddled over my desk, I've rewatched old episodes of Robin of Sherwood, a favourite TV series of mine during my early teens. It actually took me some time to start, since my memories of people running about in medieval attire in a soft 80's blur to Clannad songs just felt so... wrong, haha. For some reason though, I really wanted to see the horned god again, but I'm disappointed with him. I'd prefer him to be half deer, half human, and not at all have a human head. To me that would remove him further from mankind.
In some light, when it's snowy and cold, and there are dark branches and black birds, I get a sense of connection, not exactly a déjà vu, but a sense of recognition, and I think: Once upon a time, a long time ago, I walked that road, and somewhere near a massive stronghold, that was my home.
The feeling is so strong, like a physical memory, but the image and concept is vague. I've had this "feeling" so many times for so many years, and it's always triggered by a certain light. I've wondered if I should question it, or draw a conclusion from it, does it make me a believer of something or did I watch that on TV (The Name of the Rose, perhaps)? I've decided to just run with it, it's part of me by now, and I find it intriguing, though it always leaves me feeling sad.
If this were a popular blog, I'd definitely end this post by asking what's your guilty pleasure. Writing this has been great, because I'm not sure I've ever told anyone about any of this, not even about Robin of Sherwood.
{ Herne in Robin of Sherwood (1984) }
During my sleepless nights, when my husband holds me in his sleep like a warm, beautiful cat, I read about the history of Scotland, Wicca, Tarot, Herne the Hunter, the Green Man and so much more, and get a weird sense of how ideas and inspiration has been connected, altered, and reconnected through time.
Lately, I've asked myself where my inspiration comes from, and though these things always vary, at this time a childhood fairy tale forest made of Grimm tales and Northern mythology, full of leaves and feathers and sacred trees and old gods has sprung to mind. This feels unexpected and kind of "forbidden", a true guilty pleasure, but I don't think we should ever deny ourselves our inspiration, no matter where it comes from. Also, it's made me interested to see where I can take it, and what unexpected contexts it could be put in.
So lately when I draw, huddled over my desk, I've rewatched old episodes of Robin of Sherwood, a favourite TV series of mine during my early teens. It actually took me some time to start, since my memories of people running about in medieval attire in a soft 80's blur to Clannad songs just felt so... wrong, haha. For some reason though, I really wanted to see the horned god again, but I'm disappointed with him. I'd prefer him to be half deer, half human, and not at all have a human head. To me that would remove him further from mankind.
In some light, when it's snowy and cold, and there are dark branches and black birds, I get a sense of connection, not exactly a déjà vu, but a sense of recognition, and I think: Once upon a time, a long time ago, I walked that road, and somewhere near a massive stronghold, that was my home.
The feeling is so strong, like a physical memory, but the image and concept is vague. I've had this "feeling" so many times for so many years, and it's always triggered by a certain light. I've wondered if I should question it, or draw a conclusion from it, does it make me a believer of something or did I watch that on TV (The Name of the Rose, perhaps)? I've decided to just run with it, it's part of me by now, and I find it intriguing, though it always leaves me feeling sad.
If this were a popular blog, I'd definitely end this post by asking what's your guilty pleasure. Writing this has been great, because I'm not sure I've ever told anyone about any of this, not even about Robin of Sherwood.
No comments:
Post a Comment