The Gods Trapped in My Uncle’s Paintings

FEATURE | PŪRĀKAU / MYTHOLOGY

Written & illustrations by Maebh LEIGH McCurdy (she/her) | @leighapparently | Social Media Coordinator

Paintings by Stephen McCurdy (he/him) | @metanoiapainting | Featured Artist

Social Media Coordinator’s Note:

Kia ora! It’s still me, but I have begun the process of legally changing my name from Cameron to Maebh.

You can find me on the internet as LEIGH (For my music & art) or as Maebh everywhere else.

Art of Gods

A redraw by Maebh LEIGH McCurdy of:

“The Táin: The Morrígan in bird shape” by Louis le Brocquy, 1964.

There is a God on my arm. The Morrígan, a goddess from Irish-Celtic mythology. Three sisters trapped in one shapeshifting being, often taking the form of a raven or crow. Her existence and her worship can be traced tangibly as far back as the 7th Century. But these days she is mostly prayed to by followers of post-Christian paganism. I’m not a witch (As cool as that would be), and my reverence for her is far more tied to my worship of art and the human practice of mythologisation. The Morrígan was something I found when I went looking for a metaphor.

“May I have your name?” Asks the fae when you meet her.

“Cameron”, you say innocently, as if you were only making acquaintance and not entering into a pact with an otherworldly being. Even as you say your own name, you find that it isn’t yours anymore. You will never be able to say it again. The fae, however, adds it to her collection, and leaves you in return with something you didn’t know you had been looking for.

Last year I wrote a song using this concept as a metaphor for gender transition. The process of a fae stealing your deadname, and in turn granting you safe passage to “the other side”. This was when I stumbled upon Uaimh na gCat (Cave of the Cats), the mythological home of The Morrígan, who guarded it as a passage between this world and Tír na nÓg, or “The Otherworld”, where the Irish Gods of old live. The real-life cave is near a standing stone worshipping the historical “Queen Medb”, a name I had been circling, and have taken like a fae for my own.

The song “FAE: Tuatha Dé Danann” came out in June, along with 12 others, and The Morrígan appeared all over the album’s lyrics. I started referring to myself and my three-headed live band (Jessie, Kieren, and Josh) as “LEIGH & the Morrígan”. In late August, I had the luck of getting my first two tattoos from my favourite tattoo artist, Veronica Grace Brett. I picked my self-designed first D&D character’s Thieves’ Guild logo (My first experience getting “she/her”’d), and Louis le Brocquy’s painting of The Morrígan in crow form (To celebrate my transition, my album, my band, and the modern witchcraft that is hormone replacement therapy).

A redraw by Maebh LEIGH McCurdy of:

“Freya” by Johannes Gehrts (1901), “Artemis” by Jen Zee (2019), and “Lilith” by John Collier (1887)

But I don’t worship any God. I treat all religious texts the same way I do a book of Irish Celtic mythology, or learning about the Olympic Gods through Percy Jackson and Hades. The human ability to mythologise the world around us is one of my favourite things in the world. I feel kinship to some Gods or religious/mythological figures, and reverence for others. Freya from the Old Norse, Artemis from Ancient Greece, and Lilith (Adam’s first wife) from Mesopotamian and Jewish Mythology.

But the deities that occupy most of my mind aren’t deities at all. Or at least, not formally. The deities that inspire me and that I think of daily are the beings trapped in my uncle’s paintings.

Uncle Algernon

A redraw by Maebh LEIGH McCurdy of:

“Inquisitor.” (2016) & “veteran.” (2020) by Stephen McCurdy.

My uncle, Stephen McCurdy, is an ex-composer and producer, having composed the theme for the 1980s TV show Gloss; composed a song for the Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence soundtrack; and produced Shona Laing’s 1988 album South. It wasn’t until his fortieth birthday, when my cousins bought him a set of paints, that he took up painting. And boy did he paint.

To me, as a child, he was “Uncle Algernon” (Although neither of us can quite remember why). My first musical moment was a note out of his trumpet at the age of two, and he used to sing me Tom Waits as bedtime lullabies. Since I was a little girl, his house has been filled with canvases. Hundreds and hundreds of paintings, in a seemingly never-ending stream. They’re not easy things to look at for most people, but every single one is beautiful. Should they catch your eye, his website is an archive of them all. 

