Spilled Paint StoryMary Ann Reilly, 2015

Select 3 colors of paint & fold paper. Unfold & drop some paint on to the paper. Repeat. Often. A lot.

Repeat until you have 6 to 8 pieces of paper with paint.

Unfold the papers and study them & see what story you might tell. Rehearse possible

stories with friends.

Think about story structure as you view your images. What story might

you tell?

• Somebody (Characters)

• In (Setting)

• Wanted (Goal/Motivation)

• But (Obstacles/Problem)

• So (Resolution)

An Evil Witch

A man who is a peasant. His name is Sam

The peasant’s wife. Her name is Tilda.

Ask yourself: Who is in your story?

Go ahead and tell a story.

Let your knowledge of story and the spilled

paint guide you.

Once upon a time in deep yellow woods, there lived a peasant, Sam and his wife, Tilda.

They lived deep in these woods, beside a beautiful lake. It was this lake, with its magic waters that provided Sam and Tilda with the gift of youth.

They would never age so long as they could drink from the waters daily.

In this land, it was always spring. Our happy couple was content with their lives. They thought the peaceful feelings that filled them came from being young, came from being eternally youthful.

And so, they wanted nothing more than to live with one another in peace.

The peasant and his wife lovedto visit the lake. In this land it was always spring . And our couple was happy, contentwith their lives. Theywanted to live in peace.

Day and night, Sam and Tilda lived life fully, secure in their youthfulness.

There was an evil that resided not too far from this enchanted land, an evil that was known by Sam and Tilda.

There in the dark woods, beyond the lake, lived a witch who was very jealous of the youth Sam and Tilda enjoyed. She secretly wanted to be young again and perhaps, to also be in love. She could just barely remember how years earlier there had been a wizard she had loved and lost. If only I could sip from that deep blue lake, she thought.

But alas, she was unable to do so. For only one woman and one man who loved were permitted the water from the lake.

There must be a way, thought the witch as she watched Sam and Tilda from a distance. Hidden behind a copse of trees she gave the matter some thought.

Perhaps, if Tilda should meet an unexpected end, why then I could take her place, reasoned the witch.

The next morning, disguised in the quiet blues and shimmering yellows of spring, the wicked witch set out to meet Tilda in the woods. There she pretended to be her friend.

“Dear Tilda, I have made a spring stew. Would you care for some?” asked the witch.

“Why, yes I’m feeling a bit peckish,” said Tilda. “Thank you dear friend, I would be happy to eat some of your stew.”

And so the two set off to the witch’s hut.

As they neared the hut the witch said, “Let’s sit outside in the field. It’s such a lovely day. I’ll just go in and get us each some stew.”

The witch handed Tilda a large bowl filled with stew. Floating on top were red poppy leaves. So pretty, thought Tilda as she ate until none was left.

With the sunlight streaming down on her, Tilda began to feel a bit drowsy.

“Oh my, I’m feeling somewhat tired, "she said. “I must lie down.”

“Sleep,” said the witch. A slight laughter rimmed her words.

And Tilda fell into a

deep, deep

sleep.

Now Sam was lounging by the lake wondering where Tilda had wandered off to. He was drowsy and soon fell to sleep. It was afternoon when he found himself waking, startled by the insistent call of blue jays.

Waking, he looked to the woods and saw a beautiful woman. She slowly made her way closer to him and the lake. Sam sensed danger.

“Good day, kind sir,” said the witch.

“Yes, here it is always a good day,” answered Sam cautiously.

Sam looked again. Where was that red glow coming from, he wondered. Beneath the serene blues of her cape, Sam could see the evil, he could sense it.

Why it’s the witch, thought Sam.

Think About Story Structure As You Viewed Your Images

• So (Resolution)

As she moved closer to him, Sam sprung into action and quicklywrapped his arms around the lake sheltering it, keeping it safe from the witch. Repeating aloud the spell his mother’s mother had taught him when he was just a small lad, Sam shouted,

“Thrice around the circles

bound and sink all evil to the

ground.

Thrice around the circles bound

and sink all evil to the ground.

Thrice around the circles bound

and sink all evil to the ground.

So Mote It Be.”

“I want that lake,” yelled the witch and she reached to take it from Sam. Now the spell protecting Sam and the lake was stronger than the evil witch and as soon as she touched him, the witch slithered to the ground, flamed, and turned into a handful of ash.

Sam too fell to the ground, exhausted. His arms let go of the lake.

He laid on the hard ground and watched as the precious waters of his and Tilda’s magic lake overflowed its banks, filling the land beyond the forest.

Oh no, the lake’s precious water is leaving, Sam thought. What will we do now?

And as the lake emptied, the world surrounding it became less colorful, less vivid. Sam felt his bones growing brittle, his hair thinning, his skin sagging.

Oh, my sweet Tilda, where are you, he wondered as he drew his body from the ground and stood.

“I must go and find her,” Sam said to the trees and leaves and field. “I must make this right.”

And so he set off, using a crooked branch as a walking stick. He made his way towards the west, towards the setting sun. Now and then he would call, “Tilda, my sweet, where are you?”

Unknown to Sam, in a not too far away field, Tilda slept, still wrapped in leaves.

There the water from the lake began to trickle, and then rush, and then quickly fill the field until it became a lake.

Tilda, in her leaf cocoon, floated and now and then some water slipped over the leaves’ edges-- wetting her.

Slowly, the water revived Tilda and slipping from her cocoon she swam to the shore.

There she spied Sam approaching. Seeing her, he quickened his steps.

He looks so thirsty, so worn, thought Tilda. Lifting water from the lake in her cupped hands, Tilda offered the drink to Sam and he drank deeply.

He felt his heart heal.

“Oh Tilda, I thought I had lost you,” said Sam, wiping a greying hair fromher forehead. His touch was tender.

“I was never far away,” Tildatold him, leaning heavily on his

arm as they left the lake behind.

“I was never too far, Sam.”

As night fell, Sam and Tilda finally arrived home. Their gate was less certain, age having crept into their steps. Nonetheless, they were grateful to have found one another again, grateful to be able to gather the dark night around them like a shawl and find the sweetness of sleep together.