Dust of the Ancients
Exclusively for ShangrilART
Hand-pulled Screen Print on 300 gsm Somerset soft-white textured paper
770 x 560 mm
Limited edition of 99
Signed and numbered
Prints are unframed and ship rolled
Code: The Albion Rooms
'Dust of the Ancients’
It's a line from a favourite prose poem of mine which is translated from olde English from a prophesy of Merlin's as told by Geoffrey of Monmouth a thousand years ago and rejigged and recited by an excellent dude called Eric Madden who I met at a shamanic shindig. Check it out:
...Though the Goddess be forgotten
There will come a time of plenty
When the soil will be fruitful beyond man’s need.
The Fatted Boar will proffer food and drink.
The Hedgehog will hide his apples in London.
Underground passages will be made beneath the city.
Stones will speak; the sea to France will shrink
And the secrets of the deep will be revealed.
But, beware the Ass of Complacency,
Swift against goldsmiths, slow against ravenous wolves.
Oak trees shall burn and acorns grow on lime trees.
The Severn River will flow out through seven mouths.
Fish will die in the heat and from them serpents will be born.
And the health giving waters at Bath shall breed death
Then root and branch shall change place,
And the newness of the thing shall seem a miracle.
At last the healing maiden will return, her footsteps bursting into flame.
She will weep tears of compassion for the people of the land,
Dry up polluted rivers with her breath,
Carry the forest in her right hand, the city in her left,
And nourish the creatures of the deep.
With her blessing
Man will become like God
Waking as if from a dream:
Heart open and filled with light,
Radiant face, glowing like the rising sun,
Shining eyes, like twin silver moons,
Radiant ears, shimmering with song,
Shining lips, that dance over words,
Words of magic that burst into the air becoming swallows.
The soul shall walk out; the mind of fire shall burn.
And in the twinkling of an eye the dust of the ancients
Shall be restored.