Ed Schaap @angryphilosophercat-blog - Tumblr Blog

Rain Seekers

Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

Beyond the countless worlds and dreams of the universe live the Rain Seekers, mysterious beings whose purpose is to find rain wherever it may hide and bring it to lands suffering from drought. Clothed in mist and moonlight, they travel aboard ships made of clouds, sailing through forgotten realms, sleeping dreams, and magial skies.

When a world begins to wither and its rivers run dry, the Rain Seekers hear its silent cry. They search for hidden storms, gather precious rain into glowing Sky Pearls, and carry it across the stars.

One day, a beautiful world called Auroria faced a terrible drought. Forests faded, rivers disappeared, and hope slowly vanished. Hearing the world's call, the Rain Seekers set out on a great journey. After searching many worlds and dreams, they discovered the legendary First Rain, an ancient storm said to contain the power of renewal itself.

They brought its golden rain back to Auroria and released it upon the thirsty land. The rain fell for days, awakening rivers, forests, flowers, and life itself. As hope returned, the Rain Seekers quietly departed, answering the call of another distant world in need.

To this day, they continue their endless journey through dreams and stars, searching for rain and bringing life wherever the land has forgotten how to bloom.

Carillon,

Oil on Canvas,

60x80cm,

https://www.schaap-art.nl/product/carillon/

In a world hidden beyond the reach of ordinary maps, where ancient forests stretched beneath endless twilight skies, there wandered a mysterious creature known only as Carillon.

Neither beast nor spirit, Carillon was a being born from imagination itself. Upon its back it carried a magnificent carillon—a collection of shining bells and resonant gongs that swayed gently with every step. As it traveled, the bells sang soft melodies and the gongs echoed deep, haunting tones that rolled through the shadows like distant thunder.

Carillon journeyed through the dark forests of this fantasy realm, following forgotten paths tangled with roots and mist. The woods were filled with strange creatures and unseen dangers, yet the music of the bells illuminated the darkness in its own way. Each note seemed to awaken hidden wonders: glowing flowers opened along the path, sleeping spirits stirred among the trees, and curious creatures emerged from the shadows to listen.

The deeper Carillon ventured, the darker the forest became. Towering trees twisted toward the sky, and the silence between the notes felt ancient and mysterious. But Carillon never stopped. Guided by its music, it continued forward, creating harmony where there was fear and bringing life to places long forgotten.

With every bell that rang and every gong that resonated through the forest, Carillon carved a path through the unknown. Its melodies became a beacon in the darkness—a reminder that even in the deepest shadows, beauty and wonder can still be found.

And so the strange traveler wandered on, forever crossing the enchanted wilderness, carrying its music through a world of dreams, mystery, and imagination.

Marshsurfers,

Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

https://www.schaap-art.nl/product/marshsurfers/

In the endless marshlands, the Marshsurfers are truly in their element. Beneath silver veils of mist and among waters that shimmer like liquid moonlight, they glide gracefully across the ancient swamps they call home. Their long journeys carry them through winding rivers of emerald reeds, beneath towering willow trees whose branches whisper forgotten secrets to the wind.

For days at a time, the Marshsurfers wander through the mysterious wetlands in search of wondrous discoveries. They follow the glowing trails of rare creatures hidden beneath the lilies, study strange plants that bloom only under the light of the full moon, and marvel at bubbling gases that rise from the dark waters in sparkling clouds of blue and green. Every ripple, every glimmer, and every soft rustle in the marsh fills them with excitement, for the swamps are alive with magic and endless mysteries waiting to be uncovered.

The Marshsurfers are known far and wide for their boundless curiosity and kind hearts. Nothing delights them more than discovering something new—whether it is a forgotten flower with petals like crystal, a tiny luminous insect dancing in the fog, or an ancient relic swallowed long ago by the marshes. Yet their greatest treasure is not gold or gemstones, but the friendships they forge along the way. Many strange and wonderful beings dwell within the endless bogs, and the Marshsurfers greet them all with warmth and wonder.

