ONE OF A KIND… (OOAK) collectible hand-painted stone, infused with beauty, kindness and nourishment.
I STARTED PAINTING… this pebble in October, around Halloween time, inspired by the shift in season and its effect on the local landscape. Autumn is always difficult for me. I miss summer. I resent its passing. I want it to come back. The thought of not only autumn but the long winter stretching out ahead does something to me, twisting up my insides and filling my mind with dark, unwelcome things – things like sadness, panic, and anxiety. I feel it in my belly and in my chest. A deep ache. A primal kind of fear.
I BLAME THIS… on the fact that, not long after birth, I was left out on a changing unit, exposed to the cold until I became hypothermic. They had to warm me in an incubator. I was premature too – fragile, unfinished – not the best start. And ever since, I’ve had an aversion to cold. To being cold. To being left outside in the cold. To not having enough hot water to bathe in or heat to warm my home. It touches something deep in my core; something that whispers of abandonment, of being left behind, of being unloved and destitute. It’s a big response to something minor. After all, I grew up in England, where it is cold most of the time. You’d think I’d have gotten used to it. But I never did. Instead, I developed ways to cope – charcoal heat pads, hot water bottles, layers of thermals, endless cups of tea, steaming baths... And eventually, I moved to a warmer country; where winter still exists, but it is softer, shorter. The pipes don’t freeze. The snow is rare. And by February, it’s over. March, at worst. Still, I dream of moving somewhere warmer. Somewhere winter does not exist.
THIS PEBBLE… with its bugs, berries, and starlight, was my attempt to find beauty in the darkness – to shine a light on what lingers in the unseen and render it harmless. We spend our lives pushing things down, silencing them, covering them up. Running from our fears, our flaws, our broken edges. I want to show that it’s alright to have soft parts, sad parts, parts that we want to escape because they give us nightmares. It’s alright to feel vulnerable, fragile, undone. As long as we remember to let the light in, the love in, to claim those pieces and nurse them back to health. As if they were a sick pup. Or a baby left out on a unit turned hypothermic.
THE SKELETAL TREE… stands like a silhouette against the sky, bare and exposed, its roots running deep. It is the part of us that feels alone, abandoned, stripped by time and circumstance. And yet, it still stands. Still reaches. Even without leaves, it is alive. It endures. It waits.
THE SPIDER… moves through the undergrowth, unseen at first, yet always there – like the things that haunt us. A silent architect, a weaver of fate, spinning delicate threads of creation and transformation with patience and precision. Both feared and revered, it lingers at the edges of awareness, surfacing when least expected – like the shadow self, waiting patiently to be acknowledged. Spiders teach us about resilience, about the art of constructing reality with intention and artistry. They remind us that we are the makers of our own stories, the builders of our own homes. They walk the line between shadow and light, creator and destroyer, teaching that every ending births a beginning. To watch a spider is to witness mastery. It is an invitation – to mend what is frayed, to weave anew, to trust the unseen forces at work in our lives.
THE LADYBIRD… small and bright, a tiny ember of luck and protection, whispers that good things are coming. That even in the darkness, something watches over you. Something kind.
THE ANTS… march along the surface, steady and purposeful. Industrious, determined, unstoppable. They remind us that even the smallest steps matter, that the tiniest efforts move mountains. They teach us perseverance, about working together, about never giving up.
THE BERRIES… hang like drops of blood, rich with sustenance, ripe with possibility. They are food, medicine, survival. A promise that even in the coldest seasons, something remains. That beauty and nourishment exist in the most unexpected places.
THE STARS… scatter the sky like distant fires, small and far away, but still burning. A reminder that we are not alone. That something vast and endless waits beyond. A map home, if we know how to read it.
THIS PEBBLE… is a portal to a place where the night is alive with wisdom and unseen forces. It speaks to the hidden places within us, the fears we try to outrun, the small things we overlook. It is a reminder that – even in the cold, even in the dark – there is life, there is movement, there is meaning. The bare tree still stands. The buffeted spider still spins. The tireless ants still march. The frozen berries still ripen. The distant stars still burn. And so do you. Now. And always. Waking. Rising. Walking. Striving. Moving through. This piece is an invitation – to sit with your shadows, to find light in the overlooked, to trust the magic at work in your own story.
BUGS, BERRIES AND STARLIGHT
Night settles over the land,
folding into the spaces between things.
The air is thick with damp earth,
with the scent of something shifting –
unseen, but certain.
At the centre, a tree stands alone,
its branches etched like black ink against the sky.
It has been here longer than memory,
rooted deep in the earth.
Once, its leaves whispered to the summer wind.
Now, it stands stripped bare,
its bones exposed to the cold.
Yet still, it does not break.
Still, it listens –
to the stars, to the wind,
to the small lives stirring beneath its limbs.
A spider moves between its roots,
silver thread against the soil.
She works without hesitation,
each strand placed with knowing.
She does not mourn what the wind takes
nor fear the emptiness before the task begins.
She trusts in the making, in the undoing,
in the endless weaving of loss into form.
A ladybird lands, small and bright,
a drop of ember-light on bark.
She does not question how she came,
only that she has.
This is where her wings led.
This is where she will rest.
Below, the ants march,
tracing unseen roads through the undergrowth.
They do not question the weight they bear,
nor count the miles left to go.
They simply move, step by step,
knowing that even the smallest effort
shapes the world.
And there, hanging like drops of blood
against the dark, the berries remain.
They do not fear the frost-laden air.
They remain – silent, full, waiting,
with the promise of survival,
with the quiet certainty
that even in the leanest times,
something endures.
Above it all, the stars keep watch, burning
with the light of a thousand fires.
They do not ask where one has been,
only where they are going.
They do not falter.
They do not fade.
They simply glow – steady, constant,
offering light to those who glance up.
And so, the night breathes,
the tree stands,
the spider spins,
the ants march,
the berries ripen,
the stars burn.
And so, too,
does the light within.
👉🏻 WHAT ARE YOU… most afraid of?
👉🏻 CAN YOU FIND… beauty in the dark places?
👉🏻 IF YOU COULD… follow a single star, where would it lead?
👆🏻 I HOPE YOU… find as much pleasure from gazing into this stone as I did in painting it.
👉🏻 INSPIRED BY: the shifting seasons, the cycles of nature, and the hidden magic that lingers in the in-between places.
DIMENSIONS:
• Pebble: 6 x 5.5cm; 2.4 x 2.2in
MATERIALS:
• Posca Paint Pens
• Baker Ross Multi-Purpose Acrylic Craft Varnish
PLEASE NOTE: this is not a toy, it is delicate, it is meant for ornamental purposes only. If you do happen to drop or accidentally scrape or chip it, you may revarnish it with a thin layer of clear gloss varnish, making sure to allow significant time for it to properly dry. If you get it covered in dirt, grime or drool, you may gently wipe or rinse it. Deeper damage may require touching up the image with paint pens and then revarnishing. Rest assured, most minor incidents can be rescued, but the responsibility lies with you.
🔒 © Rebecca L. Atherton | All Rights Reserved, 2024.