My Oma always used to say I was off with the fairies.
She was right.

It began with a failed set of wings crafted with wire, organza and a hot glue gun.

Or maybe it began with a love story of fire dancing and storytelling with a dose of Mad Science.

It grew in a blacksmithing forge, and had minor hiccups along the way with the very early arrival of a changeling child (she was born without wings, this needed to be addressed), followed by a bundle of Joy two years later.

Regardless, over a decade or so of being in love with a Mad Scientist something whimsical and impish has happened which I've felt compelled to share. Having made wings for friends, relatives and my daughters, I've longed to share them with a broader audience, spread the wonder and playfulness. My wings are so strikingly -different- from anything else I've seen.

Stealing into my cluttered art room of a dozen concurrent projects (a set of wings or two, a splash of glitter from some dangling ear wings, patching knees on pants, half a crochet flower, some twisted willow and a flurry of sketches) I take a moment to bask in the sunshine. It always has to be daylight hours, wings demand sunshine.

I sit down. There's an energy that happens, a certain magic, a mental space I slip into where it's not just me working. It's as if some little being 'borrows' my hands to make something just so, create the magic, the balance, the play of light and colour. And of course the ever present glitter.

I'm also constantly thwarted by the presence of The Tea Fairies. They're tricksy little creatures. I go to have another sip of chai only to find it's all gone when I could have sworn I'd only drunk half of it. They're fast, I've not yet caught them zooming in to steal a sip. I suppose it's worth it for the little treasures and inspirational sparkle they leave.