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Frantic - tried to mix drawings of dancers with waves

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I am made and remade continually

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358 quotes from The Waves: 'There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'.'

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Think of the waves as a metaphor for life and its rhythms and the journeys it takes us on
morning exercise - place hand in water and draw drawing what you see and feel - the sensation of water on your skin.

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The waves Virginia Woolf Immersive Narratives 

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Wait! Wait! I am coming!

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. Wait! Wait! I'm coming!

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Boy on a rock and the spirit of the sea

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Graphite sketch

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there was no video for this amazing song. even though it is just a picture this song needs to be heard

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Today We will read the poem and create a landscape out of our memories these ccould be childhood memories or memories from the last year - you can use the landscape around you for a guide but perhaps use delicate washes of colour to signify the fragility of memory. Through perspective try and create a sensation of taking a journey.

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Preparing for school in the neurotypical world

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Preparing for school in the neurotypical world

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My daughter likes wolves because they are brave and she has to be brave to go to school

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Taking inspiration from Franz Kafka's Metamorphises we will Use college, from found photographs or drawings to describe a metamorphises between human and animal or human and insect, or even building. The resulting anthropomorphic works hopefully will relate to the Kafka story in so much as they describe a similar altercation however you do not need to stick to closely to it.

After making these collages from your drawings in the morning  you will create a final painting from the cut out compositions. You may wish to create a scene of several hybrids or perhaps a self portrait.

During the morning I will also ask you to make a touch self portrait whereby you feel what is underneath your finger tips instead of looking and studying your face. You will respond instead to texture, the feel of skin or hair creating images which will have strange hybrid features.

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Touch self-portrait

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It makes me realise just how hard it is to do abstracts.  This is a mix of collage and paint - all a bit random and a mess

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Based on Henry Fuseli’s nightmare

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Melissa you mentioned self-portraits - I did this at breakfast this morning. It looks to me like typical O-Level art project.

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The nightmare - SEN needs in lockdown

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From last week using my model.

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paintings that you will work from Oberon, Titania and puck William Blake

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paintings that you will work from Oberon, Titania and puck William Blake

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Goblin model (traditional)

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Combing the hair reworked

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Mixing my stories

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Still not tempted,,,, got better stuff to do

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Still not tempted,,,, got better stuff to do

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Dying Laura and Lizzie resisting goblins

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Dying Laura and Lizzie resisting goblins

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Young girl too busy too be tempted by fruit

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Young girl too busy too be tempted by fruit

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Looking back over the themes of narrative, the illusion it gives as well as the surreal and the absurd I thought we should still travel forward in this direction but by doing a transcription project where by you use your own life or the contemporary world around you and weave in devices from the paintings we are looking at, so compositional or figurative devices or paint techniques that these artists use, the historical or social context etc etc.

The works that I have chosen are by three painters that all have a dreamlike gothic or romantic and mostly nightmarish quality to them so I thought I would get you to recreate your own versions by using a dream or nightmare that you have had, or from elements of your life, things around you - things on the news maybe even government figures could make an appearence, but you could also use your daily routine, walk elements of memory and dip into your archival material if you like to work that way, fragments of your own world will help to give the transcription a present day feel.
the paintings are
The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli
The Witches Sabbath by Goya
Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing by William Blake

I have put these in the Pdf alongside some history that I feel helps to give a bit of context and some contemporary painters like Dale Lewis who use the methods of transcribing paintings to create  his own work as well as bring in his everyday.

After I go through the PDF I thought we could all draw quick drawings first of the three paintings obviously this will be on screen so if you want to feel free to print of the images and then you will chose one of these to directly work from. please have with you drawing and painting materials and a final support for the transcription.

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with blatant theft from munch! trying to paint without over using white but then end up with very dark and blue
paintings

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The creatures begin as mythological monsters in the poems, then become male goblins, then become “merchant men.” This progression advances the metaphorical reading of this poem as a Victorian allegory against sexual temptation and the preservation of one's chastity. In this way, the goblins represent men tempting women into sexual deviance - but how can we take these themes and look at them as if they were part of our present day, how can we take elements from the poems and convey something that we all have experienced? How can we add in personal characters that we know from our life?

draw from the text thinking of the above about how you can perhaps make it into a present day allegory or re - telling.

