"The Mission" is the fourth and exponentially more colorful Blue Scroll (yes, this is the name of the bundle, and it has a dedicated page). While posters will remain available, the bundle will also be published by philomuse as a book, as it is easier to carry and read than eight A3 posters. As with most of these scrolls, the story emerged from the painting, in a very creative, generative process involving mostly imagination and narrative-building skills.

After "The Final Clash" and "A Bird's Hunger", the third scroll in the Witch of Bubbles epos is ready. I still need to find a fitting name for the bundle, hopefully something more imaginative than The Blue Scrolls, although that could also serve the purpose of igniting curiosity when said with deep voice in the mist. [Update: You can find all stories here.]

The story is growing from the inside, gathering volume and substance, the writings are longer as there are more elements to connect. I love the process as much as I enjoy the result. Again, the starting point is an experimental print, an image that brought a story to my mind, and the rest is just fun and subtle commentary.

You can order a copy at philomuse's store!

Part(y)ings and Meetings

On Ibikonos, nothing ever ended. The days didn't last long and the nights felt like an eternal fluctuation between sunset and dawn. The beats were hard and gravity optional after midnight.

The Mighty Giraffe belonged there. He wore mirror sunglasses and Hawaiian shirts tailored by beings with six arms and no sense of restraint. And that was how he danced across the span of three dance floors, knocking over a moon here and there, while he casually sipped drinks that fizzed, drinks that glowed, and drinks that changed form.

He was a beloved figure of the island that drifted through intergalactic space like a very confident mistake, pulsing with music, light, and the certainty that whatever was happening was important. And then, DJ TCTBT (TooCoolToBeTrue) got on stage. She was also wearing mirror glasses and Mighty Giraffe will always remember how the stars dimmed when she took place behind the decks, in a sequin jacket that shone brighter than all the three suns that revolved like orange, pink and lime neon disco balls in the iridescent vanilla sky of day.

From the first notes of DJ TCTBT's set, the Mighty Giraffe felt it: His long neck was vibrating in unprecedented resonance, as if someone had finally tuned him correctly. He was unmistakably in love, which in retrospect did not improve his judgment.

That set lasted five centuries, and for seven more afterwards The Mighty Giraffe would argue that these were the best five centuries of his uncalculably long life. During that time he learned new moves, tried new drinks, made new friends, and certainly didn't want that set to end. But, like all things except ancient beings that Time simply forgets, DJ TCTBT's DJ set one day came to an end, and she disappeared in the rainbow fog created by the fog artisan High Head Dragon, whose services cost the organizers one third of the revenue.

Ibikonos continued and you can still hear the booming bass, as the party planet is drifting across the galaxies. For the Mighty Giraffe, however, things would never be the same. He had experienced the Perfect Moment, the mystical and extremely rare convergence of Time and Space where all things reach equilibrium, also known as Nirvana III in the In-Between Universe. He knew that no matter how much he danced or laughed he would still be living in the echo of that moment that had passed. One night, without drama or announcement, he walked off the island and kept walking until the bass could no longer find him...

The Lingering Rocks of Ponder were not meant for beings who had once danced in the rainbow fog of the High Head Dragon. They drifted slowly in all the breadth and length of the Far-Away Realms, self-assured in their purple shimmer. For the Mighty Giraffe this was a place of silence and meditation, a place he had known since his first youth, when he vowed to become a Warrior of Good and the immortal Queen Langnek brought him there to teach him the move that would mark the end of his two-hundred-year-old training, the legendary Neck-Whip, or Nek-Whip, as it was better known among her students.

And as The Mighty Giraffe was searching among the Lingering Rocks for the Sound Void that Clears the Mind, that semi-mythical pool that fades in and out of existence in random spots between the rocks, he noticed a hovering glimmering shadow. He didn't know it then, but that was a Bubble: the live reflection of some being's strongest memory. A second later, there appeared, playfully chasing after it, a golden dragonfly, and right behind it a light-stepped girl with a hat that covered its face with a ravishing mystery that was immediately dispersed by her crystalline laughter that seemed to mock Ponder and its Lingering Rocks altogether.

The drifting bubble was approaching The Mighty Giraffe, who was curious mostly about the being that dared disturb the Sacred Silence that reigned across the Lingering Rocks of Ponder, catching light on its way to him. It took a while for the dragonfly and the girl to notice him, and when they did they hesitated for a second, while the bubble wobbled away from them and hovered in front of The Mighty Giraffe.

What shone before the Giraffe's eyes inside the First Bubble was a reflection of his Perfect Moment, alive and real. The Mighty Giraffe was speechless, not because he couldn't find the words but because his mind paused for a second, while he was trying to grasp what he felt: the blissful happiness of hope.

