The wild imagination…

I am acadian. Although I did not fully understand what that meant when I was young. I find myself now searching for how my cultural crossroads shape my interest and my art.

I do know that my upbringing was incredibly catholic with a healthy side of superstition. My fathers family spoke french, and when they did speak english they did so with french sprinkled in. (Hence my stumbling through a few words at a time.)

Now I find myself obsessing over folklore told to me as a child.

There were frightening creatures who dwelled in L’autre Monde.

Loup Garou, le Beau Danseur, Bonhomme Sept Heure, even saying their names out loud invokes their presence.

There were strange lights in the cedar bogs and swamps along the Saint John River, and voices and screams over the rolling farm lands that traveled on the wind with a new moon.

For me, there was a giant shadow wolf that would visit the wall above my bed. with glowing red eyes, and sharp dark teeth. It had a voice like rotting wood, menacing and muffled. Surely he was once a man. This product of my 4 year old self’s imagination.

This page is dedicated to embracing my nightmares, and realizing they are just misunderstood souls who have lost their way.