Myths & Mythological Beasties Exhibition
at
Inverewe Gardens, Poolewe, Highlands
Saturday 9th August to Tuesday 30th September 2025
Photos to follow.
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Amanda (Mandy) McIntosh – Sculptor of the Imagination Mandy is a Ceramic Artist based in Gairloch, known for creating porcelain clay works that blend the mythical and the whimsical. Drawing inspiration from the natural world around her, she brings to life a variety of mythical creatures and comical creations, capturing the essence of the sea, mountains, and landscapes that shape her environment. Each piece is a testament to her deep connection with nature, as she uses the fluidity of porcelain to evoke the mysterious and the fantastical. Her works are characterized by their playful yet detailed craftsmanship, often incorporating elements of local folklore and her own imaginative interpretations of the creatures that inhabit the wild spaces she calls home. Whether it’s a sea creature with exaggerated features or a mischievous woodland creature, Mandy’s sculptures are a celebration of the beauty and humour found in nature. Her pieces have captivated audiences with their unique blend of fine art and storytelling.
"The Legend of the Kelcornopus of Loch Gairloch”
In the mist-laden Highlands of ancient Scotland, where the heather breathes secrets into the wind and the lochs are black mirrors to the soul, there was whispered a tale too chilling for daylight and too strange for sober minds. It was the tale of the Kelcornopus—a creature born of enchantment, deception, and the deep, wet hunger of forgotten things.
Long ago, before the clans carved paths through the glens and before men tamed fire in stone cottages, the lochs were ruled by ancient spirits. Among them was a beast neither wholly of land nor sea, nor of the sacred or the damned. A melding of a Kelpie, a unicorn, and a giant octopus, the Kelcornopus was said to be the result of an unholy convergence of magic and madness, summoned by a druid who sought to guard the lochs from invaders. The creature obeyed — at first.
The Kelcornopus bore the form of a beautiful white horse, its mane tangled with riverweed, glistening in the moonlight like pearls. Upon its brow twisted a spiraled horn of opal, shimmering with colors not found in mortal rainbows. Its eyes, though equine in shape, were alien—glassy and dark like the depths of the sea. But its most terrifying trait lay beneath the loch’s surface: a mass of glistening, suckered tentacles, slick and silent, capable of dragging down whole boats without a ripple. It waited near the shores, especially when mist blanketed the loch and sound was muffled to a ghost’s whisper. The Kelcornopus would thrash in the shallows, crying out like a horse drowning, panicked and desperate. Its hoof would appear just above the surface, drawing in passersby with the promise of saving a majestic creature—or claiming a rare, magical relic. Kind-hearted travellers, hunters, and even warriors would rush to the edge, compelled by the cries. Some would wade in, hands outstretched.
That was when the loch bloomed red.
The hoof, with suckers hidden on the sole, would grip the victims face with an unyielding grip, while tentacles would erupt from the water, faster than arrows, coiling around legs and waists, yanking the helpless victims into the icy deep. Those who didn’t drown immediately were said to be taken to the bottom of the loch, where they were entranced by the Kelcornopus’s gaze, forced to dance in a ghostly underwater waltz until their breath gave out. Few lived to speak of the creature.
A single survivor, a bard named Mac an Tòisich, once told a tale in a trembling voice at a Highland gathering. He had followed the sound of weeping hooves into the fog, thinking to rescue a unicorn. What he saw instead he could barely describe—a horse whose neck split open into writhing arms, whose horn pulsed like a living eye, and whose laughter sounded like a chorus of drowned children.
He fled with his life, but not his mind. He would wake screaming of tentacles brushing his legs, or the glint of bone bracelets strung from sunken wrists.
To this day, old folk warn children not to go near the lochs alone, especially when the mists roll low and the water lies still.
They say if you hear a horse crying for help, or see a white shape floundering just out of reach, turn away. For it is no beast in need of saving. It is the Kelcornopus, and it is always hungry.