Wut? ─ I made a Fisherman’s “Dream” catcher with a mermaid in the net… it sold…
Screaming Eagle is surely more Native than that… right? Even if it is a 2005 Harley-Davidson “Screaming Eagle” Fat-Boy…
“Ride On “
Some say putting the Cross inside a dream catcher is sacrilege. I disagree. There are probably as many legends of which tribal people made the first dream catcher as there are stories of how, and why, they came about. Odds-are, there are probably as many stories throughout Native America of where the idea came from as there are styles of dream catchers.
I enjoy hearing the stories,─ love seeing, ─and making the art. But I seriously doubt even the first person to weave a dream catcher truly believed they would trap bad dreams in the web while allowing only good dreams through the hoop to trickle down the feathers into their sleeping thoughts at night.
And regardless of whether the night air is filled with flying spirits we know as dreams, or, whether a talking spider gave the secret of dream-weaving to a sweet little old grandma centuries past or not; To me─they are beautiful works of art.
Personally. I figure someone was sitting by a warm fire, weaving themselves, or their husband, a nice set of snowshoes for the next days hunt, when one of their children’s blood curdling scream, brought on by a nightmare, pierced the peaceful night ambiance.
They probably ran to the child’s side, snowshoe project in hand, laid it down, and after holding, and consoling the child long enough to calm their senses, picked the hoop back up, began weaving a soothing bed-time story, and realized they were no longer making a shoe… but, a “Dream Catcher“
Nighty-night Y’all ─ sleep well now.
5″ Brass Ring wrapped in dark brown nabbed suede leather, with foiled translucent bead, large turquoise bead, and acryli-turquoise shell bead set in a hand-made wooden cross. Overall length from top of ring to tip of feathers is 12.”
Never looked back from then till now, the house in the shadow of creak and howl.
Only the memory could haunt him still, he left the spirit behind until,crossing the street met evil did he, no will to turn, nowhere to flee.
Quickly descending rathskeller beneath, the man at the door his portion bequeathed.
Je ne sais quoi notably exuded , So let the doorman bear what evil intruded.
Suddenly shaken aft slamming door, paralyzed in fear of appalling horror, as the doorman transfigured to lusus naturae.
What abhorrence crept in that cold misty night? Trapping him in his own selfish plight?
Nothing is known from that moment till now, of the man from the house of creak and howl.
Some say he was eaten, or buried alive.Others say he’s the statue,self petrified, but of certainty his spirit remains… evil it was indeed.
Mistress Muse is a Sassy Lass
Blows in on the Wind leaves Twice as fast
Best Be Plumed Quill in Hand
An Erect Easel, with Keyboard Manned
Else, Her Aura flutters Away.
Self Phenomed Foolish Pride?
We Can’t be Distracted, or Preoccupied
Mistress Muse Shares Nada.
Paint it, Write it, or Devil Wears Prada
Other Valentine’s Her Prowl.
Like Moonbeams Twinkling
Through Tinted Glass, Mistress Rests
Non – Subservience Passed
Those Recognizing Gifts Put to Use
Capture the Moment Not A
Second To Lose , But,
Oh, Where Is Mistress Muse?