A full listing of all currently available original watercolor paintings.
Painted on an aluminum altoid-type tin box.
Original painting 10" tondo. Matted and framed 14"
Original painting 7x7 inches, matted and framed 8x8 inches.
*** "Added mat and framing option is only for the original painting. Fully dimension is 18" circle, with custom woodwork birch frame, archival mat and plexiglass.
Grandiflora Rose - Cardinal Song
Original is sold fully framed. See the Detail photos below for the framed image.
A faery, a tangle of blackberry brambles, and some nightshade tucked away in the corner.
Original painting is sold fully framed. See the Detail photos below for the framed image.
Nimue and Merlin
The Fool walks across the roiling surface of the ocean. She wears a white shift, sea-foam and purity. She is unafraid, or perhaps just completely unaware of just how precarious her path is. Such blithe trust in the surety of her footing must either be true innocence of the unknown dangers the world can present (the lurking Leviathans, and the shadowy, watery depths), or a willful desire to flaunt her faith in the face of such knowledge. She strolls across the waterweeds, one foot before the other, eyes cast to the vault of the sky and the endless possibilities she sees before her. A dragonfly gazes back. It knows a bit of the path she has chosen, for it is a creature of both land and air, and it carries wisdom of transformation and adaptation. Perhaps it hopes the she will notice and hear its silent words. The fish swarm and roll in the waves, nibbling at the waterweed stems, casting her pathway adrift and unmoored. More information about this deck here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/kayti/78-tarot-nautical
A wanderer stumbles upon a faery rising from magical pools in an ancient forest.
By the light of fireflies, will-o-wisps and glow-lights, a queen of the fae steps across the still pools. We watch her, entranced, enchanted, and time ceases in the twilight. Not day, not night, but a time in between that hangs suspended and sustained. Faery is a realm that hovers on the edges of perception, half of this world, and half of dream. A musician friend had a conversation with me once about the nature of inspiration. He was a trumpet player, in a salsa band, not involved at all in the mythic arts. But he looked on my paintings, and likened the act of creation that any artist engages in (whether it is visual, physical, musical or written), with a mental foray into the actual domain of Faery. Somehow, we see, hear, believe, envision, or perhaps spiritually visit a realm beyond the perception of mortal eyes and body, and then transcribe that experience as best we can into a physical form.
Yexian of the Chinese Cinderella story.
Nyx drawing her veil across the world.
At the bottom of a wishing well
Fireflies and magic in the woods.
A Faery Queen and her court.
The Lady drew herself up tall, and the lanterns dimmed by comparison to the unfiltered aura of her being. She was slender, with emerald eyes, and up close, Lily could see the fine veins that traced under her translucent skin like a fan of tattooed lace. Her hair was thick and black, and coiled in a serpentine cascade of braids. Jasmine blossoms were twisted into the strands, like sweetly perfumed stars. She wore a green silken shift with a subtle pattern woven into the threads, and belted at the waist with a tangle of jasmine vines. The patterns in the silk of her gown shifted and writhed like living runes, and her stark face was both terrifying and beautiful.
She walks among the poppies through the Gray Valley, from the City of Dust.
We walked once where the shadow used to fall:
watched the eclipse blot out the sun,
and the streaming beams between the
pinhole gaps of leaves became
a cascade of glowing crescents across the ground.
Where the shadow used to fall,
the rain did not.
Dense, dry, fallen carpet of the years
pooled at the Giant's feet.
Blanket of crisp leaves and needles. Sap and compost.
My shadow falls, where its shadow used to fall;
and when the sun fades to my back,
I stand upon the hundred rings.
I reach my fingers up up UP to a ghost canopy.
The sunset melts amber sap down my shoulder blades,
down my spine.
And I watch as my shadow grows tall,
then melts into the shadow-less evening.
Somewhere at the edge of the world.
Cover illustration for a book by Catherine Asaro.
Cover illustration for a book by Catherine Asaro, sequel to The Misted Cliffs.
Cover illustration for a book by Catherine Asaro, sequel to "The Charmed Sphere."
A Chinese legend:
There was once a time when there was not just a single sun in the heavens, but ten suns. These ten suns were embodied in the forms of celestial Sun-Birds, who lived in a mulberry tree far out in the eastern sea.
