Rooted in the rich mythological traditions of Ireland and Scotland, these creative projects draw from the ancient tales of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Fenian cycle, the selkie legends of the Hebrides, the fairy mounds and sacred landscapes that have haunted the imagination of these islands for thousands of years. Through short films, written works, and interdisciplinary artistic projects, the work seeks to bring these stories into living dialogue with the present, not as nostalgic recreation but as genuine encounter with a tradition that remains vital and emotionally true. The source material ranges from medieval manuscripts and early Irish poetry to the oral traditions preserved in the Gaelic-speaking communities of the west of Ireland and the Scottish Highlands, treated always with both scholarly care and creative freedom they deserve.
Each project is shaped by a belief that folklore is not merely decorative or historical but is a way of seeing, a means of understanding the relationship between human beings, the natural world, and the forces that move beneath the surface of ordinary life. The short films explore landscape and myth as inseparable, finding in the cliffs of Connacht or the sea lochs of the Western Isles the same numinous quality that the medieval poets found there. The written works range from both literary fiction and non-fiction to the philosophy of the druids of old as lived experience. Together these projects form a sustained artistic investigation of what it means to inherit a tradition this old, this beautiful, and this alive.
Short Films
Thank you to our creative partners, Stag & Crow and Lemurtale Media.
Thresholds: A Selkie Love Story… A selkie walks the shoreline of a remote island in her human form, drawn by curiosity toward a solitary fisherman who works the same grey waters each dawn. As the seasons turn, the two fall into a quiet and deepening love, meeting at the threshold between land and sea, between the world of breath and the world of wave. She begins to show Eóghan the ocean not as danger or livelihood but as home, as freedom, as the vast and luminous country she carries inside her. The film is a meditation on belonging and surrender, on the longing that lives in people who feel the pull of something beyond the ordinary world, and on the ancient understanding of the sea as not an absence of land but a presence in its own right, a realm as inhabited, as storied, and as full of grace as any place on earth. What would it mean to follow love all the way to its source, to shed the skin you were born in and discover, beneath it, something truer?
Amergin and the Fairy Harp… A fairy takes a peek into the human world and glimpses a modern descendent and emanation of one of Ireland’s first great poets, Amergin. Taking advantage of his altered state of consciousness, she transports herself to a nearby fairy fort with intentions of pulling and trapping him into her fairy realm. The sídhe had a habit of luring mortals to her underground kingdom for centuries with the unearthly music of her harp, a sound so beautiful it makes the listener forget their own name, their own life, the world above the green hill. The wandering poet himself hears the music drifting across a forest at dusk and follows it to the edge of a fairy mound, drawn and yet somehow, through some instinct deeper than reason, some protection woven into the poet’s gift of words, not quite taken, not quite lost.
He escapes, but only barely, and only because the fairy hesitates at the last moment… she lets go, arrested by a quality in him she has not encountered in a mortal before, not fear, not enchantment, but recognition, as though he can hear in her music not only its beauty but its loneliness. The film ends not with resolution but with implication, the fairy watching from the threshold of her world with an expression filled with sadness, altogether unsettling, because in the old stories, when a fairy is offended, it is never truly over and her harp will need to be recovered…
The Sea Witch’s Kelpie… A grieving widower lived alone on the edge of a Scottish sea, whose nightly walks along the shore brought him closer and closer to the waterline as though the ocean itself was calling him inward. What he did not know is that an ancient sea-witch who dwelled in it’s cold green depths sent her kelpie, gleaming and gentle, irresistible to the touch to find him, to earn his trust, to carry him step by willing step farther toward the water’s edge and the world below it. The kelpie was patient and exquisitely beautiful, appearing each evening at the same grey hour, waiting for the widower to reach out his hand, to feel for the first time since his wife’s death something that resembles wonder. She watched from beneath the surface, cold and ancient and utterly still, waiting with the particular patience of something that has never needed to hurry. Loss opens a person to the world in ways that are both beautiful and profoundly dangerous, and there are forces, old as the sea itself, that know how to find that opening and move through it.