In the morning perhaps read through the poem drawing from different sections of it.

Draw from fruit that you have around the house make it in to a tempting still life?
or with people with who you live with coming in and interrupting the space of the still life with glistening fruit.

Do you relate to Laura and Lizzie in any way?

After lunch maybe take one of the drawings and make it in to something more sustained. How can you develop this and take it further?

Materials

Pre- primed paper
lots of different succulent colours through
watercolour
wet on wet watercolours to create a stained background might be interesting.
paint
scissors
glue
collage materials etc etc

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Christina Rossetti's iconic Victorian poem of passion and redemption dramatised, and woven with original song, and testimony from sisters whose lives have been caught up in the cycle of addiction.

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Catch up on your favourite BBC radio show from your favourite DJ right here, whenever you like. Listen without limits with BBC Sounds.

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Two sisters, Laura and Lizzie, hear the sounds of the goblin fruit market from their house. At first they try to ignore the enticing calls of the goblin men, but eventually Laura decides to go out and see what's happening. Lizzie warns her not to, but Laura is too curious. The goblin men offer her their fruit, and Laura thinks it looks tasty. She doesn't have any money, but the goblins offer to take a piece of her golden hair instead. So Laura gives up some of her hair, gorges herself on goblin fruit, and heads on home to her sister.

But after eating all that goblin fruit, Laura starts to waste away. Lizzie gets worried and decides to go down to the market to see what's what. The goblin men try to tempt her the way they tempted Laura, but Lizzie stands firm. The goblin men turn violent and try to stuff fruit in Lizzie's mouth, but she squeezes her mouth shut, so they just end up getting juice all over her. Lizzie runs back to their house all covered in goblin fruit juice. Laura kisses the juice off her sister's cheeks and is miraculously, but painfully, healed.

Years later, Laura and Lizzie are both wives and mothers, and they describe their experience in the goblin market to their own children as a cautionary tale about the importance of sisterly love.

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here is the full poem

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Maids heard the goblins cry:

"Come buy our orchard fruits,

Bloom-down-cheek'd peaches,

Wild free-born cranberries,

Pine-apples, blackberries,

Our grapes fresh from the vine,

Pomegranates full and fine,

Dates and sharp bullaces,

Rare pears and greengages,

Currants and gooseberries,

Bright-fire-like barberries,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;

Among the brookside rushes,

Laura bow'd her head to hear,

Lizzie veil'd her blushes:

With clasping arms and cautioning lips,

With tingling cheeks and finger tips.

Pricking up her golden head:

"We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?"

"Come buy," call the goblins

"Oh," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura,

You should not peep at goblin men."

Lizzie cover'd up her eyes,

Cover'd close lest they should look;

Laura rear'd her glossy head,

And whisper'd like the restless brook:

"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,

Down the glen tramp little men.

How fair the vine must grow

Whose grapes are so luscious;

How warm the wind must blow

Through those fruit bushes."

"No," said Lizzie, "No, no, no;

Their offers should not charm us,

Their evil gifts would harm us."

She thrust a dimpled finger

In each ear, shut eyes and ran:

Curious Laura chose to linger

Wondering at each merchant man.

One tramp'd at a rat's pace,

One crawl'd like a snail,

One like a wombat prowl'd obtuse and furry,

One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.

She heard a voice like voice of doves

They sounded kind and full of loves

Laura stretch'd her gleaming neck

Like a rush-imbedded swan,

Like a lily from the beck,

Like a moonlit poplar branch,

Like a vessel at the launch

When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen

Turn'd and troop'd the goblin men,

With their shrill repeated cry,

When they reach'd where Laura was

They stood stock still upon the moss,

Brother with queer brother;

Brother with sly brother.

One began to weave a crown

Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown

(Men sell not such in any town);

One heav'd the golden weight

Of dish and fruit to offer her:

"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.

