The Bloody Gardener, gouache and flashe on paper, 12" x 12" , 2013 (click image to see larger)
Back in March, I posted an illustration I did for a Murder Ballad called Wind and Rain. According to Wikipedia, "Murder ballads are a sub-genre of the traditional ballad form, the lyrics of which form a narrative describing the events of a murder, often including the lead-up and/or aftermath."
The moment I discovered that Murder Ballads existed (about 5 years ago), I knew I had to illustrate them. So far, I have completed two. My hope is to one day make an illustrated book of these dark and beautiful songs. Maybe that book will even include a record of the songs themselves. Who knows?
The illustration above is for a Murder Ballad entitled The Bloody Gardener
It goes something like this:
THE BLOODY GARDNER
t's of a lady fair and a shepherd's daughter dear,
She was courted by her own true heart's delight.
But his mother laid a snare and false letters did prepare,
Saying, “Meet me in the garden, dear, this night.”
So this young maid arose and into the garden goes
Expecting there to meet her heart's delight,
She searched the garden round but no true love she found
And at length the bloody gardener come in sight.
He said, “My pretty maid, what's brought you here this way,
And have you come to rob me of my flowers so gay?”
She cried, “No thief I am, I'm in search of some young man
Who promised that he'd meet me here this day.”
Then he took out his knife, cut the single thread of life
And he laid her virtuous body in the ground;
And with flowers fine and gay this maid did overlay
In a way her body never should be found.
Her true love lay asleep on a mossy bank so sweet
And a milk-white dove come fluttering round his face;
And with battering wings so sweet all around this young man's feet,
And when he rose this dove she flew away.
This dove, she flew away and perched on a myrtle tree
And the young man followed full of grieve and pain.
Down from the tree so tall right on her grave did fall
The fresh blood from her breast like crimson rain.
Oh, this young man in anger rose and unto to his home did go
Saying, “Mother dear, you've lost me my delight,
You've robbed me of my joy, my jewel and my toy,
And now with my darling I'll take flight.”
Sarah Woodfine's sparse paper dioramas...
And finally, Ann Toebbe's flattened, mixed media spaces.
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