Town Crier of Whiskerwicke
Whiskerwicke's self-appointed town crier has never delivered a piece of news without volume, nor found a hare he couldn't talk into carrying him. Trumpet raised, reins in hand, Barnaby announces his own arrival exactly the way he announces everything else — as though the moment has been waiting for him.
The Piper Who Stayed
A Highland piper who arrived in Whiskerwicke as a guest and never quite left, Fergus plays atop a mushroom cap with the same conviction he'd bring to any stage — pipes raised, kilt set, entirely at home in a village he wasn't born to.
Asleep in the Lady-Slipper
A lady-slipper orchid has outlived nearly everything planted around it, and become, in its way, a nursery. Tucked into its pouch, one small resident sleeps through the afternoon, a butterfly and a ladybug keeping watch that isn't really needed.
Town crier of Whiskerwicke
Asleep in the Lady-Slipper
A lady-slipper orchid has outlived nearly everything planted around it, and become, in its way, a nursery. Tucked into its pouch, one small resident sleeps through the afternoon, a butterfly and a ladybug keeping watch that isn't really needed.
Market Painter of Whiskerwicke
Between preserve jars and a market stall, Hazel Wren keeps a second trade. Here she works an iris into being with a borrowed hour of afternoon light, a butterfly for company, neither one minding the arrangement.
Market painter of Whiskerwicke
Market painter of Whiskerwicke
Market painter of Whiskerwicke
Delivering the news
Whiskerwicke's town crier rarely waits for an audience to assemble. A mushroom is podium enough, and a passing frog will do for a witness. Barnaby announces the day's business the way he announces everything: loudly, cheerfully, and entirely on his own schedule.
A quiet corner of the grove
Two small sleepers, tucked into the moss at the base of a towering mushroom, undisturbed by its height or the moths keeping watch overhead. No urgency here, only the particular calm of somewhere entirely safe.
The Little sleepers
Keeper of Thatch and Thistle
Elspeth Wort, the village baker of Whiskerwicke, kneads her morning loaf with a tail curled like a rolling pin. A limited-edition bronze mouse sculpture by classically trained sculptor Brett Garrett, planned in verdigris and gold patina.
Astride Duchess, the long meadow hare who carries him through the root-lanes and beyond, Barnaby Cob announces himself the only way he knows how — at full gallop, horn raised, whether or not anyone asked to be heralded. He is Whiskerwicke's flagship figure: the first face visitors meet, and the one least inclined to stand still for the introduction.
Fergus arrived from the north with a set of pipes, a plaid he refuses to trade for the local fashions, and no evident plan to leave. He has claimed the tallest toadstool within reach as his stage, and plays there most evenings whether or not Whiskerwicke has asked for accompaniment. A study in cheerful stubbornness.
Long before daylight, Elspeth is already at her worktable, hands deep in the morning's dough. She keeps the inn that keeps the village fed and gossiped-at in equal measure, and her bread is, by unanimous and frequently repeated village opinion, the reason half of Whiskerwicke gets out of bed at all. The other half, presumably, is simply following the smell.
Hazel keeps a preserves stall at the Root Market by trade and an easel by inclination, and it isn't always clear which she considers the more serious occupation. Here she has set up beneath a blue flag iris nearly her own height, brush in hand, with a monarch butterfly for company. She works quickly, before the light and the butterfly both move on.
Two young mice have made their home in the folds of a lady-slipper orchid, watched over by a patient ladybird and a butterfly that appears to have decided it lives there too. It's the sort of arrangement that only makes sense from very close to the ground — a small kingdom, fully furnished, inside a single flower.
Explorer of Elderburrow, Keeper of Useful Trouble
Pip is the one resident of Whiskerwicke who regards the estate boundary as a mere suggestion. He reclines in a teacup salvaged from the human world, elbow draped over the rim, with the composure of someone who has arranged the view for his own benefit. The cup is his most prized possession, a fact he would deny if asked. He ventures out often, and returns with stories, curiosities, and the occasional piece of useful trouble. A bronze limited edition of thirty-five, and one of a growing company of Whiskerwicke figures to be gathered as a set.
A sleeping mouse in a matchbox drawer, approximately six inches long. Whiskerwicke, coming to bronze in a limited edition of fifty.
Within the drawer of an Elderburrow matchbox, a mouse in powder-blue nightclothes sleeps with a small golden bear held close, settled among deep folds of bedding. The lid carries the estate's monogram and the legend "Safety Matches, By Special Order of Elderburrow Estate," worked in raised lettering and a twisted rope border across a leather-grained field.
At approximately six inches in length, it is scaled for a desk, a shelf, or a side table. Shown here as a digital sculpt in its planned patina, with smoky pewter bronze, warm gold on the lettering, and honey-amber fur, the piece is now coming to bronze in a limited edition of fifty. It belongs to the growing company of Whiskerwicke bronzes, made to be collected as a set.
Whiskerwicke is a finite cast. The large collection, The Residents of Whiskerwicke, will number fifteen pieces in all, in three groups of five, each piece in an edition of thirty-five. A smaller collection, The Sleepers of Elderburrow, will number six pieces, each five or six inches tall, each in an edition of fifty.
Members of The Whiskerwicke Society see each new bronze first, and hear from me when an edition closes.
