I don't know exactly why I sculpted the Hobgoblin jug. Maybe it's the influence of the full moon. Maybe the creaking, croaking and chirping of all the new critters in the woods tonight, conjuring up images of Faeries and creatures not quite human. It was probably just the forlorn little jug sitting on the table just begging to be something more.
While I worked on him I opened the studio door and turned off the music and all but one light. I listened to the spring night sounds and imagined my Celtic ancestors sitting around a fire in Ireland, Scotland, England or Scandinavia telling stories of Spirits, Faeries and goblins good and bad.
It was satisfying to hear the wind sighing in the pines , smell the musty smell of newly turned earth in the garden and try to identify the sounds of the animals, frogs and insects in the woods.
It was satisfying to hear the wind sighing in the pines , smell the musty smell of newly turned earth in the garden and try to identify the sounds of the animals, frogs and insects in the woods.
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