Laura stared but did not stir,

The whisk-tail'd merchant bade her taste

In tones as smooth as honey,

The rat-faced spoke a word

Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;

One parrot-voiced and jolly

Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly;"-

One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:

"Good folk, I have no coin;

I have no copper in my purse,

And all my gold is on the furze

That shakes in windy weather

Above the rusty heather."

"You have much gold upon your head,"

They answer'd all together:

"Buy from us with a golden curl."

She clipp'd a precious golden lock,

She dropp'd a tear more rare than pearl,

Then suck'd their fruit globes fair or red:

Sweeter than honey from the rock,

Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,

Clearer than water flow'd that juice;

She never tasted such before,

How should it cloy with length of use?

She suck'd and suck'd and suck'd the more

Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;

She suck'd until her lips were sore;

Then flung the emptied rinds away

But gather'd up one kernel stone,

And knew not was it night or day

As she turn'd home alone.

Lizzie met her at the gate

Full of wise upbraidings:

"Dear, you should not stay so late,

Twilight is not good for maidens;

Should not loiter in the glen

In the haunts of goblin men.

Do you not remember Jeanie,

How she met them in the moonlight,

Took their gifts both choice and many,

Ate their fruits and wore their flowers

Where summer ripens at all hours?

But ever in the noonlight

She pined and pined away;

Sought them by night and day,

Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;

Then fell with the first snow,

While to this day no grass will grow

I planted daisies there a year ago

You should not loiter so."

Yet my mouth waters still;

Buy more;" and kiss'd her:

I'll bring you plums to-morrow

Fresh on their mother twigs,

You cannot think what figs

What peaches with a velvet nap,

Pellucid grapes without one seed:

Odorous indeed must be the mead

Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink

With lilies at the brink,

And sugar-sweet their sap."

Golden head by golden head,

Like two pigeons in one nest

Folded in each other's wings,

They lay down in their curtain'd bed:

Like two blossoms on one stem,

Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow,

Tipp'd with gold for awful kings.

Moon and stars gaz'd in at them,

Wind sang to them lullaby,

Lumbering owls forbore to fly,

Not a bat flapp'd to and fro

Cheek to cheek and breast to breast

Lock'd together in one nest.

When the first cock crow'd his warning,

Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,

Fetch'd in honey, milk'd the cows,

Air'd and set to rights the house,

Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,

Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,

Next churn'd butter, whipp'd up cream,

Fed their poultry, sat and sew'd;

Talk'd as modest maidens should:

Lizzie with an open heart,

Laura in an absent dream,

One content, one sick in part;

One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,

One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came:

They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;

Lizzie most placid in her look,

Laura most like a leaping flame.

They drew the gurgling water from its deep;

Lizzie pluck'd purple and rich golden flags,

Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes

Those furthest loftiest crags;

Come, Laura, not another maiden lags.

The beasts and birds are fast asleep."

But Laura loiter'd still among the rushes

And said the bank was steep.

And said the hour was early still

The dew not fall'n, the wind not chill;

Listening ever, but not catching

Once discerning even one goblin

Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;

That used to tramp along the glen,

Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come;

I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:

You should not loiter longer at this brook:

The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,

Each glowworm winks her spark,

Let us get home before the night grows dark:

Though this is summer weather,

Put out the lights and drench us through;

Then if we lost our way what should we do?"

Laura turn'd cold as stone

To find her sister heard that cry alone,

"Come buy our fruits, come buy."

Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?

Must she no more such succous pasture find,

Her tree of life droop'd from the root:

She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;

But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning,

Trudg'd home, her pitcher dripping all the way;

Silent till Lizzie slept;

Then sat up in a passionate yearning,

And gnash'd her teeth for baulk'd desire, and wept

As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night,

In sullen silence of exceeding pain.

