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Blessed be The Little Friends with a big heart Along the way

Home is where the Heart is

Nothing is cosier than a fresh soft layer of snow

The Gates of the Otherworld are always opened

A Green Home for the Soul

Exotic Delights

Soul Sisters and other sorceresses

Soul Brothers and other Sorcerers

The Beautiful Longing

The Soul Oracle's Round Cards

The River

  For someone who’s very fond of Nature and vast expenses of wilderness, I do paint towns quite often. Though I don’t miss Paris, which I left in 1998. I love 19th century towns, especially when covered with snow, and with all these glowing warm lights in the windows it gives you this unique salmon light. [peekaboo_link name=”bar”]Traduction ici [/peekaboo_link] [peekaboo_content name=”bar”] Pour quelqu’un qui adore la Nature et les étendues vastes et sauvages, je peins assez souvent des villes. Néanmoins, Paris que j’ai quitté en 1998 ne me manque pas. J’aime beaucoup les villes du 19 ième siècle, spécialement lorsqu’elles sont enneigées, et lorsqu’avec toutes ces chaudes lueurs aux fenêtres, la ville est baignée alors de

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The Otter

  Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale. I ‘ve often dreamed of animals transforming into “fiances” or young men. This is a reminder for me that we must trust our instincts. I love otters, the few times I saw some on the shore here were so magical. I also saw some on parking lots! But most often, at wintertime, I see the tracks they leave on the snow. They actually play on the snow slides they make into the water. This hand to hand gesture reminds me of some games we used to play as children. [peekaboo_link name=”bar”]Traduction ici [/peekaboo_link] [peekaboo_content name=”bar”] Le conte de la Belle et la Bête est mon préféré.

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  Morozko, or Father Frost, is the Spirit of Winter. In the dark period he makes everything sparkle with frost and snow flakes. He is glamouring beauty. And the colder it is, the more sparkling. That’s the faerie of wintertime. Everything has a bright side. Later on, Saint Nicolas took over, the Russian patron saint of children… and prostitutes. And then Father Christmas. But the true and only one is Morozko. He’s not nice to all, it’s conditional. As it should be. Morozko Fairy Tale: Once there lived an old widower and his daughter. In due time, the man remarried to an older woman who had a daughter herself from a previous

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  This is my own vision of the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts. I couldn’t say, though, which side is Seelie or Unseelie because they both in their own way carry something of the trickster, but in a different fashion. This is perhaps my favourite painting so far, I love these characters, each of them means a lot to me. There are two different tribes and here I am in the middle, enraptured.  I pictured two musical instruments, the flute for its playfulness and the violin for its passion.  These tell a lot about the nature of each of the tribes. I’m wearing red, which is the color of sacrifice, but here

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The Staff

  Another shaman with a “Green Man” in the the foliage. I have a special connection to runes. [peekaboo_link name=”bar”]Traduction ici [/peekaboo_link] [peekaboo_content name=”bar”] Une autre chamanesse avec un “Homme Vert” dans les feuillages. J’ai une connexion particulière avec les runes. [/peekaboo_content]

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The Vouivre and the Gypsy

  I’m very fond of everything that has to do with gypsies. I often dream of “my people” and they’re invariably gypsies. I truly have no idea whether or not I have some gypsy ancestry, and actually I don’t think blood or genes matter, the most powerful link is the one that takes place in the soul. And in my soul, I’m a goddamn’ gypsy! I also love geese. I always feel moved when I see them flying back to the south of Europe, leaving the Arctic where they spent the summer, I always hope that all of them will make it. There is a wonderful book by Swedish author Selma Lagerlof,

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The Twelve Months

  That was fun to make but also terribly long. I enjoyed personalising the months, it was a very interesting exercise to get a “feel” for each. When I see this painting now, I can’t help hearing what I was listening to continuously at the time of painting: The Twelve Months fairy tale: THERE was once a widow who had two daughters, Helen, her own child by her dead husband, and Marouckla, his daughter by his first wife. She loved Helen, but hated the poor orphan because she was far prettier than her own daughter.

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The Traveller

  Misty mountains bring to my imagination poetry, pilgrimage and a hot cup of tea. I have a very deep interest in Taoism. This is my favorite “spiritual” religion as opposed to paganism which has more to do with Soul than Spirit, in one word: animism. In the mist, I am lost. And found again.  Mist brings me serenity and detachment. Bliss… Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want it. Now I understand why the old poets of China went so far and high into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist. Mary Oliver [peekaboo_link name=”bar”]Traduction

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