As twilight falls and the marsh begins to glow beneath a canopy of stars, the Marshsurfers gather around flickering lantern-moss fires to share stories of their adventures. They speak of hidden pathways beneath the water, of singing reeds that echo at midnight, and of creatures so rare that only the bravest explorers have ever seen them. And when dawn rises once more over the enchanted wetlands, the Marshsurfers set out again—ready to chase the next mystery hidden deep within the magical marshes.

Surveyors,

Oil on Canvas,

50x100cm,

The Surveyors are beings devoted to a task that borders on the impossible: they map the worlds.

Not a single world, nor a finite system, but countless expanses—continents without edges, silent steppes that stretch beyond sight, fractured moons, and drifting satellites that wander through dark and uncharted skies. Each attempt to define these places collapses under the sheer scale of them. Distances shift. Landmarks refuse permanence. What is recorded one cycle is already wrong in the next.

And still, the Surveyors continue.

No one knows where they came from, or who first gave them this purpose. Some claim they were created by an ancient intelligence that needed order imposed upon chaos. Others whisper that the Surveyors themselves no longer remember why they began—only that they cannot stop.

They travel with instruments that hum softly in the void, devices that measure not only space, but something deeper—distortions in reality, echoes of places that may have existed before, or have yet to exist at all. Their maps are not merely records, but layered palimpsests of overlapping truths, contradictions, and erasures.

Some Surveyors vanish.

Not suddenly, but gradually—first their paths become inconsistent, their markings indecipherable. Then their presence fades from the records they themselves created. Entire expeditions dissolve into annotations that lead nowhere, as if the worlds themselves have rejected being known.

There are rumors among the few who study their remnants: that the act of mapping these worlds changes them. That to observe too closely is to unravel something fundamental. That beyond a certain point, the Surveyors are no longer documenting reality—

—but creating it.

And perhaps that is why they persist.

Not because the worlds can be mapped, but because without them, nothing would remain defined at all.

Détecteur,

Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

In a world where the wind whispered secrets and the earth held ancient mysteries, there wandered a curious being known only as the ‘Détecteur’. With feet more sensitive than the softest moss and adorned with delicate sensors unseen by ordinary eyes, he roamed endlessly across wide meadows, silent valleys, and endless plains. Every step he took was not just a movement, but a question posed to the ground beneath him.

The ‘Détecteur’ listened—not with ears, but with his entire being. The soil trembled faintly with hidden life, and the air carried subtle traces of scents that no other creature could perceive. Beneath the surface, in the shadowy realms where sunlight had never reached, lived strange beings and forgotten animals, creatures of legend that no one had ever laid eyes upon. Some shimmered like living crystals, others moved like flowing roots, and a few whispered in vibrations rather than sound. The ‘Détecteur’ sought them all, guided by the faintest pulse beneath his feet.

But his purpose was not only to uncover the unknown. Among his many talents, there was one gift that made him beloved far and wide. Deep within the earth, hidden among twisting roots and ancient stones, grew the rare and exquisite blue truffle—a delicacy so precious that kings and queens once sent entire expeditions in search of it, always in vain. Yet the ‘Détecteur’ needed no map, no guide, no luck. With a gentle pause and a quiet focus, he could feel its presence, like a soft glow in the darkness below.

Villages would celebrate his arrival, for wherever he wandered, treasures were found—both living and hidden. Though he spoke little and moved like a drifting shadow, his presence brought wonder, discovery, and delight. And so he continued his endless journey, guided by the heartbeat of the earth, uncovering secrets that had slept for centuries, and leaving behind stories that would be told for generations like fragments of a dream.

StormBreaker, Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

In distant waters, where the horizon fades into a dance of mist and foam, the winds howl fiercely and storms rage without mercy. Waves rise like giants from the deep, towering and restless, as if the sea itself has unleashed its ancient power.

But do not fear… for from the drifting veil of mist, a guardian emerges.

There, cutting through the roaring waters, comes the StormBreaker. Steadfast and unshaken, it faces the fury of the ocean. Where the waves grow tallest and danger runs deepest, it seeks its path. With quiet strength and unwavering purpose, it tames the raging tides, softens the crashing crests, and brings calm where chaos once ruled.

