She doesn't speak your language.
She doesn't walk in your time.
She moves like wind in forgotten glens-soft, unseen, and shimmering at the edge of everything.
"The Wanderer" is a spirit who no longer belongs to the world she came from,
but hasn't found a place in this one either.
She is fae-but not the sparkling, winged fantasy of storybooks.
She is Aos Sí-one of the People of the Mounds.
Ancient beings from Celtic myth, once divine, now buried beneath hills and memory.
They ruled the sacred groves, the stone circles, the veil between life and dream.
But even in faerie lands, there are those who don't quite fit the story.
This painting is about what it feels like to drift: to live in your own world,
to carry beauty that no one else notices, to be made of memory, mist, and quiet glow.
She has no face-because she has worn too many.
She is you, if you've ever felt like you existed just slightly beside everyone else.
I painted her not to explain her, but to let her be seen.