Papier Fantasy

Laetitia Miéral

I don’t know about you lot, but when I hear the words ‘papier mache’ my mind instantly conjures up images of wallpaper paste and messy primary school children. Of course I’m aware that in the right hands it can be put to much more creative use than glittery Hallowe’en masks and pencil cup holders, but I certainly never imagined it could look as beautiful as this:

These whimsical wonders are the creations of  a young French lady by the name of Laetitia Miéral - paper artist, fairytale fan and daydreamer. Mademoiselle Miéral is the girl who never grew up, and thank the Light for it. In her own words:

“Ever since I was a child I have been  drawing, painting and creating the characters from my dreams and imagination. I grew up with the fairy tales of Andersen, the Brothers Grimm, Lewis Carroll, Perrault  and Mme d'Aulnoy. I work with paper, a never ending inspiration for me. I create carrousels, mobiles, grimoires, sculptures, marionettes, paper dresses, doll houses…”

 

“…I made my first marionettes in papier mache  when I was seventeen and fourteen years later I am still making my paper dreams come true…”

“…I'm inspired by the 18th century, the baroque era, horror films, botany, operas, illustrators of the 19th such as Gustave Doré, Arthur Rackham, and also  Fussli, Bosch, Brueghel.”

Ms Miéral’s work is on display at La Maison du Roy in Paris, though those of us not lucky enough to be able to pop in for a nosy can check it out on her website. And if you’d really like to treat yourself it’s also for sale online here.  

 

The Fairy Folk of Donegal, Part II

 

Finally! I’ve managed to find some time to post these. It’s been a mad sort of a week, albeit a very, very fun one. I would explain, but that’d take too long and I’d probably end up putting these off for yet another ‘day’. (If you haven’t figured it out already, ‘day’ actually means ‘week’ in Donegal dictionaries.) Anyway, so here they are. The fairy stories I promised for my friend Laura about two Donegal days ago. 

They were gathered as part of 1938 The Schools Manuscripts project, when every teacher in Ireland was issued with a booklet in which to record local history and folklore given to them by their pupils. These particular entries were collected from the area surrounding the village of Clonmany, where Laura is from and where the images in this and the last post were taken. You can read more from the Manuscripts here, and you can see more of my photos here. Enjoy! 

 

Excerpt I

One day a woman went out for a can of water. She had a little baby lying in the cradle asleep. When she came in her child was away and another child in its place. Every day when the woman would go out the child would play, play a fiddle. When she would come in the child would be asleep. The woman went to the priest. The priest told her it was a fairy and when she would go home to hold it over the smoke. The woman went home and held it over the smoke. The baby let three cheers and went up the chimney.

Mary McCarron, Cloontagh 21/7/38

 

 

Excerpt II

 

When the fairies had a certain amount of mystical control in lonely or mountainous districts, some of my own ancestors, tried to win their favours by sharing their hospitality with them on certain occasions, e.g. on the occasion of a wedding feast or of a christening feast, a good share of the "Spirit" was left in a vessel outside the house so that the "Wee Folk" could make merry and put "Good Luck" on the subjects of the feast. There is no need to say that the vessel was always empty in the morning, and to explain further would only rob this little story of its flavour.

Winnie Diver, Tiernasligo*

*I’m not sure if this one is from the 1938 manuscripts or not.   

Excerpt III

There is a rock above Cleagh which is called Carna. One day a girl was playing on it and a fairy came out and followed her. A man called Ned was nearby and the fairy said to him, 'catch her for me'. One day a girl was playing on a rock above Straid and she heard beautiful singing. She ran till she was at home. It is said that there is a 'cave' in a field of Mr Bradleys at Cleagh and that the fairies come out every night and sing there. If you go down into this cave you will not get out until you reach Crossconnell as there is an underground passage from it to Crossconnell.

James Bradley, Cleagh, Clonmany 12/5/38

 

Oh, and while were on the subject of fairies, I would like to invite you all to a fae-tastic little shindig taking place the weekend after next. On Friday 24th June, that’s the day before the annual Mad Tea Party,  the lovely Jorgelina is hosting a ‘Day of the Fairies’ fairy gathering. It sounds wonderful, so run along over to her blog to check out the details.

The Fairy Folk of Donegal, Part I

"The Fairies"
by William Allingham (1824-1889)

Up the airy mountain
    Down the rushy glen,
We dare n't go a-hunting,
    For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
    Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
    And white owl's feather.
Down along the rocky shore
    Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
    Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
    Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
    All night awake.

High on the hill-top
    The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
    He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
    Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
    From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,
    On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen,
    Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
    For seven years long;
When she came down again
    Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back
    Between the night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
    But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
    Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
    Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side,
    Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
    For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
    As dig them up in spite?
He shall find the thornies set
    In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain
    Down the rushy glen,
We dare n't go a-hunting,
    For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
    Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
    And white owl's feather. 

It’s only dawned on me that I’ve never actually posted that poem before, which is mad considering it’s probably one of the most famous fairy poems ever and it’s by a Donegal man about Donegal fairies!  Granted, Mr Allingham was from the other end of the county but that’s still just down the road really. And sure don’t I know the area well. I even spent a lovely long summer as a teenager down with the fairy king in verse two there. I can tell you, ‘tis an otherworldly place indeed.

Anyhow,  this isn’t actually the post on Donegal fairies I’d intended on.  I still have those folk tales for my friend Laura I said I’d post over a week ago. I did consider tacking them on at the end here but that’d make the post just far too long. Plus I’m lazy. So I’m sorry missus, but I hope it’s ok if I put them off just once more. Tomorrow, I promise!