Painting: 9 x 11” Unmatted, Watercolor and Gold Pen on Cold Press

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One day Niamh of the Golden Hair decided that she was tired of fae men- I personally don’t understand this, and my best guess is that she had a bad break up with a narcissistic, shallow elf lord who copied her hair style. Whatever her reason, she left her realm, Emhain Ablach, and headed to Ireland, where she happened upon the hero Oisin hunting. In folklore he’s described as a tall, handsome warrior poet with an affinity for deer, which sounds like just the sort of man to stop a fae woman dead in her tracks. Evidently, she had the same effect upon him, and she stole him away to live in Tir Na Nog.

They lived happily for what seemed to be only a short time- three years, and had three beautiful children. But one day a longing to see his old home stole over him, and he applied to his wife for permission to travel back to Ireland. It took some persuading, but eventually he succeeded- with one caveat. Niamh would allow him to go, but there was one rule: stay on the horse. The horse in question was white, wave walking, and clearly very magical, from its floating mane down to its dainty shining hooves.

Our hero galloped across the seas, over the frothing swells and crashing waves, until the sweet emerald earth pounded beneath the magic horse’s hooves. Unfortunately, as he visited each town and grove of his memory, he found that lo and behold- he’d been away for 300 years. Christianity had invaded with cold iron, and nothing was familiar- even the rivers had shifted and changed course, and he didn’t encounter a single soul who recognized him or had ever heard of the great hero Oisin. Dejected, he turned back towards Tir na Nog. As he trotted along, he spotted a group of men in the distance. He drew closer, and saw that they were attempting to lift a huge stone with much groaning and grunting. One, marking his approach, beseeched him to dismount and help.

Funnily enough, when one touches their land after being absent for 300 years, they rejoin our reality and find themselves rapidly ageing to catch up. Guess he should’ve stayed on the horse.

The magical horse galloped home, 300 year old Oisin hauled his carcass over Ireland until he ran into St Patrick and died a heathen, and Niamh- we don’t know for sure what she’s up to, but one assumes she has learned a lesson concerning the idiocy of human men.