Alternating amongst themselves each day, it was the task for a single one of the Sun-Birds to spread his wings and fly over the lands, to light the skies. As he soared across the vault of the heavens, the sun\'s glorious radiance bought warmth and life to the fields and people. In a day-long journey, the Sun-Bird flew to the western mountains. Each night, that Sun-Bird would come back to roost at the mulberry tree amongst his siblings.
Day after day, the Sun-Birds performed their duty, until they bored of the routine. On that fateful morning, they all took flight, in a burst of overwhelming flame and glory. The ten Sun-Birds flew out across the lands, and the people cried out in pain at the furnace that opened up from the heavens with the heat of ten suns beating down upon rice fields and rooftops and heads.
It fell to the Archer God, Houyi to remedy the situation. Drawing his great bow, he shot down nine of the ten Sun-Birds. So it is today, that there is but a single Sun.
Enjoying affluence and financial security, luxury, good fortune, a traditionalist, rooted to convention and to rules.
Her silken attire and golden adornments indicate that her social status is relatively comfortable, curled up as she is against the hoarding Dragon. The winds whisper ancient secrets to the trees. The trees curl and coil their roots around their own nuggets and then with a brush of leaves pass it onto the Dragon. And he in turn sings those words to her, for he has seen much in his centuries and has been steeped in what was. The world is a stained glass masterpiece - a world of art and wealth; and she holds clasped tight a Peach of Immortality and Auspiciousness.
A craftsman, patience, care for details, aborbed in a project, seeking knowledge, pursuing a higher understanding.
With diligence and patience, the Spider crafts her gossamer web. Dawn dusts an array of dewy stars across the threads.
weaver weave a pattern:
weave a dream of summer musk;
weave the drape of autumn dusk.
weaver weave a fate:
weave a life's frail anchored line;
weave the pale moon's waxing signs.
weaver weave a web:
craft each silky precious thread,
artist's inhibitions shed.
The extremes of those that have and those that have not; giving and receiving.
Spiritual poverty, material troubles, insecurity, hard times, neglecting the body's needs, being ostracized and excluded.
Teamwork, functioning as a unit together, competence, achieving beyond the expected.
He is wise and understanding. He knows the meaning of patience. Like the sea turtles that swim at his side, he guides the way with a steady calm through the ever-shifting uncertainties of the vast ocean depths. He reads the knowledge of the centuries that has been etched into the patterns on their shells, and drinks in that gift with every breath taken of the water that flows in and around them all. The waters grow still and peaceful in his presence.
The seahorse is a symbol of the power of Poseidon, and is imbued with the tireless strength of the sea. He is a patient creature, swimming through the swells at his own fluid and graceful pace. That grace is armored by the spines of its exoskeleton, and the male seahorse is the protector of the young.
The Unicorn is a child of the sea - born of foam and restless waves, surging with the wild abandon of the surf. The Knight of Cups is her companion on the eternal quest.
He is the knight of the Round Table on the grand quest for the Grail. He is the romantic who seeks where his heart and emotions lead. He is the artist and the musician and the poet whose eyes see into the unseen nether-realms of imagination. He is the idealist who will not let physical laws stop him from riding with reckless abandon across the wavetops on his journey.
Serenity, peace, lasting success and happiness, attainment of the heart's desires, family support and bonds, enjoying the blessings of life.
Pleasure of the senses, satisfaction and wish fulfillment, success, assured future, bounty, and health.
Delving within for personal discovery and answers, turning away and disengaging from the material for the spiritual, moving on, letting go, weariness, drain.
Seeker of the Seas, dive down, dive deep. Plumb the sapphire waters so dark that they pulse with the nacreous gleam of black pearls. Slice through the waters, O Seeker of Truth; slide with lithe body through the currents and undertows; turn away from the sunlight of the world up above that blinds with its too-sharp brilliance. Like the delicate luminescence of the deep sea life, there are some things which can only be seen when the eyes grow enlarged in the dim netherlit otherworld. Dive down, Seeker of the Seas!
Indulging in fantasies, having too many options to chose from. Too many desires, some within the realm of reality, others...not so much. Unlimited possibilities.
Her head is lost in the clouds. She has stars in her eyes as she looks to the castle in the sky, unaware of their precarious perch. Meanwhile, he is a little more grounded, eyes on the castles that are on the ground and within reach, however obscure the arcane symbols on his map may be.
Regret, loss, rejection of pleasure, feeling sorrow, wishing for what might have been.
Being unaware and self-absorbed, isolated and seeking within, disengaged from the world, dreamy, contemplative.