The Witch watched him watch the bubble. And she understood what the purpose of the First Bubble was and already sensed what she would eventually choose as her purpose.

"This is your bubble" she said. "It came to find you. Please, keep it".

The Mighty Giraffe stayed thoughtful for a moment. Then, he kneeled in front of the Witch of Bubbles.

"My lady" he said "I recognize a Guardian when I see one. You have given me immense joy, and my search for the Sound Void that Clears the Mind is ending here. I no longer wish to clear my mind. I want to remember everything, because I know that my Perfect Moment exists in this bubble. You are the noble one that will keep it safe. I trust my bubble and my heart to you".

Much later, people would call this moment The Beginning of Everything that Went Wrong. But they would be wrong. It was the beginning of something gentle and festive, that lasted very long.

After the Final Clash, one more image emerged, this time through a more intentional process. What looked at me from the paper was clearly a girl talking to a dragonfly in an open field. While I was writing and preparing the publication of "The Final Clash", already in love with the scroll as a publishing format, I was considering turning that second drawing into the background story of the Witch of Bubbles. Meanwhile, a friend saw the drawing and proclaimed it was a pirate ship emerging from water. That's when I decided to open the subject online, which brought a third vision, that of the baby bird with open beak, in a nest.

Effectively, "A Bird's Hunger" fuses all these interpretations, and is therefore a philomuse publication, as the collaboration element is central. Further, it is an addition not only to the saga inaugurated by "The Final Clash" but also to the scrolls, which will hopefully grow in number. [Update: You can find all scrolls here.]

A Bird’s Hunger

At the edge of the marsh, a girl with a long crinoline dress was marching among the thinning reeds, jumping over the little streams that rushed along toward the sea.

A dragonfly the color of old copper and river-glass followed the girl, and despite its frantic winging it struggled to keep up. Still it found time to tilt its head, as if the world were a riddle worth solving.

The girl, both fierce and awkward, marching like bobbing fire through the uneven marshlands, was thought by some to be a princess, coming as she did from a household of tapestries and velvet curtains, while others called her a witch, because she had been seen talking to the moon and nodding to the wind.

“They’re here,” the girl said and the dragonfly vibrated, affirming the rumors that had been moving beneath the water.

They stopped and turned their gaze to the bay. The world fell silent.

Next to them, in the crook of a sparse and naked wind-bent tree, a nest trembled. A small bird lifted its head and opened its beak to the sky but didn’t make a sound.

The girl looked from the nest to the water, and from the water to the dragonfly.

“They’re starving,” she said.

“Yes,” said the dragonfly. “What are you going to do?”

At that moment the water bulged, as if the sea were holding its breath. The featherless bird pipped faintly.

Then the water began to split, and the bow of an enormous ship rose slowly to the surface with a creaking sound, like a heavy door opening.

This was a pirate ship returning from the place where lost things go, a construct of both reality and myth, unkempt and majestic at once, its golden sails unfurled, its carved figurehead blinking free.

The girl felt the old pull in her chest: She could sense what the ship was bearing, and the bird’s hunger was the omen which told her that what she sensed was true.

The ship drifted closer, its hull scraping the shallows. The world stood still again. No crew appeared on deck but the silence wouldn’t fool the girl: She, just like the bird, just like the ship, had also known hunger – not for glory, not for gold, not for port or wind – or for food – but for a life that was yet to be lived.

She reached into her pocket for the seeds she had been saving for times of need: A seed of love, a seed of acceptance, a seed of good luck. She tossed them upward, like a priestess who tosses knucklebones in the air to predict the future. The seed of love fed the open mouth in the nest. The begging stopped.

Then the girl turned to the water. The second seed was carried by the wind to the ship. The dragonfly showed the way.

The girl raised her hand, in greeting and command. “You may pass,” she said to the ship “but never forget what you carry.”

The dragonfly traced a circle in the air above the deck. The hull shuddered. From the hold came the clanking sound of old laughter, old grief and promise dissolving into the air with the hissing sound of extinguished fire. Lighter now, the pirate ship receded silently, and the sea closed above it.

When not even a ripple remained, the dragonfly returned to the girl’s shoulder. The last seed, the seed of good luck, had remained for them to share.

“What are we, then?” asked the dragonfly, biting into its half.

The girl watched the nest that was now quiet. She watched the waters that were again still.

“I think,” she said, “We’re the ones who know when to nourish, when to listen, and when to release.”

The dragonfly shimmered, pleased.

And even though the lineage and the nature of the girl remained a mystery, the marsh that day learned her name, and in exchange gifted her her first bubble.

And a .pdf link.

An audio version! :)

 

And a .pdf link.