#audumbla

FIRST PRINTS ARE HERE!

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I’m so excited to introduce prints into my shop, I’ve dreamed of holding prints of my art, my *energy*, ever since I was a child. When I opened the package, I teared up with joy.

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Odin, Audumbla, the Norns, and Hela are the subjects of our first round of prints, available on our Etsy in 4x6 inch matte stock.

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Have you seen a picture or subject of mine recently that you’d like to see as a print? Let us know in the comments!

ᚫᚢᛞᚻᚢᛗᛚᚫ

/ˈaʊduːmlɑː/

audhumla is a primeval being:

she came into existence by the fusion of muspelheim and niflheim.

her milk fed ymir and their giant offspring.

audhumla survived on salt and ice for three days, uncovering buri, father or bor.

audhumla has been translated to "hornless cow, rich with milk" yet almost every painted depiction shows her with horns.

audhumla is ambiguous, neither good nor bad.

she embodies an aura of nurture and prosperity, but there is also the potential of great destruction.

Audumbla

In the void that comes before all things, cold whispers—and fire answers. From that impossible breath a giant is born, one who, then, had no name: only weight, only hunger to exist. The songs will call him Ymir—Aurgelmir, some voices insist—and with him will come a cosmic cow, licking destiny out of the ice.

Ginnungagap, Ymir, and Auðumbla

In the beginning there were no skies, no earth, no sea. There was only Ginnungagap, a gorge of silence so vast it felt eternal. To the north: Niflheim, frost and fog, a cold that cuts like wet stone. To the south: Múspellsheimr, glare and heat, a red pulse like a living heart. Between those extremes, the void was not peace. It was waiting.

When the icy rivers of Niflheim—the Élivágar—slid into Ginnungagap, the air turned harsh, thick with crystals. Then came the warm breath of Múspellsheimr, and the rime began to yield. It was not a gentle thaw. It was a clash. Where the ice shivered and heat wounded it, life dripped out.

From those drops rose Ymir, first among the giants—Aurgelmir, say some of the old chants. He did not enter the world with a cry, but with a heaviness, as if matter itself had suddenly decided to be. His breath was damp and dense; his body a block of ancient flesh, still soaked through with cold.

Ymir opened his eyes in the dark and found nothing to meet his gaze. And yet he was not alone. For with him came Auðumbla, the great primeval cow. Warm vapor rolled from her nostrils and braided into the fog. From her udder flowed four rivers of milk—thick, pale, and warm. A gift that asked for no merit. Ymir drank. And for the first time, life had a rhythm.

The Children of Sweat (the first Jǫtnar)

The giant sprawled across Ginnungagap like a mountain learning its own shape. His skin tasted of salt and frost. In sleep, his body did what young earth does: it generated.

From the sweat beneath his arms came two beings, male and female. And from his feet, brushing together in torpor, came a third. Thus the Jǫtnar were born, the line of giants—not children of love, but of necessity.