Copper Curls® Sculpture

08/18/2026

Healing Creatures in the Ojibway culture

08/14/2026

This amazing 2008 contemporary sculpture by Maïmouna Guerresi
Italian-Senegalese, born 1951 is titled
“Supha.” It is
Resin, Lycra, & iron.

Maïmouna Patrizia Guerresi is a photographer, sculptor, and video and installation artist. In 1991, Guerresi converted to Islâm. This inspired a new direction in her work, raising recurring themes of multicultural symbolism and feminine spirituality.
“Supha” hangs from the ceiling, draped in fabric. The white outfit is reminiscent of Muslim Sufi mystics, who through meditation and trance enter into direct contact with the divine. The figure's closed eyes and floating position suggest spiritual introspection and detachment from worldly concerns. The work's title is a word coined by the artist and combines sufi, a practitioner of Muslim mysticism, and safa,
"purity" or "clarity" in Arabic.

08/13/2026

08/13/2026

Exceptional exhibition in Minneapolis includes well -known German and international artist whose work was labeled as “degenerate art” by the N***s.

07/17/2026

A lovely article about a young garden scholar with onnections to Cincinnati, Philadelphia (Chanticleer) and England (Great Dixter)

rhttps://www.hortmag.com/from-cincinnati-to-chanticleer-a-horticulture-students-journey?utm_medium=email&utm_source=HTM+-+NL+-+Weekly+Newsletter&oly_enc_id=3836E9731101A2H

Drawing from university study and internships at two public gardens, Trinity Tobe looks forward to a bright future in horticulture.

07/14/2026

Yeats is my favorite poet. I love many of his poems but find this one visually inspiring. I think I have to create a Glimmering Girl Faerie.

The Song of Wandering Aengus
By William Butler Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

07/08/2026

So true

07/06/2026

We have an Instagram page, but I have had trouble linking it. So this is a test to see it works. The image below “The Guardian of the Monarchs” is one of my favorite designs but also the most difficult to paint. www. Coppercurls.com

06/23/2026

I recall talking with an Irish farmer who was clearing his fields. When I asked him about a large pile of stones and if he would clear that, he said “Ah, no. It’s a Faerie Fort. They would get very angry and play havoc with my equipment."

He plowed every inch of that field. Every inch except the circle in the middle. His grandfather told him never to touch it. He never asked why. He never needed to.

Ireland has an estimated 40,000 to 60,000 surviving fairy forts, the ancient circular earthworks known variously as raths, liosanna, and ring forts, scattered across the agricultural landscape in numbers that make them the most common ancient monument on the island by a considerable margin. What is extraordinary is not their existence but their survival. These earthworks have sat in the middle of working farmland for over a thousand years, and Irish farmers have been plowing around them, hedging around them, and leaving them scrupulously undisturbed for the entirety of that time, not because of any legal protection, most received formal protection only in recent decades, but because of a belief so deeply embedded in Irish rural culture that it functioned with the force of law without ever being written down. You did not disturb a fairy fort. The consequences were understood to be serious and specific, illness in the family, death of livestock, a run of misfortune so consistent and so targeted that the connection between the disturbance and the consequences was impossible to dismiss.

The practical effect of this belief system on Irish archaeology has been extraordinary. The fairy fort in the middle of the Roscommon field has been left untouched through the mechanization of Irish agriculture, through two world wars, through the land redistribution of the early Free State, through every economic pressure that might have argued for turning that circular patch of ground into productive land. It survived because the farmer's grandfather told him not to touch it, and his grandfather's grandfather before that, and the instruction was passed down with enough gravity that no subsequent generation considered questioning it. That is not superstition in the pejorative sense. That is a community preserving something it understood to be significant using the most durable mechanism available to it, which was the specific weight of what your grandfather told you never to do. Drop the word "rath" in the comments if there is a fairy fort on land your family farmed. And follow The Irish Remembered. ☘️