Calling this finished, I could keep fighting her but I’m struggling. The face is loosley based on a portrait of a French peasant woman by Theodore Gericault. Now I can have a rest, that was hard work.
Molly painting
Tag: Witch
Progress
This is hard work, I don’t shake as much when I’m concentrating but the tremors of Parkinsons make small details difficult. I try and hold my breath and clamp my arm against my body. In fact I’m having to redo sections because I’m not happy with the results, but I will persevere, memory of Molly, work in progress. Acrylic on canvas. Copy of a mural I did at the Leopard Hotel in Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent. Difficult to reproduce the same feeling.
My Molly Leigh mural
I painted this mural several years ago on the wall in the Arnold Bennett suite in the Leopard Hotel in Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent. The building sadly burnt down on 22nd January 2023 and remains a burned out husk of the former historical hotel.
It represents the Burslem witch Molly Leigh.
Margaret ‘Molly’ Leigh was an English property owner in the Staffordshire town of Burslem who, in her will, left substantial sums to charity. She was also accused of witchcraft, and, after her death, her grave was disturbed following claims she was haunting the town. Wikipedia
Born 1685, died 1746.
Her grave is in a Burslem church yard and is set at 90° to the other graves to indicate witchcraft.
My painting shows her old cottage and medicinal plants such as foxgloves. It’s a moonlit night and I painted a ring of icy cloud around the moon to make it more spooky. The ancient woman depicted is actually based on a French peasant woman by Theodore Gericault.
Strange witch sculpture
I made this at an art group today. It’s quite odd but we had dried leaves and twigs and bits of greenery and wool. The black curved piece at the back is a large dried leaf meant to be a cape. I thought the piece of wood looked like a face and body, the two forward sticks are meant to be arms, one is holding a stick. The blue wool round the base is meant to be water which witches are not supposed to be able to cross. The greenery is meant to be being whipped about by her forceful spells.
We were making Faery related objects for an art project and walk that is on tomorrow at Spode there were lots of other objects being made. Most of them held together by hot glue.
Moonlight bright
Moonlight like ice, glinting frost, I wish we had cold weather. Walking round a frosty graveyard looking at ice crystals on bushes and grasses. Little pawprints trailing across the lawn, glittering as a stray moonbeam passes through wilting leaves.
A gravestone sits sideways to all the other ones. Because it’s occupant was said to be the local witch, wise woman, healer, giving remedies that were beyond the wit of man? Perhaps that moon shone down on her once, on her cottage surrounded by herbs, witch hazel, foxgloves, woody nightshade.
Don’t move, just listen, hear the rustle of bat’s in the belfry, feel the crunch of ice under your hand. Its All Hallows Eve. Perhaps this is a dream about Molly Leigh, the Burslem witch.
Almost midnight
She stands in front of her cottage. Molly Leigh, the Burslem witch. Notorious and buried in the local churchyard at 90° to the other burials. The painting is based on a peasant woman painting by Theodore Gericault.
This was one of my murals in the Leopard Hotel in Burslem. The pub burnt down at the weekend. I am bereft. I am trying to pass on my memories to keep a feeling of what it was. I painted these on the walls. Emulsion on lining paper directly onto the wall. I’ve had a few comments that they could have been taken down. I don’t think people understand what a mural is.
My mural of Molly Leigh
Molly Leigh was said to be the Burslem witch. She lived in a small cottage, a photo of which I based this picture on. There are no photos of her so I tried to find a painting of an elderly woman from about that time and chose a picture of a French peasant by Theodore Gericault as an inspiration. The plants in the background are meant to be foxgloves and different herbs in a garden I imagined to be full of things you could use for remedies. I didn’t find much out about her life, except she is meant to be buried in a local church yard with the grave orientated East West, instead of the normal North South way. We went for a walk and ended up in the graveyard, only to get told off by someone from the church who kept getting people messing about round Mollys grave. When we explained we were on a photo walk of Burslem and we didn’t want to do any strange rituals he was OK. The painting is set on a night of the full moon and I tried to make the sky atmospheric and spooky. I’m sorry people won’t be able to see my murals in the Leopard anymore. No doubt they will be painted over or removed.
Halloween story
All hallows eve. The night before all saints day, Halloween. October 31st. Tomorrow…
It was almost midnight. The moon was about half full, gliding in and out from behind the clouds. Smoke from an early November 5th bonfire drifted across the woodland. A mist was forming and swirling around the trees.
Why am I doing this? She thought for the thousandth time. Why do I want to be a Witch? It was all very strange. The recruitment, in a cafe! What did they think they were, spies?
Next to her stood her best friend, Gerry, she was slightly older and into Wiccan ideas, she had persuaded her to come along. Come on, whispered Gerry. It’s almost midnight.
