Have You Ever Walked The Lonesome Hills And Heard The Curlews Cry? Or Seen The Raven Black As Night Upon

A commission of Brigid for @bloodtreachery (awww, it was SUCH a pleasure to do it!). I put an emphasis on her aspect as a poet, hence the fire of poetry ablaze! The poem in the flames is a liberal translation of these lines from The Hosting of the Sidhe into Old Irish (courtesy of my wonderful husband):

...if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart.

Hands studies

Attention ladies, gentlemen, and every wonderful sentient being in between or neither: this artist here got locked tf out of his art insta, and since it's seemingly a prerequisite to have an art insta to communicate with people here in Ireland, I made a new one: right here. Please give me a follow if you don't mind me following you back!

You might think that this is Maedhros, but this is not Maedhros. This is my OC, Prince Adhnár mac Earnáin of Síd Earnáin (yes, old king Cole Earnán is not exactly famous for his vivid imagination).

Truth be told, this is no Prince Adhnár either, this is Princess Áine. But since her life is hell atm, she is closeted even from herself for the time being (that won’t last forever, I promise).

The Tomb - Menlo Castle The castle, originally built in 1569, was abandoned in 1910 after a fire broke out that incinerated everything (and I mean everything) inside and took the lives of two people. One of those people was the owners' daughter, who had a disability and hence was physically unable to run for her life. She was cremated alive, and her body was never found. After an unsuccessful search for the body the Blakes - the owners - left and never returned, leaving the castle that became their daughter's grave to the elements. It is reported to be haunted.

Near Mannin Castle, Co. Galway

Celtober 2023 Days 7, 8 and 9: Dream, Birds and Divination

The druid, then in his sleep, at the end of the night beheld a man stark-naked, passing along the road of Tara, with a stone in his sling.

The destruction of Da Derga's Hostel

First page of my new sketchbook aka the Ivy King in his natural environment.

This was a home once - Part I