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Canadian artist Autumn Domoslai grew up in the mountains and interior regions of British Columbia. It was here, where a few of the great primal forests still stand, that she became aware of the path she would walk. Since then, her life has been a magickal journey full of trials and adventure. Most of all, it has been a journey of the sacred and of learning that all is not as it seems nor do magick and nature work as humans would have it. Destiny works in strange ways.

With an Irish father and a Romany (Gypsy) mother, Autumn was never a stranger to the mysteries of the Otherworld. The path of the Mysteries seemed but to reaffirm both the strength of what she had always believed in, and to add an intensity to her work as an artist. Her fascination with and rendering of the Fey realms derives from here.

Autumn has been a professional artist for 16 years, having taught herself her craft of choice. It is Autumn's firm belief that Magick abounds all around us if only we take the time to seek it, and sometimes it can be seen through the eyes of one who has walked the Sacred Paths and treacherous trails and brought back the old stories and legends of romance and valour, of courage and sacrifice.

The haunting beauty of Autumn's work reflects the magick that she sees. It has touched the hearts and spirits of collectors all across North America.

Autumn works in many mediums, from breathtaking wood and polymer clay sculptures to painstakingly detailed panel boards and canvases.

Tour Autumn's work, piece by piece.

View thumbnails of Autumn's work.





Bio to come.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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