#springholidays

St. David’s Day Special: The Dragon Prophecy

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Welcome to Celtic Month! For the entire month of March, the Spring Vignettes series will be dedicated entirely to Celtic homage vignettes. Non-Celtic pieces will resume in April.

Quick clarification: It’s pronounced Keltic, unless it’s a sports team; and even then, any linguists in the room will cringe if you pronounce it Seltic.

Our first Celtic Month piece celebrates St. David’s Day, on March 1st, the national day of Wales. Have some cheese toast! Pet a dragon! Kiss a Welshman, if you can find one.

Before you read what the piece means to me, share what it means to _you_. I’m just the artist; you’re the beholder.

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The Welsh are the survivors of the Celtic Britons, who were the inhabitants of all southern Britain before the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes invaded and established what became England. “Welsh” is an Anglo-Saxon term; it means “other people” or “foreigners”, which is ironic, considering the Germanic-speaking peoples were the foreigners in the native lands of the Britons.

There is certainly no more famous Welshman than King Arthur Pendragon, a legendary king of yore who supposedly ruled Britain between the retreat of the Romans and the invasion of the Saxons. His legend, much-developed over the centuries, became well-known throughout Europe in later times.

A notable legend tells of the building of Dinas Emrys, a castle on a hill by the Glaslyn river. By some accounts, it was built by Uther Pendragon, father of King Arthur; by other accounts, it was Vortigern, the same foolish king of the Britons who later invited the Saxons into Britain as mercenaries to defend the Britons from the Picts.

After the king had chosen the hill on which the castle would stand, his builders went to work; but every day, they built up the walls, only for them to topple overnight. No progress could be made. At length, the king asked his wisemen to find the cause and the solution to the problem.

His wisemen told him that for the building to succeed, a sacrifice would be necessary; and the sacrifice must be a boy not sired by mortal man. Such a boy existed; a young boy named Merlin, or Ambrosius, the baptized son of a devil, who would go on to be known for his abilities in the magic arts.

(Foundation sacrifices were once an incredibly widespread custom; we know from archaeological evidence that the burying of a human victim under the foundation of an important building was practiced in ancient Ireland. Similar legends are told in Romania, Greece, Japan, and elsewhere. Animals were later buried under foundations after human sacrifices ceased.)

The boy was brought to the hill; and the king’s wisemen told the king to sacrifice him to appease the heathen gods so that the castle could be build. But the boy laughed at their advice, and told the king he knew much better. He told the king that if a hole were dug, there would be found a deep, dark pool; and in that pool, there would be found two dragons, one red, one white; and it was the fighting of these dragons that shook the hill each night and made the walls collapse. The king had a deep hole dug; and indeed, there was found a deep, dark pool; and from that pool indeed emerged two dragons, one red, one white.

Freed from their imprisonment, the dragons fought viciously, until, despite being the lesser of the dragons, the red dragon defeated the white dragon, and drove it out of the land across the sea.

The boy then prophesied that, just as the red dragon triumphed over the white dragon, so the Britons would triumph over the invading Saxons.

And they did; until the death of King Arthur at the hands of his son Mordred, whereafter, the Saxons finally defeated the Britons, and drove them into the western mountains.

St. Yves’ Day Special: The Ankou

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Our third Celtic Month piece celebrates St. Yves’ Day, the national day of Brittany; which is on May 19th. Remember to sing some Breton folk songs.

Before you read what the piece means to me, share what it means to _you_. I’m just the artist; you’re the beholder.

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The Bretons dwell in Brittany, a peninsula of France; and both the people and their homeland derive their name from their origin as Britons who fled from Britain to the mainland during the Anglo-Saxon invasion. They are the only Celts who live in mainland Europe, at present; but they came from the Isles. The Breton language is closely related to Welsh and even more closely related to Cornish.

In Breton folklore, the Ankou is said to be an assistant to Death; a figure in a black cloak and hat who collects the souls of the dead and guides them into the afterlife.

Many tales are told about his origins. Some say he was the first child of Adam and Eve, and the first human being to die. Others say he was a prince who challenged Death, and lost.

Others say, and this is the notion I prefer, that the Ankou is the last, or first, person to die in each parish each year; responsible for guiding souls for one year until another takes their place. That way, the dead are greeted by a familiar personage when it’s time to make their final journey.

There are equivalent legends in Cornwall and Wales; the Cornish term is Ankow, and the Welsh term is Angau. There are comparable legends elsewhere. According to a Scottish legend, the last person buried in a graveyard is responsible for guarding it until the next burial. In parts of England there are legends that the first person buried in a graveyard will be responsible for guarding it; and customarily, a dog is buried first, to become the graveyard’s church-grim (a well and truly good boy).