She never caught again the goblin cry:

She never spied the goblin men

Hawking their fruits along the glen:

But when the noon wax'd bright

Her hair grew thin and grey;

She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn

One day remembering her kernel-stone

She set it by a wall that faced the south;

Dew'd it with tears, hoped for a root,

Watch'd for a waxing shoot,

It never felt the trickling moisture run:

While with sunk eyes and faded mouth

She dream'd of melons, as a traveller sees

False waves in desert drouth

With shade of leaf-crown'd trees,

And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

She no more swept the house,

Tended the fowls or cows,

Fetch'd honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,

Brought water from the brook:

But sat down listless in the chimney-nook

Tender Lizzie could not bear

To watch her sister's cankerous care

"Come buy our orchard fruits,

Beside the brook, along the glen,

She heard the tramp of goblin men,

Poor Laura could not hear;

Long'd to buy fruit to comfort her,

But fear'd to pay too dear.

She thought of Jeanie in her grave,

Who should have been a bride;

But who for joys brides hope to have

With the first glazing rime,

With the first snow-fall of crisp winter time.

Seem'd knocking at Death's door:

Then Lizzie weigh'd no more

But put a silver penny in her purse,

Kiss'd Laura, cross'd the heath with clumps of furze

At twilight, halted by the brook:

And for the first time in her life

Began to listen and look.

When they spied her peeping:

Came towards her hobbling,

Flying, running, leaping,

Chuckling, clapping, crowing,

Parrot-voiced and whistler,

Helter skelter, hurry skurry,

Hugg'd her and kiss'd her:

Squeez'd and caress'd her:

Stretch'd up their dishes,

Pluck them and suck them,

"Good folk," said Lizzie,

"Give me much and many: -

"Nay, take a seat with us,

"Our feast is but beginning.

Half their bloom would fly,

Half their dew would dry,

Half their flavour would pass by.

Sit down and feast with us,

Be welcome guest with us,

Cheer you and rest with us."-

"Thank you," said Lizzie: "But one waits

So without further parleying,

If you will not sell me any

Of your fruits though much and many,

Give me back my silver penny

I toss'd you for a fee."-

They began to scratch their pates,

No longer wagging, purring,

They trod and hustled her,

Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,

Tore her gown and soil'd her stocking,

Twitch'd her hair out by the roots,

Stamp'd upon her tender feet,

Held her hands and squeez'd their fruits

Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood,

Like a rock of blue-vein'd stone

Lash'd by tides obstreperously,-

Sending up a golden fire,-

Like a fruit-crown'd orange-tree

White with blossoms honey-sweet

Sore beset by wasp and bee,-

Topp'd with gilded dome and spire

Close beleaguer'd by a fleet

Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water,

Twenty cannot make him drink.

Though the goblins cuff'd and caught her,

Bullied and besought her,

Scratch'd her, pinch'd her black as ink,

Lizzie utter'd not a word;

Would not open lip from lip

Lest they should cram a mouthful in:

But laugh'd in heart to feel the drip

Of juice that syrupp'd all her face,

And lodg'd in dimples of her chin,

And streak'd her neck which quaked like curd.

Worn out by her resistance,

Flung back her penny, kick'd their fruit

Along whichever road they took,

Not leaving root or stone or shoot;

Some writh'd into the ground,

Some div'd into the brook

Some scudded on the gale without a sound,

Some vanish'd in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle,

Knew not was it night or day;

Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze,

Threaded copse and dingle,

And heard her penny jingle

Its bounce was music to her ear.

As if she fear'd some goblin man

Dogg'd her with gibe or curse

But not one goblin scurried after,

Nor was she prick'd by fear;

The kind heart made her windy-paced

That urged her home quite out of breath with haste

She cried, "Laura," up the garden,

Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices

Squeez'd from goblin fruits for you,

Goblin pulp and goblin dew.

Eat me, drink me, love me;

For your sake I have braved the glen

And had to do with goblin merchant men."

Laura started from her chair,

Flung her arms up in the air,

"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted

For my sake the fruit forbidden?

Must your light like mine be hidden,

Your young life like mine be wasted,

Thirsty, canker'd, goblin-ridden?"-

She clung about her sister,

Kiss'd and kiss'd and kiss'd her:

Refresh'd her shrunken eyes,

After long sultry drouth;

Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,

She kiss'd and kiss'd her with a hungry mouth.

