Call of the Goddess

October 9, 2017

In the violet rays from the darkened moon
She dissipates blackness, birthing first light –
returning day to its fecund glory,
shimmering in the slivering of night.

Hear Her call

In the rising sweet dawn chorus
She heralds new day through sublimic symphony –
crescendoing cacophony of sumptuous
sounds, reminding us to love and be free.

Hear Her call

In the swirling dancing of the mist
She lightens hearts through the quickening of day –
beckoning with the song of souls,
summoning Her priestesses to serve and pray.

Heed Her call.

Lynne Sedgemore

Joan Semmel - Purple Diagonal

The use of colour for me was, first of all, just part of the way I make art. I had come into doing any kind of figuration or representation from abstraction. I had always had free range of any colour I wanted. If you look at the abstract paintings in the show, you will see that.

I was working with high colour, with totally saturated colour, and I wasn’t willing to give it up even though I was moving into modelled form. Part of it was simply what I liked to do as an artist, and you have to remember that back then the word “pornography” had all kinds of horrible connotations, not in the way it does today. You can’t think of it the same way. If you said “pornography,” you immediately imagined the dirtiest, most horrible thing, whereas today it’s an industry, it’s a product, and it’s on every television screen, and it’s coming into every household. It has a very different connotation than it did back then, so I was terrified of being called a pornographer. And, that being the case, I thought about how I can make it different from pornography, because people asked me, ‘Isn’t it pornography?’ just as they asked you that question. It could be challenged, but with the saturated colour, it was harder to challenge it. The colour brought it into the art realm of aesthetic experience.

Joan Semmel
Interview with Susan Silas May 2015

wood

A strange adventure befell the late Mr. Hugh Sheridan in the first week of February, 1953, and Mr. Willie Monks has kindly sent me this summary of his friend’s statement: ‘I was going home as usual across the fields from where I work at Messrs. J. McColloch & Sons, Gerrardstown, to my home at Bettyville. Both these places are in Ballyboughal, and the distance between them is about a half-mile. I was alone. It was duskish – about 6.30 p.m. – and when nearing the corner of one of the fields I heard a tittering noise ‘like the titter of someone going to play a joke on you’. At first I thought it was some of the other men who had gone on before me and who might be intending to play some prank. However, I noticed immediately afterwards what looked like a large, greenish tarpaulin on the ground, with ‘thousands of fairies’ on it. I then found there were a lot more around me. They were of two sizes, some about four feet high, and others about eighteen or twenty inches high. Except for size, both kinds were exactly alike. They wore dark, bluish-grey coats, tight at the waist and flared at the hips, with a sort of shoulder-cape. As all the fairies kept facing me I could not be sure if the cape went around them, but the ends stuck out over the shoulders. The covering of their legs was tight, rather like puttees, and they appeared to be wearing shoes. I started on the path towards home, and the fairies went with me in front and all around. The larger fairies kept the nearest to me. The ones in front kept skipping backwards as they went, and their feet appeared to be touching the ground. They seemed to be wearing hats rather like a raised beret in shape, with a jutting-out top edge. There were males and females, all seemingly in their early twenties. They had very pleasant faces, with plumper cheeks than those of humans, and the men’s faces were devoid of hair or whiskers. I did not specially notice their hands. As I moved along the path, one tall fairy kept before me all the time. This was a girl, and a man kept near her. They seemed to have partly fair, wavy or curly hair. None of the fairies had wings. They tried to get me off the path towards a gateway leading from the field, but just before I reached it I realized they were trying to take me away, so I resisted and turned towards the path again. At about 40 yards from the gateway I was going along by the ditch when I fell or got into it, but I do not know very clearly how this happened. While I was in it the fairies remained around, and I could see others coming out of the bushes and briars. I got out of the ditch and continued towards the path until I reached it again. I moved on towards home with the fairies around me, and they kept up the tittering noise all the time. In the end I got to a plank leading across a ditch from one field to another, and suddenly all the fairies went away. They seemed to go back, with the noise gradually fading. At one time I had reached out my arms to try to catch them, but I cannot be sure whether they skipped back just out of reach, or whether my hands passed through them without feeling anything. They were smiling and pleasant all the time, and I could see their eyes watching me. When I got home I found I was about three-quarters of an hour late, but I thought I had been delayed only a few minutes. While the fairies were with me I had a rather exciting feeling ‘like being on a great height’, but I was in no way afraid. I would very much like to meet them again.

Marjorie T. Johnson
Seeing Fairies: From the lost archives of the Fairy Investigation Society, authentic reports of Fairies in modern times

a first draft in longhand

October 9, 2017

Claude Raguet Hirst - Wheel of Fortune

Every day, five days a week. Longhand (writing) now, it’s less tiring than a typewriter. When I’m writing a novel or story I set myself a target of about seven hundred words a day, sometimes a little more. I do a first draft in longhand, then do a very careful longhand revision of the text, then type out the final manuscript. I used to type first and revise in longhand, but I find that modern fiber-tip pens are less effort than a typewriter. Perhaps I ought to try a seventeenth-century quill. I rewrite a great deal, so the word processor sounds like my dream…

J G Ballard
Paris Review (winter 1984)