Posts tagged ‘seahorse’

March 18, 2013

Tiny Magic Everyday:34

by Katyslany


February 13, 2013

The Tiny Magic Everyday Project

by Emma


Once upon a time we were young and small with turned-up noses and huge eyes, and all the world was wild and beautiful, and we felt very big and very small. But when our hands were woven together we felt just the right size.

We had each flown across the great Atlantic on albatross wings in search of our magic powers and potions to calm our tiny storms. Katy found herself at The Narrowing of the River; Emma in The Brick Kingdom; both of us hungry-hearted with molten eyes and packs on our backs. Our mission was huge and our size was so small, and as the weeks and months passed, we slowly shrunk more and more until we felt like sea horses – our tails curling and winding around, looking for a blade of sea grass, a sprout of magic, or a golden thread to anchor to, to lead us back to eachother.

Although we couldn’t see it, spring was on the horizon and would bring our fated reunion – spotting each others’ faces across Paddington Station, boarding a runaway train to the Cornish isles. So, to count down the days and to keep ourselves brave, we did the only thing we knew.

With distance as our canvas and longing as our ink, we set about making tiny drawings. One for each day – a parade to keep us company. Sending out small tendrils towards each other, to meet in the cosmos and weave our delirious storm.

Now, six years later and apart again, we’re still held in the tapestry of those threads, which have grown thick like banyan tree roots. For the next 40 days, we’ll be dancing our storm – together + apart – creating tiny magic everyday that will live here on the island of Salastia.

We invite you to join us, we’d love to see your weavings too. Words, art, dances, music – whatever it is. ❤

Love, Emma + Katy

you can follow Salastia & this project on facebook too:

December 27, 2012

eye fishes

by Emma

“The clear liquid in our eyes is seawater and therefore there are fish in our eyes, seawater being the natural medium of fish. Since blue and green are the colours of the richest seawater, blue and green eyes are the fishiest. Dark eyes are somewhat less fecund and albino eyes are nearly fishless, sadly so. But the quantity of fish in an eye means nothing. A single tigerfish can be as beautiful, as powerful, as an entire school of seafaring tuna. That science has never observed ocular fish does nothing to refute my theory; on the contrary, it emphasizes the key hypothesis, which is: love is the food of eye fish and only love will bring them out. So to look closely into someone’s eyes with cold, empirical interest is like the rude tap-tap of a finder on an aquarium, which only makes the fish flee. In a similar vein, when I took to looking at myself closely in mirrors during the turmoil of adolescence, the fact that I saw nothing in my eyes, not even the smallest guppy or tadpole, said something about my unhappiness and lack of faith in myself at the time.

…I no longer believe in eye fish in fact, but still do in metaphor. In the passion of an embrace, when breath, the wind, is at its loudest and skin at its saltiest, I still nearly think that I could stop things and hear, feel, the rolling of the sea. I am still nearly convinced that, when my love and I kiss, we will be blessed with the sight of angelfish and sea-horses rising to the surface of our eyes, these fish being the surest proof of our love. In spite of everything, I sill profoundly believe that love is something oceanic.”

― Yann Martel, Self