The Knight of Swords is the brave hero who rushes headlong into conflict to defend his beliefs. He is blunt and comes directly to his point. He is domineering, a seeker, slicing through the skies with his sword and his wings. A storm gathers in his wake, borne of the turbulence his winged army creates, and he is lifted high above it all to pierce through the chaos. The sword is a beacon.
He calls out to the night's abyss:
Lift me up spirits of Sky
grant me keen sight of Hawk
swiftness of Sparrow
grant me insight of Raven
brave heartbeat of Hummingbird
bear me up with grace on wings of Swan
guide me with visions of wisdom from Owl
Suffering from anguish, fear, anxiety, guilt, uncertainties in the night.
Stormcrows herald impending dissolution
with voices cawing raucous absolution
round and round and spiraling ever near
one future sought - one future feared
The funnel of the sky stretches up to the heavens; an ominous tower of storms with but the hope and glimmer of light high above at the eye of turmoil. "Come to me, come with me," the voice of the Stormcrows whispers to him from nearby. "Let me guide you through." With anxious eyes, he gazes upwards, away, oblivious to the proffered guidance through the night of the soul. He clutches sheathed sword close for security, rather than grasping bright blade aloft to light the way!
Wasting energy on the trivial, frozen in crisis, restricted, confused, feeling powerless, trapped by circumstances.
The Brambles Crone lives among the blackberry hedges where the fruit is tempting and sweet, but even the leaves have wickedly curved thorns to catch and hold. The little hummingbird may flit and navigate with ease among such treacherous tangles, but the noble and grand elegance of the Swan with the arcing spread of her wings is not for such tangled and thorny corridors.
Escaping responsibility, making away with that which is not yours, uncertainty, keeping something to yourself, dishonor, being two-faced.
He hides his face behind a mask, shrouding his true nature, and he smirks in a rather satisfied way that he has managed to steal one of the swords that the Swan Guardian oversees. He thinks the Guardian is oblivious, but she is in fact watching him with one eye. "What have you got there? Shiny bauble! Shiny bright!" the blackbirds demand, drawn to the sullen gleam. He turns his back to them as well; for he is the cleverest Blackbird to have been able to draw this Sword from the Stone.
Concentrating narrowly on one's own self-interest, power play, battle, sacrifice of integrity.
Solitude and rest from strife, inner contemplation, exile.
Heartbreak, receiving little solace, lonesomeness, isolation, betrayal.
Denial, blocking off emotions, avoidance of and not seeing the truth, stalemate, impasse.
Vigilance, strength in reserve, being prepared.
The Sentinels keep watch from above, ever wary, ever vigilant, the Eternal Guardians. They defend against the unknowns that lie hidden in the abyss -- perhaps it is just light and mist and the edge of the world, but they have not ventured beyond. They know only that they have been charged to watch, eyes to the west, from where the light fades each dying day.
Taking a stand, defending what you believe in, strife and stiff competition, courage in facing difficulties.
The Vixen faces off against a Badger, while her kits watch from beneath the protective curl of her tail. They circle and circle, sizing each other. The bamboo of the wands signify strength and fortitude -- slender supple tenacity that sways in the winds and does not break.
Victory, triumph, pride, prevailing and coming out on top, arrogance, self-importance
Upheaval and sudden change, crisis, releasing all emotion, suffering a blow to the ego, revelation and seeing through illusions.
The Emperor remembers....
He remembers when once there was another man. Was it his father? A mentor? Or was it a vanquished king? His mind arcs back, grasping. Once.... There was another, and he relinquished the dragon orb.
He remembers his own fascination with the orb upon first laying eyes on it, and as he touched it the strength of the creature within surged through his arms and possessed his senses. "You are now the lord of these mortal realms." Was it the other who had said that? Or was it the dragon? He was now the dragon!
"Yessss," he said, and knew it was so.
O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.
Child ballad #39A Tam Lin
The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-1898 by Francis James Child
The Fishes. Visionaries and dreamers, subsumed self sometimes in the care of others. Spiritual seekers, looking for the answers to the mysteries of life.
The Scorpion. An intense personality, and this focus carries to everything they do, whether for benefit or detriment.
The Lion. Loyal, proud, generous, outgoing and with a flair for drama, glories in leadership.
The Ram. Impulsive, takes the initiative, and determined. The sparking flame of assertiveness.
A faery inspired by a very delicate orchid called Habenaria medusa.