Her lips began to scorch,

That juice was wormwood to her tongue,

Writhing as one possess'd she leap'd and sung,

Rent all her robe, and wrung

Her hands in lamentable haste,

Her locks stream'd like the torch

Borne by a racer at full speed,

Or like the mane of horses in their flight,

Or like an eagle when she stems the light

Or like a caged thing freed,

Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Swift fire spread through her veins, knock'd at her heart,

Met the fire smouldering there

And overbore its lesser flame;

She gorged on bitterness without a name:

Ah! fool, to choose such part

Sense fail'd in the mortal strife:

Like the watch-tower of a town

Which an earthquake shatters down,

Like a lightning-stricken mast,

Like a wind-uprooted tree

Like a foam-topp'd waterspout

Cast down headlong in the sea,

Pleasure past and anguish past,

Is it death or is it life?

That night long Lizzie watch'd by her,

Counted her pulse's flagging stir,

Held water to her lips, and cool'd her face

With tears and fanning leaves:

But when the first birds chirp'd about their eaves,

And early reapers plodded to the place

Bow'd in the morning winds so brisk to pass,

And new buds with new day

Open'd of cup-like lilies on the stream,

Laura awoke as from a dream,

Laugh'd in the innocent old way,

Hugg'd Lizzie but not twice or thrice;

Her gleaming locks show'd not one thread of grey,

Her breath was sweet as May

And light danced in her eyes.

Days, weeks, months, years

Afterwards, when both were wives

With children of their own;

Their mother-hearts beset with fears,

Their lives bound up in tender lives;

Laura would call the little ones

And tell them of her early prime,

Those pleasant days long gone

Would talk about the haunted glen,

The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,

Their fruits like honey to the throat

(Men sell not such in any town):

Would tell them how her sister stood

In deadly peril to do her good,

And win the fiery antidote:

Then joining hands to little hands

Would bid them cling together,

"For there is no friend like a sister

In calm or stormy weather;

To cheer one on the tedious way,

To fetch one if one goes astray,

To lift one if one totters down,

To strengthen whilst one stands."

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Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti | Poetry Foundation

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Block print & red ink

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a rough sketch for how i will use the cyril drawing influenced by duffy poem, this is her leaving the now old wolf behind her

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Waterlolour

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Block print & red ink

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Look into the shadows and you will see me

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Transforming

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Howling

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Coming to get you

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Trying to get a scary rabbit

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I was taken by this poem and did a painting yesterday showing the innocent girl leaving the safety of her village and heading for the woods.

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This is inn Spanish but if good for imagery and an over all feel for the film

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A COMPANHIA DOS LOBOS (The company of Wolves, 1984) LEGENDADO PT

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The collection of poems by Carol Ann Duffy entitled 'The World's Wife' was first published in 1999 and presents stories, myths, fairy tales and characters in Western culture from the point of view of women. Much of literature through the ages and even today is patriarchal, presenting the world from a male perspective. These poems were intended by Carol Ann Duffy to rectify that, to highlight the fact that women have long been ignored or silenced. The poems in the collection are witty, satirical, playful and complex.

"Little Red Cap" is the first poem in the collection, and is a re-casting of the Brothers Grimm version of the popular fairy tale "Little Red Riding Hood". Here, Duffy presents the wolf as a dominant man, but Little Red Cap is shown as emerging from childhood into sexual awareness.

Duffy uses the Brother Grimm title "Little Red Cap" as opposed to the more popular name "Little Red Riding Hood". We can speculate why Duffy choose the lesser known name. In the familiar version of the fairy tale Red Riding Hood covers her head with a garment that suggests modesty and shyness. A cap, however, is smaller and more stylish, and can flatter women.

As in Angela Carter's short story The Company of Wolves in her collection The Bloody Chamber, this is a feminist re-interpretation. Little Red Cap encounters the wolf as a man, a representative of the power of the patriarchal society. But it is the girl who beomes sexually empowered. She is able to overthrow the wolf and control her own life choices. There are undertones of the original version in which the man has the power and saves the defenceless naive young girl and her sickly grandmother. The original is sexist. Duffy's version inverts the original. It is Red Cap who seeks and enjoys the sexual experience - "'what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf?" - but rejects it ultimately for independence and her own brand of power.

