Pawel & Kasia: Broken Tale



Pawel Kleszczewski and Kasia Zimnoch are a duet of Polish artists living in Cavan, Ireland. Pawel and Kasia create animation based on mythology, folklore and legend. They combine their artistic experience with elements of art history, ethnology and cultural anthropology. The method of their work is based on extensive cultural research. Kasia and Pawel search for the possible, the widest scope of theoretical material which relates to their subject; they seek legends, myths, local stories, scientific studies. Starting to work with traditional techniques, they find that animation is the result. They create complex worlds of art which include many elements: animation, drawing, painting and prints. In 2016 they finished “Broken Tale” animation, which is based on Swedish folk tale about Princess Tuvstarr. In 2015 they have created another animation illustrated Scandinavian folk tale “Dag and Daga and the Flying Troll of Sky Mountain.” In 2013 they have created two animations refers to Irish mythology- “Balor the Evil Eye” and “The Voyage of Saint Brendan.” In 2015 they were invited to be Guest Artists in Residence in Smedbyn, Sweden.

Patricia Fitzgerald: Labyrinth




Patricia Fitzgerald studied Visual Education and Communication at Dun Laoghaire College of Art & Design (IADT) and also holds an honours degree in Philosophy and Sociology from University College, Dublin. She hosts workshops and retreats both in Ireland and abroad on the Mindful Art of the Mandala & Meditation.  She practices mindfulness techniques daily in her own life and holds a professional certificate in the Therapeutic Use of Mindfulness.

Evelyn Suttle: Hugin and Munin

IMG_9109 (1)*


Evelyn Suttle is a Dublin based portrait artist interested in the themes of wildlife and compassion. A graduate of the Institute of Art & Design Technology, she has since exhibited work in Clontarf Castle, the Centre for Creative Practice, the Duke Street Art Gallery and the Stephen’s Green Portrait Studio. Her current work focuses on compassion towards animals and conservation, using primarily the medium of watercolour and pencil.

Pat Byrne: Half In The World Of Form



Originally from Laois, Ireland, Pat Byrne moved to Galway in 2006 to study at Galway Mayo Institute of Technology where he received a BA Honours Degree in Fine Art 2010. He remained in Galway for a short time before returning to Laois having been awarded a studio by Laois County Council. Pat graduated in 2015 with a Masters in Fine Arts from The National College of Art and Design, Dublin. The focus of Byrne’s work is Irish superstition and folklore, portraying folk figures in a more realistic fashion in an attempt to reflect the contemporary human condition.

Eilish Sherwin: Plait

Eilish Sherwin Plait



Eilish Sherwin is a visual artist and illustrator based in Dublin. She specializes in fine art printmaking and photography. Sherwin also uses a range of different mediums to accentuate her concepts including sculptural elements, mixed media and paint. She completed her Bachelors of Art in Art and Design in Galway Mayo Institute of Technology in 2014 and received her Higher Diploma in Illustration in 2011. She has exhibited in numerous group shows and is part of the renowned National University of Ireland Galway’s art collection. Sherwin’s work is a contemporary take on surrealism, sourcing themes from mythology, the ironic and the macabre.

Mary Keane: Devil’s Den

The image was originally created to accompany a piece of music Mary wrote, which in turn was inspired by a myth surrounding a dolmen called The Devil’s Den.  It is located in the Marlborough Downs in Wiltshire not too far from the sacred naval of the neolithic world, Avebury.
The legend of this Dolmen is found in A.G Bradley’s ‘Round about Wiltshire’ (1906) in which he writes of a demonic rabbit with lurid coals for eyes who appears on a full moon and sets about toppling the great cromlech with the aid of many white oxen.
Mary Keane is an Irish artist working in illustration, music and film.  Her work tends to be a form of nature worship often pivoting around the uncanny.

Jamie John Patrick Flynn: Diana; Queen of the Den

Ghost and the Fox (1)


Diana; Queen of the Den

Artemis, Luna, O Goddess Diana,

I beseech thee, immortal, grant thou servant thy manna,

I have completed thyn task and done as thou wished,

Now milk I will lap from your pale moonlit dish?


For you held up your bow and myself as arrow,

May you grant me a licking of delicious marrow?

Just a morsel of flesh or bone to chew on,

Then shall I recount what did happen.


A lost pig? What luck! Your miracles exceed,

Forever I starved and you granted reprieve.

Now a bard thou hast shaped, I shall tell you the tale,

How a fox, you did make, of this timorous female.


For once I was bashful and sheepish, it’s true,

A maid and a cook, a wife was I too!

