In desperation, two days ago I lanced my infected finger myself since the doctor was sick and the office was closed. This is not something advisable but I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. It actually seems to be healing now.
My right hand is out of operation while this heals and my left shoulder is bad, I’ve pulled it and now have tendinitis and inflammation. I see to be flying on zero wings, grounded.
Fortunately my thumb is damaged on the side opposite to the one that holds the computer mouse. So I got to browsing online and found two decks I thought were interesting.
1) The Insectorum Divinorum Oracle Deck
It’s rare for anyone to mention insects on cards. This is a small deck with 32 cards and the cards were made with crafts and line drawing, and a booklet was written.
2) The Animalis Os Fortuna Tarot Deck
I tend to like black and white decks best. This apparently only took the artist three months to make. The speed of youthful vigour.
In the old days I would have rushed around trying to buy these but I’ve reached saturation point with 382 decks and tend to only buy things that are more readily available with free shipping. Apart from the Badgers Forest Tarot I just bought (from an artist whose previous deck I have), I can’t buy any more.
Then, as usual I got a bit antsy and unhappy looking at tarot blogs and cards so pulled back to draw a card of the day here.
Here is a nice postcard I received from Penelope Cline when I bought her Mystic Rubaiyat deck. It is the most expensive deck I’ve ever purchased and I can’t afford any of the decks she published after this. She did however get me to read a ripping good biography of Chagall when we discussed her Wild Green Chagallian Tarot. A good book is like gold.
by Penelope Cline NAPA
NAPA stands for National Acrylic Painters Association in the UK
I like anything Pen does actually. She could draw with air and I would like it. She’s a word person, a literature person, a history person, all the humanities in one greatly artistic bundle.
The light in this painting is very haunting. Like sun in your eyes or the twilight light of a sunset, the golden day at the pier you will remember all your life. The structure, the history of the building, the lives lived and touched here, the icon of youth and fun and sea.
So beautiful yet so tinged with melancholy, like Lewis Carroll’s All in the Golden Afternoon, the poem he prefaced Alice in Wonderland with.
All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.
Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?
Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict to “begin it”:
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
“There will be nonsense in it!”
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.
Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast—
And half believe it true.
And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
“The rest next time—” “It is next time!”
The happy voices cry.
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out—
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.
Alice! A childish story take,
And with a gentle hand,
Lay it where Childhood’s dreams are twined
In Memory’s mystic band,
Like pilgrim’s wither’d wreath of flowers
Pluck’d in far-off land.