Structure
The poem is made up of seven stanzas of six lines each. The lines are of irregular length, unrhymed, although there are complex internal rhymes throughout. Particularly clever and effective is the last stanza, and the concise internal rhyming "leapt", "wept" and "slept", to convey the idea of satisfying curiosity and growing power.

Language and Imagery
The first person narrator tells the story of Red Cap's encounter with the wolf. The poem is highly symbolic, with the wolf representing male power, and Red Cap representing the transformation of a girl to young adulthood and sexual awakening. It draws on the ironically simple language of a fairy story, interspersed with lyricism and modern colloquialisms.

Biographical Note
When Carol Ann Duffy was sixteen she went to a concert in Liverpool where she met the poet, musician and artist Adrian Henri. He was thirty-nine. This has resulted in speculation that in 'Little Red Cap' she cast herself as Little Red Riding Hood and Henri as the wolf. She has admitted that, "In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me, sweet 16, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink, my first." That started a relationship that lasted about 12 years. When asked if the wolf represented Henri, Duffy said, "The poem is just playing around with the story. It's not necessarily how it was.'

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The collection of poems by Carol Ann Duffy entitled 'The World's Wife' was first published in 1999 and presents stories, myths, fairy tales and characters in Western culture from

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This week we will be looking at Little Red Cap here is the brothers Grimm version below but I will also put a contemporary poetic version by Carol Ann Duffy for you to look at

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Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

Once upon a time there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most of all her grandmother, who did not know what to give the child next. Once she gave her a little cap made of red velvet. Because it suited her so well, and she wanted to wear it all the time, she came to be known as Little Red Cap.

One day her mother said to her, "Come Little Red Cap. Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother. She is sick and weak, and they will do her well. Mind your manners and give her my greetings. Behave yourself on the way, and do not leave the path, or you might fall down and break the glass, and then there will be nothing for your grandmother. And when you enter her parlor, don't forget to say 'Good morning,' and don't peer into all the corners first."

"I'll do everything just right," said Little Red Cap, shaking her mother's hand.

The grandmother lived out in the woods, a half hour from the village. When Little Red Cap entered the woods a wolf came up to her. She did not know what a wicked animal he was, and was not afraid of him.

"Good day to you, Little Red Cap."

"Thank you, wolf."

"Where are you going so early, Little Red Cap?"

"To grandmother's."

"And what are you carrying under your apron?"

"Grandmother is sick and weak, and I am taking her some cake and wine. We baked yesterday, and they should be good for her and give her strength."

"Little Red Cap, just where does your grandmother live?"

"Her house is good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak trees. There's a hedge of hazel bushes there. You must know the place," said Little Red Cap.

The wolf thought to himself, "Now that sweet young thing is a tasty bite for me. She will taste even better than the old woman. You must be sly, and you can catch them both."

He walked along a little while with Little Red Cap, then he said, "Little Red Cap, just look at the beautiful flowers that are all around us. Why don't you go and take a look? And I don't believe you can hear how beautifully the birds are singing. You are walking along as though you were on your way to school. It is very beautiful in the woods."

Little Red Cap opened her eyes and when she saw the sunbeams dancing to and fro through the trees and how the ground was covered with beautiful flowers, she thought, "If a take a fresh bouquet to grandmother, she will be very pleased. Anyway, it is still early, and I'll be home on time." And she ran off the path into the woods looking for flowers. Each time she picked one she thought that she could see an even more beautiful one a little way off, and she ran after it, going further and further into the woods. But the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked on the door.

"Who's there?"

"Little Red Cap. I'm bringing you some cake and wine. Open the door."

"Just press the latch," called out the grandmother. "I'm too weak to get up."

The wolf pressed the latch, and the door opened. He stepped inside, went straight to the grandmother's bed, and ate her up. Then he put on her clothes, put her cap on his head, got into her bed, and pulled the curtains shut.

Little Red Cap had run after the flowers. After she had gathered so many that she could not carry any more, she remembered her grandmother, and then continued on her way to her house. She found, to her surprise, that the door was open. She walked into the parlor, and everything looked so strange that she thought, "Oh, my God, why am I so afraid? I usually like it at grandmother's."