For the small creatures of the sea, trembling in hidden depths, and for the vessels that risk losing their way, it is a beacon of hope. Through its watchful presence, they may continue their journey—safe, steady, and unafraid.

And so, as long as storms gather and the sea speaks with its wild and restless heart, the StormBreaker shall endure… a silent guardian in the eternal dance between wind and water.

I’Lander,

Oil on Canvas,

90x70cm,

There are beings in existence who do not wander as others do. They do not lift their feet, nor do they cross distances by will or stride. Instead, they move in a manner far older, far stranger—so slow that time itself seems to gather around them and wait.

They do not carry the world; they are carried by it, and yet, paradoxically, they carry it in return. Vast fragments of land travel with them—ancient soil, sleeping roots, forgotten stones—bound inseparably to their being. Wherever they go, a piece of the world goes with them, as though the earth itself refuses to let them depart alone.

For they are not merely inhabitants of their homeland. They are born of it in a deeper sense, shaped not only by its substance but entwined with its memory. Their forms are threaded with roots that reach into unseen depths, drinking from a past older than any sky they will ever pass beneath. The scent of their native ground clings to them like a quiet truth: they do not belong to the land—they belong as the land.

To leave is not a simple act. It is not a step, nor a choice made lightly. For how does one abandon what one fundamentally is? When they move, the earth does not release them willingly. It yields slowly, reluctantly, as if peeling away from itself. The ground trembles with a silent grief, and yet, it lets them go—piece by piece, root by root.

Their journey is not measured in miles, nor in days or years, but in ages. They drift across vast expanses—through skies that change their colors, beneath constellations that are born and fade long before their passage is complete. Winds race past them, stars wheel overhead, and still they continue, patient and inevitable.

And at last, when they come to rest in some distant place—far from the cradle of their origin—they do not simply arrive. They become.

The land they have carried with them unfolds, breathes, and settles into its new home. Roots stretch outward once more, seeking unfamiliar depths. Stones remember new skies. And from this quiet union, something wholly new emerges: a place infused with ancient memory, touched by distant worlds, and alive with stories that no voice has ever spoken.

Thus they move, these silent bearers of earth and time—not travelers upon the world, but travelers who are the world itself.

Elyndra,

Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

Long before the present Dream Realms existed, the great harbor city of Elyndra stood at the edge of the world. Airships from distant continents docked here, their holds filled with magic, spells, and forgotten knowledge. The sea surrounding the city was calm and clear, as if the waters itself protected the harbor.

But Elyndra did not grow rich from the trade of magic alone.

Beneath the harbor, deep within the rocks under the piers, lay an ancient shrine devoted to a forgotten Elder dragon god of magic. The priests of the city kept its existence secret and used its power to tame storms and calm the Waters and seas for their (air)ships.

For generations, the ritual worked.

Until one moonless night.

The chronicles speak of a black tidal wave, higher than the lighthouses of the air harbor. The sea first withdrew, and a heavy silence fell before the storm. Then it returned with a force that shattered the docks and hurled airships onto the rooftops of the city. When the sun rose, Elyndra had vanished beneath a veil of mist and broken stone.

Now only the crumbling piers and half-sunken towers remain, lost within a silent marsh.

Defying Gravity

Oil on canvas

50x90cm

https://www.schaap-art.nl/new-fantasy/

3, 2, 1 — and it’s gone. With unimaginable speed, this unmanned creature launches forward, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Speeds exceeding Mach 1 have been recorded, sonic booms tearing through the air in its wake.

Blink — and you miss it.

Almost nothing is known about this being.

That is why it bears the name: Defying Gravity.

No one knows where it comes from or where it is headed.

Communication is impossible.

Scholars and scientists have deployed vehicles and aircraft in attempts to keep pace with it — nothing works.

Every time they believe they are finally closing in, it accelerates once more and vanishes beyond reach.