They followed a short path through the trees. Their bare legs scratched and nettled. Not far now. They came out into a wide open space, a gap in the trees. One Oak sapling grew at the centre of the clearing. A crude rock alter lay in front of it. The clearing was full of women in black dresses and capes, holding broomsticks and with the traditional conical hats on their heads. She started to laugh. This was ridicuous. She shivered, all she and Gerry were wearing were dark cloaks like those of the women in front of her. What am I bloody well doing…..
Come forward, a tall woman ordered them. Kneel. Put your heads on the altar.
What? She struggled so two women grabbed her and pushed her down. She felt the slab of rock cold against her cheek.
People danced and a fire flickered, out of the corner of her eye she saw the leaves falling like snow from the trees although there was no wind or breeze.
She heard cackling laughter and the tall woman sat astride her broomstick. It lifted! Slowly the woman rose, all the while maniacal laughter flying from her mouth. Twice round the clearing. The witches gradually stepped forward and surrounded the two women at the altar.
The tall woman landed next to them.
You have both passed the test, she said. You are now witches. I salute you.
Would you like a Sloe Gin with tonic and ice ?
Remember, the witch has bright green eyes…
it was late when she arrived. The rain had been pelting down all day, flooding the lanes. The car had struggled through the murk. But the hotel looked warm and inviting. She signed in and opted for a quick visit to the bar.
Soon she was chatting with the hotel owner. He told her how quirky it was. Wait till you see it in daylight. He said. It’s got a lovely feeling to it, ancient yet beautiful. She smiled as she chatted. Just what she needed, a quiet scenic stay in a plush hotel. Pampering and relaxing.
It’s a few hundred years old, he told her. Some parts are ancient. You can see the timbers. Old oak beams, even some wattle and daub in the older parts.
That’s great, really interesting. I bet you could tell some tales? She only asked with the expectation of some story for the tourist trade.
The hotel owner smiled. Well there is one story about the witch, he said. Oh, not a ghost? She replied.
No, it happened in the room next to where you are tonight. An old woman, they decided she was a witch simply because she had bright green eyes. The story goes they didn’t want to hang her so they walled her up in a cupboard in the wall. We’ve never seen anything, he reassured her. Just one of those spooky stories you get in old buildings.
Still, she felt a little nervous on the way up to her bedroom. The lighting was very low, making every shadow ghostly puddles of blackness. I can’t wait for morning, she thought.
Up two flights of stairs, the porter showed her into the bedroom. It was en suite with a four poster bed! Satin drapes to keep the damp breeze out. A tray full of goodies and proper coffee. The bathroom had a roll top bath, gold taps, luxurious. Soon she was feeling relaxed and calm. She drank a gin and tonic and read her book for a little while.
She decided to turn in about midnight, with the drapes round the bed pulled tight it was too dark so she put the side table light on and settled down.
She was very tired and soon fell asleep. She was only a light sleeper and something woke her.
A hand was pulling the drapes aside, a face appeared at the bottom of the bed. Two bright green, glowing eyes stared at her.
Witchery
Old Belladonna Green watched as the moon rose. It was full and glowing tonight. Just the right time to be abroad for some witchery…..
She stood on top of the hill looking down at the old town. What enchantments could she weave to change people’s lives tonight?
She was a solo witch. A bit like solitary bees. Not part of a coven, but quietly making a difference where she could. The world was too modern for her really. No apprentice had been to see her for twenty years and her stock of charms had worn out long ago. Yes she could go to the local magic shop, but the stuff in there was mainly tat. Who wanted to buy a whoopee cushion to help indigestion?
And the Internet? It spread such falsehoods that no one knew what to believe anymore. When texting arrived she almost gave up. As it was she had to be very circumspect about what she did. All those satellites and droney things. She was good at weaving invisibility which she needed to keep out of sight of CCTV! More than once she had been forced to take the form of a black cat to avoid detection.
She looked over at Larch Street. A small row of terraces which were humble but cozy.
Oh yes. Mr Hughes, he needed some help, he was losing his hair rapidly…. She climbed up the drainpipe. She was still quite nifty at climbing even though she was 74… As she had thought, the bedroom window was open to let the cool moorland air in. She pushed the sash window open and deftly stepped through. Her soft shoes made no sound… She had a pouch of green herbs on her belt and she moved over to where Mr Hughes was sleeping. Gentle fingers massaged the green goo onto his head, he snored and turned in the bed, putting an arm round his wife. Belladonna stood back, approving her own work, then swiftly left the way she had come.
As the alarm clock went off the following morning Mr Hughes went into the bathroom. He was rather shocked to see in the his face in the mirror… A full head of hair…. But why was it blonde?
Mallaband-Brown 