Half-filled Pages

 Written very quickly by my standards, 'Half-filled Pages' was one of my early projects as a composer. It was nothing special, certainly; but it flips through half-filled pages very slowly, silently, and soothingly.

 

A Handshake With Fate

 The smudged lines and gritty charcoal were like the smoke, dust, and darkness of the story; it took me some time to find the inspiration. But here it is, the face of my brother's very first self-published album, 'A Handshake With Fate.'

It tells the story of a monster hunter who pursues the answers to the supernatural. The music itself often sounds deranged and distorted, and the names are just as odd, but I think they will capture you're interest. If you have the time, you can listen to the album on his YouTube channel;

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi62Q-pXyEFkjfu3f_KOVRw

The Waters of Aslan's Country

    This painting was done by me and my sister at the request of my aunt and uncle. It was a heavy reminder of how much me and my sister have changed artistically since she taught me all those years ago. While I wished to linger on the details of the crest of every wave, my sister splashed the canvas with whatever she felt was right and spread it around with just as much purpose (or so I deemed and hoped).

    This was also my first finished acrylic painting, which means that its value will only increase as more are added to my collection. And one day, I'll see it again in person; it will be hanging on the wall at Viola's and Tobi's house, and I will be holding a cup of tea in one hand and a nice sandwich in the other, looking at it again for the first time since I'd painted it. The sandwich will have a good layer of butter, some nice cheese, with salted cucumbers, and some ham.

 

 For Tobi and Viola, October 2021

At the Gates of Redwall

The Abbey of Redwall is a safe-haven for critters everywhere. It was built from red sandstone long ago, and there is has stood since. Inside lie friends, food, a cozy fire, and tales waiting to be told by any well-travelled visitor or elder.

    Many Redwallers have ventured off to faraway lands, and returned to Redwall after their many adventures. I imagined one such lonely warrior walking down a road, that led through Mossflower wood, and up to the gate. His pack, though empty of any good food since yesterday, lies heavy on his shoulders; his cloak is dusty from all the walking; his sandals are worn, and wet from wading through that stream; but his love for home drives him on. This piece is called 'On the Road to Redwall.'

 

Here are the gates into Redwall, surrounded by Mossflower woods.

 

I imagined the gates being battered and old, after keeping out Redwall's enemies for so long. Many have wished and tried to conquer Redwall and end the peace.

But I also imagined the gates being heavy, sturdy, and impenetrable, always standing to protect the good creatures of Mossflower wood. 

In my opinion, the Redwall Saga are classic tales, and I almost wish I had discovered them sooner, so I could have enjoyed reading them before I turned my attention to larger, much fatter books. But for now, I look forward to going back and reading my favourites from the series.

 

Half-Eared Harold Who Loves to Fly

From time to time again, Harold's airplane breaks. But I always fix it so he can go flying again.

 

 

Yes, Harold loves to fly. In fact, I don't think he's ever left the cockpit. Even when his airplane is broken, he sits there in anticipation of when he can take off once more.

    Yes, Harold is a special rabbit. I've always joked that he only listens half the time; though he does only have one ear when it comes to conversation. I'd imagine his head is always somewhere in the clouds, flying loops and barreling off somewhere into some new horizon.

My sister bought Harold at some store or other so he could grace my shelf with his ever-flying presence, him being the very picture of wanderlust cast into fragile glass.

    And that is why, alas, (while I can fix his airplane) I cannot fix his missing ear. It's the way I got him. But the only voice a rabbit like Harold really wants to listen to is that of the wind.

   I've always meant to draw Harold, and now I have him in my sketchbook as well as on my shelf. Soon, if I find the time, I'll fix his airplane again, so that he can go off and break it once more.

Sitting by the Window

 

 

 

The Great, the Charitable, the Humble, the Genius, Mr. Toad

 As well as adventurous, a wise, a well-dressed, a not-the-shape-of-a-fat-washerwoman, a patriotic and law-abiding citizen, is that Mr. Toad. 

 "The World has held great Heroes,

As history books have showed;

But never a name to go down to fame

Compared with that of Toad!"

(The Wind in the Willows, Chapter 10: The Further Adventures of Toad, pg.180.).

The Professor's Door

 I painted this, once, a long time ago. I felt it did not capture the feeling that I wanted, and so I tried painting it again.

    A hedgehog makes his way to Joe's house in a blizzard, struggling to waddle through the frozen snow and brace himself against a frenzy wind that blows wild in his face, biting his nose and paws. His scarf is wet and he wishes he'd worn gloves. 

    He eventually finds the bright door standing amidst the mixing black of night and white of bitter snow, and hurries forth with renewed spirits. He is expected by Woe, who ushers him inside and hurriedly puts him in a cozy chair in front of a fire to warm up with a mug of hot chocolate at hand. Woe returns from the kitchen with a tray of cookies and a helper.

 

       Here they are, gathered in front of a fire, the cold forgotten.

Hot Chocolate

 

 

 

In the wintertime, the smell of coffee and hot chocolate sifts through every room of the Professor's house, bringing out critters who warm themselves around the temporarily abandoned mugs and stuff themselves with marshmallows.

Gandalf the Grey

 

Dulce Domum

I had seen a painting of huddled buildings caught in a time of wintery wonder. The vividness of which I could imagine Mole and Rat walking down the street that winded between them was so inspiring that I decided I had to put it in my own sketchbook.

 

    In particular, it reminded me of Chapter 5, in which Mole and Rat go on a long stroll out on the countryside and come across a small village just as it begins to get dark. "The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red on either side of the street, where firelight or lamplight of each cottage overflowed through casements into the dark world without" (The Wind in the Willows, Chapter 5: Dulce Domum, pg.81.).

 It remained unfinished in my sketchbook for some days, during which Christmas and New Years passed me by.

  

 I kept painting on it, though, and slowly it took the form I had first imagined.

 

Night and snow slowly cover the little village. The two friends walk along between the buildings, watching as the light from the windows grows brighter as everything else grows darker around them.

 

 When I first read Wind in the Willows, I found flipping between pages created a feeling I cannot quite explain in words. The sentences wrapped around the artwork was like a window on it's own, letting us, the readers, look into their world much like they look through the glowing windows of every house. Every page feels full and complete. It is a feeling I hope to one day create in readers as they flip through the pages of my own stories.

There is Still Much to Read

 

 “I can’t imagine a man really enjoying a book and reading it only once.”  

               ~ C.S. Lewis