When I’m not making music as LEIGH, or running the website/social media for Debate Magazine, I’m making comics. One of which is a fantasy series called Mixtumq. When creating a world from scratch, one of the hardest things to create when worldbuilding is an original mythology. There are things that live in my uncle’s paintings, tortured and beautiful souls. A power that looks back at you. I found that I’d already found my deities; I just had to work out their domains.

veteran.

“veteran.” (Previously titled “revenant. Veteran.”) Acrylic on board by Stephen McCurdy (2020).

“The Journal’s Dream-Watcher in Morfikdell” from Mixtumq #1: Artois by Maebh LEIGH McCurdy (2023) 

“Veteran.” was a painting I first saw on my uncle’s website in 2020. We called during the first level-four COVID lockdown and talked about it. He first named it “revenant.”, French for “the returned”. And then it looked to him like a veteran. It looked like somebody with PTSD, coming back. Since 2020, it has hung in my bedroom. Earlier this year, it moved into the living room, where it stares into Feature Editor Tashi Donnelly’s soul while she gets high in the evenings. When I look into this painting's eyes, I see the ghost of a husband, returning scarred from WWII, who carries a cello in his hand, just out of frame.

The Journal

Always wandering, always watching, always taking note. This deity of peace and war, life and death, past and present - has walked The Material Plane since its beginning. Most, by the end of their lifetime, have spoken with it. Most, by the middle of their lifetime, have seen it. All, at the beginning of their lifetime, have heard of it. A tall, stone-skinned humanoid, face like a mask, expressionless, wearing its long military-style coat, and always with a drink and a book in hand.

It is the observations of The Journal that The Inquisitor bases its judgements upon. It is the punishments of The Traum that The Journal bases its observations upon.

inquisitor.

Acrylic on canvas, 46cm by 61cm, by Stephen McCurdy (2016).

“This is a painting that wasn’t planned. It took shape on the canvas quite quickly and without much conscious consideration. Once this character appeared, he felt distressingly familiar. His mouth resulted from experiments with teeth; his absent eyes are a happy consequence of admitting my failure to paint anything that worked. A few people seem to like this painting a lot. More don’t.” I’m a part of the “like this painting a lot” camp. It has hung above my bed for the last five years, and I find great comfort in being in its presence. I recognise that it is terrifying, but it is a worthy price to pay for the inspiration it gives me.

The Inquisitor

Always still, always watching, always taking judgement. This deity of fact and fiction, death and rebirth, present and future, has maintained limbo, The Transient Plane, since its beginning. All, at the end of their lifetime, speak with it. Most, by the middle of their lifetime, have made peace with it. All, at the beginning of their lifetime, fear it.

A tall, robed figure. Blue-skinned, tufts of clumps of sharp hair protrude from a head that escapes from the shoulder like a tortoise's. An eyeless, bandaged face, bearing a wide, grate-like, toothy grimace.

It is the observations of The Journal that The Inquisitor bases its judgements upon. It is the judgments of The Inquisitor that The Traum bases its punishments upon.

revenant.

Acrylic on canvas, 56cm by 71cm, by Stephen McCurdy (2022).

Lastly, “revenant.”, a sister-piece to “veteran.” I ended up writing a duet from the perspective of the two paintings, as a husband returning from WWII to find his wife a lesbian (Check out the Exploding Rainbow Orchestra in November if you’d like to hear it), before I realised that she fit the third deity in the mythology perfectly. Eyes that have seen this, eyes that have come back from them, eyes of someone who does what must be done.

The Traum: 

Always tempestuous, always watching, always doling fair dues. This deity of crime and punishment, honour and duty, chaos and fear - has fuelled The Voidal Plane since its creation. All, by the end of their lifetime, will face punishment. All, by the middle of their lifetime, have forgotten that they must answer for their decisions. All, at the beginning of their lifetime, will pass through its plane. A feminine humanoid figure, one eye cold and stone to the suffering of humanity, the other eye warm and empathetic to the humanity of suffering.

It is the judgments of The Inquisitor that The Traum bases its punishments upon. It is the punishments of The Traum that The Journal bases its observations upon.

~

If there were to be a real religion based around my uncle’s paintings and the deities trapped within them, this would be my pitch. My cousin asserts that every painting his father paints contains a penguin hidden just outside of the frame. If you could zoom out, you would find it there, minding its own business. So I say this: Good morning! Do you have a spare moment to talk about our eternal lord and saviour, Penguin-Just-Out-of-Frame?

To see more of Stephen’s paintings, visit www.stephenmccurdy.com