From the archive, film scans 2022
A world of ghostly white
December brings light / yet the season turns darker / beneath a far star
The moon has awoken with the sleep of the sun, the light has been broken; the spell has begun.
I am a being of Heaven and Earth, of thunder and lightning, of rain and wind, of the galaxies.
I want to be haunted. I want autumn, flowers bathed in blood, the sort of intensity that weighs me down against my own will.
I bury myself in the woods, but find it necessary to emerge again.
Women like them exist to remind us all that sorceresses, sirens and witchcraft are real.
Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.
Bone by bone, hair by hair, Wild Woman comes back. Through night dreams, through events half understood and half remembered...
‘forests have secrets,’ he said gently. ‘it’s practically what they’re for. To hide things. To separate one world from another.’
I want to raise up the magic world all round me and live strongly and quietly there.
I will not be another flower picked for my beauty and left to die. I will be wild, difficult to find, and impossible to forget.
It is spring, and the night wind is moist with the smell of the early flowers; the moon pours out its beauty,
I lost myself in the forest that grows inside you.
35mm portrait of artist and friend Jennifer Caroline Campbell
Within every woman there is a wild and natural creature, a powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity, and ageless knowing.
Her heart was a dark forest, her soul all the wild things which dwelt between the trees.
The love of wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; it is also an expression of loyalty to the earth, the earth which bore us and sustains us, the only paradise we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need, if only we had the eyes to see.
A woman with a moon falling from her mouth, roses between her legs and tiaras of spanish moss, this woman is a consort of the spirits.
Winter light shining like grief in your hair, black as the wing of a crow, and like joy. The old year dying around us then; the weather all bright wind, wild and clear.
Moon-haunted.
At night when the moon was mine & the hungry wind held me high, I knew I could never be grounded again.
On an October night when witchery can occur…
Where the old gods meet the earth - Old Man Stoor, Isle Of Skye.
The stones here speak to me, and I know their mute language. Also, they seem deeply to feel what I think. But I am a ruin myself, wandering among ruins.
35mm film scan • Inspired by the ‘Eleionomae’ (spirits of nature). Dwellers of the marshlands, often misleading travelers with their illusions by portraying themselves as their mourning loved ones. Eleionomae have an unnatural aura of beauty as well as an unquantifiable air of mystery, always cloaked in black. Young men who’ve encountered these swamp nymphs never came back. As one story tells: “You never get to see their faces. Those poor young lads are mesmerized by their singing and follow them until they can’t find their way home anymore. Legends tell they get eaten alive once they are lost and paralyzed by their spells.
35mm film scan • The only thing in this world deserving of worship is nature. The sacrilege of religion is that it blinds us to the true source of life. Every church ever built has desecrated sacred ground. Find the woods, it is always singing hymns. The preacher you’re seeking is under their skins.
35mm film scan • Her presence invokes maddening sensations.
35mm film scan • Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars.
It was autumn, the springtime of death.
"At mindnight, in the month of October, I stand beneath the mystic moon."
Taken under the Samhain moon, 35mm.
Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen. Voices whisper in the trees, "Tonight is Halloween!"
I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel , the two-faced sinister and saintly woman
It is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off
I'll have dirt on my feet and stars in my eyes, I'll be in the forest where the earth comes alive.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
35mm film scam, 2017.
I am a godess, neverborn,
Touching magick, wielding power,
I wear the crescent, wear the horn,
I am a witch at every hour.
35mm fim scan, 2017.
The woods stood in silence and cast their darkness out over the lake; but the middle of the water still lay in the sultry moonlight. Now and then gentle breeze rustled through the trees; but this was not wind, rather the breath of the summer night.
35mm film scan, 2017.
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,
there in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.
35mm film scan, 2017.
We are serpents shedding our skin, in the fields of illusion.
35mm film scan, 2017.
I burn, I shiver; out of the sun, into the shadow.
She is of the woods.
35mm film scan, 2017.
The love of wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; It is also an expression of loyalty to the earth, the earth which bore us and sustains us, the only paradise we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need, if only we had the eyes to see.
35mm film scan, 2017.
The love of wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; it is also an expression of loyalty to the earth, the earth which bore us an sustains us, the only paradise we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need, if only we had the eyes to see.
35mm film scan, 2017.
All people see fires, storms, explosions, or landscapes; but how many feel the flames, the lightnings, the whirlwinds, or the harmony? How many have an inner beauty that awakens their melancholy?
35mm gilm scan, 2017.
HERE ONCE DWELT
MARSH DWELLER
FLOWING ONES
BLOOM
BLESS IT BE
FINGER ENDS, FIVE TWIGS