For years I did slave, for a cheat and a slob,

My lazy, fetid, unendowed husband, Bob.


One night I did make for him a delectable ham,

Though all he deserved was a plate of cold spam.

“Wife, this looks fine” he spluttered to say,

Over the folds of fat which were caught in his way.


And like the swine at a feast, he devoured it all;

With his chewing and smacking and “Wife, pass the salt.”

It took less than an hour; he cleared his whole plate,

My plate, the fridge, three cupboards, but wait!


The pantry, the larder, 10 jam jars, all gone!

And all I could do was stand and look on.

But the night opened up and your face I did see,

In my head, I broke down, and prayed I to thee.


“Save me O Goddess, so bright and so wise,

I am sick of this world with its husbands and wives!

Where the husband is king and pain is his leisure,

While the wife, on her back, tries to fake all that pleasure.”


I want freedom, and joy, and a great bushy tail,

Sharp teeth, a keen nose. No more adult female!

I’m an animal inside; my skin is my guise,

Tear my face from my head and look in my eyes.


These eyes are of nature, they’ve seen the real world,

I’m a fox inside, I was never a girl.

For a girl is a princess, a Queen amongst men,

But I am from nature, I’m Queen of the Den.


So a hatchet I took from way up on high,

And with one swoop from the blade Bob’s head doth fly,

From the neck, it detached, and reached a great height,

But ‘twas doomed from the start as was Icarus’s flight.


It came down with a bang, a splat and a thud,

The kitchen was covered in 10 pints of his blood.

Blood upon blood, his neck made a geyser,

His brain I consumed for my appetizer.


His ears were so tough and his eyes I did chew,

I thought about making some delicious torso stew.

From his legs a roulade, from his arms a nice broth,

But so impatient I was, on all fours I did scoff.


I tore off his limbs and his fingers I ate,

In life you were cruel, in death, I salivate.

In bed, you made love like you hated my guts,

But your guts I now feast, we’re even I trust?


Now I stand here, a breast, in your divine moonlit gaze,

Baptized in his blood, a virgin and chaste,

Reborn as a fox, a Queen of the Den!

And from this day forth I’m finished with men!



Jamie John Patrick Flynn, 26, is from Waterford Ireland where he’s a writer, director, poet and Artistic Director of Gasworks Productions. Taking influences from the day-to-day activities all the way up to the surreal.


Peter Francis Fahy: He Rides The Sky & Be Near Me


He Rides The Sky

High in the sky

Two white doves fly

Freely in the air.


They see two lovers down below,

Lost in a sweet affair.


Two doves fly

Into darkening sky

Over rising cliffs and sea.

Beyond the gate of the curling clouds

To the Kingdom of the Sidhe.


They fly unto a palace that scales unto the moon.

They fly into a tower, into a shadowed room,

Where lonely King Midhir plays a mournful tune.


Two doves reveal all they’ve seen:

Ireland’s High King, and Ireland’s new queen.

A woman who’s eyes shine like emerald fire,

The love he lost

His sole desire,

And so the fates and fortunes conspire:

Etain is found again.


Not one second to waste

He rides in great haste

He’d ride to the stars above

Through wind, sleet, hail

His heart would not fail

To be with the woman he loves.


His love for her would never die

So he rides the sky

Over wind that blows.


He lost her as a dragonfly

So he rides the sky

To the North he goes.


Be Near Me


Be Near Me

Be near me when the stars are falling,

When the daylight is dying,

And worlds collide.

Hear me, when my heart is calling,

When my heart is crying,

To be by your side.



Peter Francis Fahy is a graphic artist and performance poet who illustrates scenes and composes poetry dedicated to old Celtic romances.  His work on The Legend of Etain, an epic Celtic myth and the oldest love story in Ireland, has been featured in Feile An Phobhail, Stendhal Festival of Art, The John Hewitt Bar, and heritage sites across Northern Ireland.

Daniel Wade: Sierra Flight & Ship Burial


Sierra Flight
Burnt banners and crooked steel.
Plate armour, dulled by blood.
The battlements of a sleeping castle.
Only a horse survives the combat.
Snorting in the fog,
It drifts to the hinterland,
Fire uncurling from its nostril.
The ghost of a butchered knight trips
Over the body it once occupied.
The horse gathers speed,
Its mane swirling,
The road blistered by its hoofs.
The wind hisses.
Shadows manacle the trees.
Smoke tinges the grey dawn.
It was a sight you may never witness:
A horse without reins or bridle
Hurtling through the sierra,
As a vespers bell clangs a dusky refrain,
Monks intone a prayer to the vast emptiness
Of their church.
And the horse, absorbed in its flight,
As if to outpace the horizon.


