Loveday Funck  Fairy Surreal Art

From New Orleans With Magic: A Creator’s Reflection on Winter Work There’s a particular quality to winter light in New Orleans, softened, slanted, almost secretive. It feels like a season that leans in close to whisper, Keep going. There are stories here. I’ve been feeling that a lot lately, moving between my studio table, my microphone, and the chilly outdoor markets where I set up my booth before sunrise. December stretches itself across so many corners of my life that some

This week began with a strange little dream: a small three-headed alligator with mismatched eyes and bright jaws. A creature that wasn’t dangerous, just unusual. Just itself.  In the dream, everyone wanted to destroy it “before it could bite,” while all I wanted was for us to simply walk around it, to coexist with something strange and beautiful rather than fear it. I’ve been thinking about that dream a lot as I prepare for this weekend’s Pop-Up at Perkins Rowe  (Friday, Satu

Three Rivers was radiant. Maybe it was the touch of cool in the morning air. Maybe it was the crowds drifting past like migrating birds, each one carrying a story. Maybe it was the way Covington itself seemed to exhale magic: buildings humming, trees leaning in, the whole place whispering, “Yes, yes, come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought with you.” Or maybe it was simply this: Every time someone stopped at my booth, it felt like a small miracle. There’s something almost

The tents are folded, my Kia is half-unloaded, and there’s still a faint shimmer of salt air in my hair from Ocean Springs. The Peter Anderson Festival is behind me for another year, but the glow of it lingers: the laughter of fellow artists, the hum of live music drifting through the streets, and the kind faces who stopped by my booth to share a story, a smile, or simply to look a little longer. There’s a special kind of magic in those weekends. They’re long and messy and fu