The soldier in the grave, whose soul is being beckoned by the Ankou, as well as the priest performing the funeral liturgy, are a homage to one of my favorite Breton folk songs, Ar Soudarded (Zo Gwisket e Ruz). The chorus-verse means “The soldiers dress in red; the priests dress in black.” It’s a melancholy song about a soldier who speaks of his burial if he should die.

I chose to depict the dead spectres in monochrome; and I’m not sure it was an effective choice. I found it necessary to add the luminous peach-colored halos to clarify the intended effect.

The steeple in the background is inspired by the distinctive cutout designs in the steeple of Tréguier Cathedral.

St. Yves of Kermartin, also called St. Yves Hélory, whose name is also spelled all sorts of other ways such as Ives, Ivo, Erwan, Iwan, Youenn, and Eozenn, and who is not to be confused with St. Yves of Chartres, St. Erbin of Dumnonia, or anyone with the surname Saint-Yves, was a pious clergyman and lawyer who was known for representing the poor and vulnerable, refusing bribes, and unraveling the tricks of swindlers. Every year on his feast day, May 19th, Catholic lawyers from around the world gather at his major shrine at Tréguier Cathedral to pay pilgrimage. Tréguier is also one of the seven sites of the Tour of Brittany, although not because of St. Yves.

Catholic Easter special: Western Sun

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We now return to our weekly posting schedule, and to non-Celtic content.

Our fourteenth Spring Vignettes piece celebrates Catholic Easter, which will be celebrated by Roman Catholics and many Protestants on April 9th this year, according to the Gregorian Calendar.

Before you read what the piece was intended to portray, share what it portrays to _you_. I’m just the artist; you’re the beholder.

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Other than that rabbits are a symbol of fecundity, life, and birth, there’s no particular symbolism in the body of this piece; it’s just an idyllic pastoral scene with some cute bun-buns.

Baby rabbits of some wild species ordinarily have little forehead-stars (or “milk-spots”) that fade as they mature. I thought it would be very neat if a litter of baby rabbits had gold, silver, and copper forehead-stars, instead of the usual white.

Are these special rabbits? Is their birth an omen of great events? Will they grow up to be extraordinary rabbits who do extraordinary things? We just don’t know.

Many rabbits make nests at ground-level using their own beard-fur, which female rabbits grow specially for the purpose. Rabbits normally leave their babies alone for much of the day and night, and return to nurse at dawn and dusk, when it’s safest. If you find unattended baby rabbits, it’s likely that they haven’t been abandoned; they’re just lying low until their mommy returns.

The frame is inspired by Roman architecture, especially the Roman Pantheon; which was built in antiquity as a pagan temple, but was repurposed as a Christian church later in its history.

If you look closely at the repeating pattern on the lintel, you’ll notice that I very cleverly integrated St. Peter’s Cross.

According to Christian tradition, St. Peter was one of the Twelve Apostles of Jesus of Nazareth, regarded by Christians as an incarnation of the God of Abraham and spiritual savior of humankind. Originally named Simon, he was renamed Cephas (כֵּיפָא Kepha), Aramaic for “Stone”, by Jesus; and this name was translated into Greek as Petros (Πέτρος), the Greek word for “Stone”.

Simon and his brother Andrew were fishermen when Jesus was preaching on the Sea of Galilee. According to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus demonstrated his divinity by calling up a miraculous catch of fish when the nets were coming up empty. Jesus called Simon and Andrew to be “fishers of men”; and they became his apostles, preaching his teachings to the people.

After returning to Rome at a time when Christians were being persecuted by pagan Emperor Nero, Peter was sentenced to crucifixion; and by some accounts, he asked not to be crucified in the same way as Jesus, as he thought himself unworthy. He was crucified upside-down on an inverted cross; and the inverted cross is known as St. Peter’s Cross to this day.

Mother’s Day special: Under the Willows

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Our nineteenth Spring Vignettes piece celebrates Mother’s Day, on May 14th.

Before you read what the piece was intended to portray, share what it portrays to _you_. I’m just the artist; you’re the beholder.

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By this point, I am scraping the barrel for unused background colors. I determined that there were only two arguably distinct colors left: lime, and cyan. No, it’s not green; I used a green background for Old Man of the Forest. This is neither green nor yellow. It’s the color of very fresh leaves.

This piece celebrates motherhood by centering a duck, one of many fine examples of maternal care. A mother duck will rarely abandon her ducklings; she will hiss at anything that tries to threaten them, and subsequently attack, even if the enemy is much greater in size. Do not bother the ducklings. Leave the ducklings alone.

Ducklings imprint on their mother upon hatching, and follow her everywhere until they reach maturity. By fledging-time, they’ll have learned everything a duck needs to know. Ducklings can swim straight out of the egg; their dense downy plumage makes them water-resistant and buoyant, and makes them feel all spongy when you squeeze them. After the whole clutch has hatched, the first thing a mother duck will usually do is head straight for the nearest water.

