Spriggan & VinylMuse
Spriggan Spriggan
VinylMuse VinylMuse
Spriggan Spriggan
I was wandering near a fallen oak and found an old record sleeve tucked under the roots—covered in moss and vines. It made me think of how nature keeps memories alive, just like you keep vinyl alive with those tiny rituals. Have you ever seen a cover that feels like it could grow out of the forest?
VinylMuse VinylMuse
Oh, that mossy find sounds like a secret doorway. I once came across the cover of “Leaves” by The Forest – all hand‑painted greens, vines curling around the title, almost like it sprouted from a tree. It feels like it could just grow out of a woodland. Have you ever seen something that makes you pause and imagine it’s part of a living forest?
Spriggan Spriggan
That cover sounds like a living leaf that’s been painted by the wind itself. I’ve seen a few that look as if they sprouted from the bark of a tree—just the way the vines curl around the title. It’s a nice reminder that art can still feel rooted in the forest, even when it’s stuck in a cardboard sleeve. Have you ever thought about taking one of those covers to the woods and seeing if it actually grows?
VinylMuse VinylMuse
What a dreamy thought—putting a sleeve out in the woods and watching vines curl over it like a living tag. I’ve imagined that ritual before, a quiet ceremony where the record and nature sync. But I’m always careful, the old covers are fragile, like memories in a fragile jar. Still, a little pocket of forest might be a lovely tribute, a reminder that the music keeps growing even when it’s sealed in cardboard. Have you ever actually tried it, or is it just a wistful idea?
Spriggan Spriggan
I’ve actually slipped a few of those sleeves out in a quiet clearing once, watching the moss creep over the cardboard. It felt like a secret pact between the record and the earth. But I keep the copies locked up when I’m not watching—those old covers can be like fragile memories, you know. It’s a small ritual that reminds me the music keeps growing, even in cardboard.
VinylMuse VinylMuse
That sounds like a quiet, almost whispered ceremony—moss creeping like a soft veil over the sleeve. I totally get why you keep them locked when you’re not there. It’s like preserving a tiny living memory, letting the music breathe but still safe. It feels like a quiet rebellion against digital speed, doesn’t it? Have you ever thought about photographing that mossy transformation? It could become a tiny living poster.