Space Shell,

Oil on Canvas,

70x100cm,

https://www.schaap-art.nl/product/space-shell/

The Space Shell is an ancient being that travels from world to world, not by footsteps, but on wings of silence.

At night, it drifts through dreams— through gentle dreams filled with warmth, and briefly through nightmares, where it never lingers.

In those dark dreams, it leaves behind small seeds, seeds that sleep until the moment a nightmare threatens to come true.

Then they begin to grow. And from fear, a dream is born.

Those who have been visited by the Space Shell do not notice it at once, but afterward, they carry more light within them than before.

Atlas,

Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

The Atlas are among the strangest beings in existence; in the blink of an eye, they can manifest anywhere in the world.

They are exceedingly rare, yet possess a flawless geographical memory—speak a destination, and they are already on their way.

No world or moon lies beyond their reach, and even time itself is little more than a pliable boundary: minutes into the past or hours into the future pose no challenge.

Beware, however, of the Paradoxes. To encounter one is to risk more than a failed journey; they are deeply unsettling entities that leave fractures in reality behind.

Fortunately, there are only a few of them… though sometimes one is more than enough.

Incubator,

Oil on Canvas,

60x50cm,

Some beings wander jungles and endless steppes, seeking eggs abandoned by time and chance. They gather them with care and wait as life awakens. Each shell holds a mystery: a bird, a dragon, or something yet unnamed. When the young at last emerge, they must be nurtured and taught— a labor of patience and devotion. Imagine, then, a bird tasked with raisin a fire-breathing dragon— ah, those poor, singed feathers.

Vox Caelorum, Oil on Canvas,

80x60cm,

The Vox Caelorum listens to the voices of heaven and translates birdsong into insight and meaning. At early dawn, it is already on its way, seeking out the feathered beings, listening as they sing and whisper, analyzing their melodies and hushed voices.

All that they have to tell caresses our ears— conversations, beautiful in their own right, speaking of how fair the world truly is. A pure delight to listen to.

Étendues,

Oil on Canvas,

70x140cm

https://www.schaap-art.nl/product/etendues/

When land becomes crowded or danger forces a relocation, the creatures rely on ‘the Étendues’. These vast, gentle creatures are so large that whole villages can settle upon their backs, carving paths and raising homes on living terrain. Their movements are glacial; a single migration might last years, sometimes generations. Yet this is no hindrance to those who dwell upon them. As the Étendues press on, slow and steady as the turning of the seasons, the villagers rebuild their houses atop the creature’s broad back, forming a wandering settlement that shifts as the creature does.

La Bouffonne, Oil on Canvas, 80x50cm,

“La Bouffonne” embodies the pure beauty of laughter.

Wherever she appears—in the tangible, physical world or in the silent, psychic depths of humanity—she carries the same sacred gift: the power of joy.

She dances between hearts like a light breeze, breaking tension with a sparkling grin, and reminds us that laughter is not a luxury, but the art of living.

For when laughter ripples through the body, the skin begins to radiate as if a gentle lamp is lit within.

Stress melts away, worries fade, and a warm, free feeling arises, lifting us, for a moment, above the ordinary.

La Bouffonne is therefore not just a jester, but a guardian of joy, a healer of the soul.

She shows us that a smile—even a small, almost invisible one—can be enough to brighten a world.

Dirigible,

Oil on Canvas,

50x60cm,

In the boundless heights of the dream-world sky, vast distances stretch between every horizon.

The Dirigibles are made for such journeys.

They rise first in a pure vertical climb, vanishing into the colorful air, and only then drift into one of the twenty other directions that space allows.

Midway through their voyage, they turn upside down — though such a phrase hardly applies, for there is no up or down in those regions. Only motion, and the quiet hum of the dream-wind.

Layers of Time and Stories, Oil on Canvas, 70x50cm,

We build floors of concrete, they build out of necessity, out of nature. Yet we, too, live on top of each other. In layers of time, in stacks of stories, in the silent knowledge that no one ever lives alone. https://www.schaap-art.nl/product/layers-of-time-and-stories/

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Ed Schaap