Meanwhile, male ducks (drakes) typically leave to do their own things after they mate. This is largely for the best, as their showy plumage could endanger the nest and the ducklings, whereas female ducks are less conspicuous.

These particular ducks are mallard ducks (Anas platyrhynchos), a successful and widespread species found throughout the temperate world. Mallard drakes are known for their brilliantly green heads. Female mallards are well-camouflaged, and can easily blend in while on the nest, and subsequently while leading ducklings.

I naturally decided to place the mother duck and ducklings in a vibrant wetland setting. Wetlands are among the most biologically productive ecosystems on earth, competing only with rainforests and estuaries, and their biodiversity is immense. They team with life, both flora and fauna. There’s a lot to see in this picture.

The orange flowers featured in the frame as well as in the scene are American tiger lilies (Lilium superbum), which, unlike the similar Asiatic tiger lilies (Lilium lancifolium), are native to North American ecosystems. They like to grow where it’s a little bit wet.

Willows are also very fond of growing in wet soil. They do well where other trees drown. Willows form the hanging canopy of the background; and the struts of the frame are made out of intertwined willow-withes.

You’ll undoubtedly have spotted the red-winged blackbird overhead; their distinctive call is one of the surest signs of spring. Only the males have brilliant red shoulders. The brighter the color, the healthier the bird.

You’ll also have noticed the turtle resting on a log. Freshwater turtles enjoy sunning themselves on logs during the day. Popular logs will become piled with turtles. This is a small turtle; far too small to be a mature snapping turtle; probably a more benign sort of turtle.

Obviously no swamp would be a swamp without a quorum of at least five frogs. These large green frogs could plausibly be bullfrogs. You know spring has fully set in when you hear the chorus of frog-calls from every nearby wetland. During the breeding season, male pond-frogs stake out little territories, and defend them viciously; constantly loudly announcing their claims to rivals and potential mates, and every bystander for a thousand yards.

But did you notice the swimming muskrat? Muskrats make burrows in river-banks, and spend most of their time traveling by water in search of tasty water-plants. As large water-loving rodents, muskrats greatly resemble beavers, but actually belong to the same family as voles, hamsters, and lemmings; whereas beavers are more closely related to kangaroo rats and pocket gophers.

Perhaps you were perceptive enough to notice the ruby-throated hummingbird. Only males of the species exhibit the brilliant ruby throats for which they are named; female ruby-throated hummingbirds have entirely white throats instead. All ruby-throated hummingbirds have magnificent green plumage. If you should ever happen upon a hummingbird nest, you’ll find that it’s the tiniest nest you ever saw. They make them using spider-silk.

American tiger lilies are known to be an important source of nectar for hummingbirds at certain times of year.

Birds and mammals, in general, are united by the common fact of raising their young from infancy; and as such, it is a necessity of life that they be capable of tender love at least one time in their lives. If you ask me, it’s little wonder that many mammals and birds have become highly social by extending that affectionate capacity to other adults. After all, mammals and birds have the foundations of community inherent in their lifecycle.

Groundhog Day special: A Look Outside

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In continuation of the Spring Vignettes series of seasonal minimalist digital art pieces, I present our second piece, in honor of Groundhog Day, or Candlemas, on February 2nd.

Before I explain what the piece means to me, please tell me what it means to _you_. I’m just the artist; you’re the beholder. The art exists in your eyes. I want to know what I’ve accomplished.

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Groundhogs (Marmota monax), also known as woodchucks or Canada marmots, are large ground-squirrels common in North America. During the winter, they go into hibernation in the shelter of their burrows; true hibernation, unlike the torpor of a bear.

In the United States, folk custom has it that on the 2nd of February, a groundhog comes out of his hole for a peek; and if he sees his shadow, he returns to continue his slumber, concluding that winter will continue for another six weeks; whereas if he casts no visible shadow, he will emerge, concluding that spring has arrived.

This folk-saying was probably introduced to North America by Pennsylvania Dutch settlers (actually Germans, who refer to themselves in German as “deutsch”), who adapted it from a similar saying in Germany concerning badgers. In German, “Lichtmeßwoche” (“Candlemas-week”) rhymes with “Loche” (“hole”).

In recent times, one particular groundhog in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, has attained great fame as a meteorologist on account of this rumor; and he allegedly conveys predictions to his top-hatted handlers as part of a public ceremony, which are then interpreted into English and announced.

Personally, I think the tophat would look more fetching on the groundhog.

Other famous groundhogs have taken on similar roles as local prognosticators, such as Fred la Marmotte, a Québécois groundhog who also releases predictions every February 2nd.

On a cold early-spring morning, I have no doubt that any groundhog would greatly appreciate a four-paned glass window, and a steaming hot cup of tea, if he could obtain them.