Persephone - Goddess of the Underworld

Sometimes I find that a certain image, story or archetype stays with me for many years, a thread woven through time and place expressed inwardly and then appearing outside of oneself. Persephone is one such thread...

'Prosepine' by Rossetti

“Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be;
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee;
Say to her, “My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here.”
  Edna St. Vincent Millay

Persephone is a subject that has interested me for a long time, as an image of womanhood and its apparent parallels between her myth and the stories of women the world over. That we are caught in between the light and the dark, that we are stolen from our mothers too early and taken into the depths of lusts we don't understand. That we are pulled between being ‘good’ girls our mothers would be proud of and the ‘bad’ girls (or more accurately ‘wild’ girls) they would be ashamed of, but secretly we both want to be.

She came to me powerfully during one of the most painful times of my life, when I seemed to be in between the worlds and channelling ideas one after another. I was watching a programme about mummies and there was one that was curled in this pose that was so like a young girl asleep and merely dreaming that it captivated me.

I painted Kore (Maiden) at the moment of silent slumber, when she is a spring flower and untouched, in a pose of quiet death.  She dreams of falling in love and the summer to come, all the while someone is plotting to take her away. The dried poppy heads blow soporific seeds into her eyes so she remains unconscious of her fate. But also alongside the poppies are brambles that speak of the dark side of mother love, that mother loves her but is envious. Is aware of how the child’s youth and freshness shows against her own ripened beauty. They are the briars that appear in fairy tales, where loving mothers die young and stepmothers are wicked. The cruel thorns that scratch young skin and spill the rich red blood of womanhood.

 ‘Kore’ By Amber Caspian, 2009

‘Kore... gently curled.  Small figure of quiet Death.  Settled within the age-old Prison of wild briar and sharp thorn. Dormant amidst Soporific poppies. Tell me, of what do you dream?’

From the versions I have read it appears that Persepine is always taken away unwillingly from a mother who doesn't want her to go by a lover she doesn't want. Yet for me I believe there is something in the idea that both mother and daughter are ready for the separation. The girl is yearning to become a woman and experience her sexual self in a way that she cannot within the realm of her mother. Mother is relieved to be able to rest and enter the dark time of hibernation and restoring even if only awhile. And all because Persephone ate those six pomegranate seeds...

A story about choice taken away now appears full of moments where a decision can be made – mother takes her eye off her daughter when she could have never let her go; the child lies alone and unprotected conjuring dreams of subjects she has no experience of; once taken she eats seeds that she knew would hold her to the new life where she is Queen of Souls, her own realm. Those seeds are nourishment, food for the Self and of a kind she will never find in her mother’s summer garden.

Arctic Art

My thoughts return to the Arctic often, even in summer, but it doesn't feel right to post about the cold lands when the wheel turns warmer. We've had a couple of weeks with spring in the air but now we're once again amidst wind, sleet and snow and so I thought I'd take the opportunity to get one more Arctic post in.

The Arctic has intrigued me for many years, ever since I was in my teens and started reading in earnest.  It inspired me even before I had set a snow boot upon ice.  I'm the child with a slither of ice in her heart, her eye, her soul.  Not in the way of frozen emotions but instead using ice as lens, a clear eye, an enhanced vision of myself and therefore the way I express that.

Once I knew I was definitely going to Sweden it was as if the floodgates opened.  I met the group I was going with in the October before we went, spending a weekend sitting in circle and sharing our journeys to this place.  Lots of connections of having been to 'Rivenstone' at the same time, mutual friends and acquaintances.

We did a visualization to meet our inner guides and took turns to sit in the yurt in the depths of night, keeping the fires burning and wolves at bay.  We wrote letters to ourselves to be received at an unknown date, our innocent curious selves meeting our knowing adventurous selves.

Here are some of the visual pieces I created before travelling to the Land of Snow and Ice…

'Arctic Hare and I' (c) Amber Caspian (Monoprints, Oil Painting & Drum Bag)

Brigid - Goddess of Creativity

Although I don't believe in Goddesses and Gods manifesting in tangible form before me, I do find myself attracted to the stories and symbolism behind certain ones. As we have just had the festival of Imbolc I wanted to write briefly about one in particular who is Goddess of something very close to my heart - creativity.

Brigid, Brighid, Brigit, Bride, Brigantia is the maiden goddess who is celebrated on 1/2 February, when the first signs of spring appear. She is the woman of craft, particularly of smith-craft, she is the lady of the hearth, of fire and the spark of inspiration. Worshipped by poets, she is the light that breaks the darkness, sometimes seen adorned with a crown of candles.

I painted my version of Brigid a few years ago ‘Bearing a Crown of Silver Candles’ surrounded by a few of her symbols – a branch with buds ready to burst, snowdrops, a new moon, the triple moon symbol tattooed on her forehead and one beneath her collar bone of St Brigit's cross. She has one eye closed and one open, the closed eye is about looking within for inspiration, instinct, intuition, dreams and prophesies. A third eye appears within the bowl of water representing her as seer.

'Bearing a Crown of Silver Candles' (c) Amber Caspian, 2011

Brigid calls up creative inspiration from deep within her wise-self, the flame of her hearth heart giving spring warmth and causing buds to burst forth and come alive with ideas.

Creativity Entwined

For many years I would try and give myself a week off work to concentrate on my painting - a week to get up early, walk and breathe deep for a couple of hours, come back ready to paint and pour out all the ideas stored up during the busy working weeks onto canvas and paper. Instead, to my dismay, I would encounter every possible distraction - unexpected visitors lovely as they are, every time-suckage creating problem imaginable and invitations to be elsewhere that were hard to turn down. Nothing painted and nothing created except disappointment in myself!

'Spinning the Dream' by Amber Caspian

In 2004 I embarked on training to become a Counsellor with a view to eventually becoming an Art Therapist. For three years I worked full time, went to college one day a week, andspent every evening either giving or receiving counselling, having supervision or writing essays. It was as if a part of me had wanted to throw myself into something interesting and forget about being an artist for awhile. However at the end of the course while gathering my notes, essays and journals together, to my surprise I also found that I had an large collection of poems, drawings, prints, quotes on creativity and one painting - begun and finished through the life of the course. I've posted the picture up before; originally called 'My Fear' it later changed as I let go of some of the fear that stopped me painting. I see it as a representation of my magical self spinning dreams of creating.


I realised that through the busiest and most stressful time of my life my creativity had founda way through. The ultimate distraction forced me to (unconsciously) fit little windows of creative time in. Literally 10 minutes here and there to jot down a line of a poem, coming back to it later to add to or finish it. Twenty minutes painting or printing on a Sunday afternoon, when I couldn't write another word or talk to anyone, was the greatest therapy I could have.


Eventually the work finishes itself because I'm not fretting about it or setting aside unrealistic amounts of time to start and complete something. A little bit at a time, step by small step, no pressure, no goals, simply doing...

So creativity doesn't necessarily need to have days and weeks put aside for it although it would be nice, or for us to give up work before we can do it or be it. Life can be lived and 'real' jobs can be done, all the while gently entwined with the fulfilment of our creative yearnings.