She called out, "Good morning!" but received no answer.

Then she went to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Grandmother was lying there with her cap pulled down over her face and looking very strange.

"Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!"

"All the better to hear you with."

"Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!"

"All the better to see you with."

"Oh, grandmother, what big hands you have!"

"All the better to grab you with!"

"Oh, grandmother, what a horribly big mouth you have!"

"All the better to eat you with!"

The wolf had scarcely finished speaking when he jumped from the bed with a single leap and ate up poor Little Red Cap. As soon as the wolf had satisfied his desires, he climbed back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly.

A huntsman was just passing by. He thought, "The old woman is snoring so loudly. You had better see if something is wrong with her."

He stepped into the parlor, and when he approached the bed, he saw the wolf lying there. "So here I find you, you old sinner," he said. "I have been hunting for you a long time."

He was about to aim his rifle when it occurred to him that the wolf might have eaten the grandmother, and that she still might be rescued. So instead of shooting, he took a pair of scissors and began to cut open the wolf's belly. After a few cuts he saw the red cap shining through., and after a few more cuts the girl jumped out, crying, "Oh, I was so frightened! It was so dark inside the wolf's body!"

And then the grandmother came out as well, alive but hardly able to breathe. Then Little Red Cap fetched some large stones. She filled the wolf's body with them, and when he woke up and tried to run away, the stones were so heavy that he immediately fell down dead.

The three of them were happy. The huntsman skinned the wolf and went home with the pelt. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine that Little Red Cap had brought. And Little Red Cap thought, "As long as I live, I will never leave the path and run off into the woods by myself if mother tells me not to."

They also tell how Little Red Cap was taking some baked things to her grandmother another time, when another wolf spoke to her and wanted her to leave the path. But Little Red Cap took care and went straight to grandmother's. She told her that she had seen the wolf, and that he had wished her a good day, but had stared at her in a wicked manner. "If we hadn't been on a public road, he would have eaten me up," she said.

"Come," said the grandmother. "Let's lock the door, so he can't get in."

Soon afterward the wolf knocked on the door and called out, "Open up, grandmother. It's Little Red Cap, and I'm bringing you some baked things."

They remained silent, and did not open the door. Gray-Head crept around the house several times, and finally jumped onto the roof. He wanted to wait until Little Red Cap went home that evening, then follow her and eat her up in the darkness. But the grandmother saw what he was up to. There was a large stone trough in front of the house.

"Fetch a bucket, Little Red Cap," she said to the child. "Yesterday I cooked some sausage. Carry the water that I boiled them with to the trough." Little Red Cap carried water until the large, large trough was clear full. The smell of sausage arose into the wolf's nose. He sniffed and looked down, stretching his neck so long that he could no longer hold himself, and he began to slide. He slid off the roof, fell into the trough, and drowned. And Little Red Cap returned home happily, and no one harmed her.

Source: "Rotkäppchen," Kinder- und Hausmärchen, gesammelt durch die Brüder Grimm, vol. 1 (Göttingen: Verlag der Dieterichschen Buchhandlung, 1857), no. 26, pp. 140-44.

Translated by D. L. Ashliman. © 2000-2002.

The Grimms' source for the first variant (the main story) was Jeanette Hassenpflug (1791-1860). Marie Hassenpflug (1788-1856) provided them with the second variant (the concluding episode, introduced with the sentence "They also tell how Little Red Cap was taking some baked things to her grandmother another time...."

This famous story was included in the first edition (1812) and all succeeding editions of Kinder- und Hausmärchen. The translation above is based on the Grimms' final edition (1857). They made only a few minor stylistic changes to the story in the course of its publication history.

Click here for a translation of the Grimms' 1812 version of Little Red Cap.

Note that most speakers of English know this story with the Grimms' contents, but with Charles Perrault's title, Little Red Riding Hood. In Perrault's version, a frighening cautionary tale, the naive heroine is killed by the wolf.

Aarne-Thompson-Uther type 333.

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Revised March 3, 2015.

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