Ship Burial
The kindling. The cremation begins with brushwood. I know this.
The ship is made for burning, forged in the name of immolation.
The mast is without a sail. The stern is without a rudder.
Together, we nock arrows, smear the bodkins with oil, and set them alight.
The ship drifts past, and we fire a volley at her.
Our arrows shrill the morning mist, and the keel is spattered by erupting flame.
The mast becomes a rod of thrashing gold.
The smoke’s stern, furious perfume clots over the bay.
Carrion sparks. Funereal aromas. The Celsius swelling in thousands. The wind
whisks the flames, and they roar as lamenting with us.
The blaze hovers, kinder than lit candles. A flaming chapel, neck feather of smoke,
flailing at the dawn like a convict, warming our faces up, though the pyre has drifted
far from the coast.
Beads of rain stud my tongue. The Northern sea is calm, greyly calm, awaiting all
death-piloted ships.
Our ruler’s hands are clenched with mortis. In the drab glare of dawn, death
toughens him, clamping his sword in his fingers, his breastplate a husk of old steel.
No longer the scourge of coastlines, he’s just another corpse, polished for his sendoff.
Our own swords are piled about him, as a salute, along with trinkets and oil. The
ocean can take him. It’s high tide, the coastline bubbling with surf. Neither the flames
nor ocean care who he was, how feared he’d once been.
The blaze hasn’t yet quaffed the prow.
It protrudes over the waterline, like a lookout.
It is neither dragonhead nor horse-head.
His shield is buckled to it, catching hints of sunlight as the ship lurches, scratching
the tide.
Through what unpolished waters had that ship crawled? What waterfronts had she
preyed on, out of what fog did her prow slither, oarsmen raring for the plunder?
Countless stories burn with her, all crooked and abandoned as the flames.
We’ll scratch them down on scraps of parchment, blackbird’s blood drooling off a
quill, in rare night-time moments, with only candles for company.
We’re men in need of myths, after all.
We’ll go mad without a vicelike story to rouse us.
For now we are leaderless, grown men sobbing religiously, our boots falling apart.



Daniel Wade is a 24-year-old poet and author from Dublin. He is a graduate of Dún Laoghaire Institute of Art, Design and Technology, where he studied English and Journalism. His poetry has been published in Optic, Limerick Revival, Wordlegs (e-publication), The Stony Thursday Book (ed. Paddy Bushe), HeadSpace Magazine, the Seven Towers 2014 Census, the Bray Arts Journal, The Sea (charity anthology in aid of the RNLI), Sixteen Magazine (e-publication), The Bogman’s Cannon, Iodine Poetry Journal, Zymbol, The Runt, and the Hennessey New Irish Writers’ page of the Irish Times.

He has also featured as a guest on Dublin South FM’s Rhyme and Reason poetry
program, as well as on Near FM’s Writer’s Block. In June 2015, his radio drama, ‘The Outer Darkness’, was broadcast on Dublin South FM. A prolific performer, he has also read his work at various festivals, including the Electric Picnic, Body and Soul, Noeliefest and the West Belfast Festival. In March 2016, ‘The Collector’, his first stage play was staged at the New Theatre in Dublin as a rehearsed reading.

Theresa Donnelly: Patron Saint of Lunatics

Patron Saint of Lunatics

He remembers a time when moonlight

adorned her silken flesh; her lustrous

hair spun webs around him.

She was an infusion of delicate flowers.

An elixir for his lips alone. Intoxicating.

By day, she wandered the cloistered garden

gathering foxglove and forget-me-nots.

By night, she mixed potions to help erase

the deep-seated fear, they both shared.

When the witch rediscovered her whereabouts,

she jealously turned her heart to stone.

Leaving him with an insatiable thirst.

His tune turned to the ranting of a madman.

Years liquefy, seep beneath

the cobblestone footpath

which once led to their fairytale tower.

He clutches a rope of Rapunzel’s hair;

yearns for its scent of poetry in rain.

Moans into an empty glass,

when he finds truth at the bottom of it.



Theresa Donnelly is an Irish/Canadian poet who spends her time between Waterville, Co. Kerry and Brooklin, Ontario. Her poetry has been published in the Brooklin Town Crier, Surfacing Magazine, The Copperfield Review, Beret Days Press and Red Claw Press. She is the author of two poetry books ‘Moon Witch and Other Scary Poems (juvenile) and Recurrence of Blue. She is a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and a founding member of The Brooklin Poetry Society.
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