Photo in the Attic ....

Just the original artwork I did of Íþróttaálfur Níu holding the newborn Sportacus, number 10 which was a combination of traditional & digital mediums.

( I'll be posting up many of the in-progress looks at this later in my scraps. )

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The ‘ photo in the attic ’ was a precursor fiction idea that I had tinkered w/ prior to the [ Visit of Number #9 ] story that I had shared here originally back about two years ago in late-2006. Both ideas share their similarities. In fact, the portrait that Stephanie discovers in her uncle’s attic in ‘ Photo ’ is, more or less, identical to the one that hangs in Old Nine’s ship in the ‘Visit’ version. Just as well, the symbolic nature of the portrait never changed., that there’s so much more to the old elf, Níu than just a different number.

Unlike the ‘Visit of Number #9’ story however, ‘ photo ’ never rightfully saw a personal visit from Nine, but that it instead only introduced us — or rather that it introduced Stephanie, to his mysterious history and involvement with LazyTown in the past.

According to ‘ Photo in the Attic ’ version, Stephanie chances upon Nine’s history while helping her uncle to bring down boxes from the attic for Spring cleaning. As she was lifting one box from the stack, another that was precariously balanced behind it crashed to the floor sending letters and papers everywhere! All these letters, she notices –as she kneels to scoop them up– are all airmail; airmail and all postmarked from Iceland. Several old newspaper articles also hail from the far away country.

She mumbles to herself as she reads the old faded ink scrawl on one: “Warm wishes from the North Sea....” The writing rekindles an immediate memory of something her uncle had told her the day she first arrived here in LazyTown:

“I once knew a man who came from a island in the North Sea...”

“Number #9!” Stephanie exclaimed, “Nine came from a island in the North!” With charged interest and fresh excitement, the young girl dug into the box of old mail. There were letters and postcards of all sorts and she could barely contain a ‘Wow!’ looking over just a few of the dates: 1969?! 1971, 1976, 1977, 1979 ... 1984?!” Some of these letters were over 35 years old! Her uncle must have stored them away up here ages ago and had forgotten about them as the years rolled by.

Postcards in her hands, the smile fixed upon Stephanie’s face softened for a moment as her attention caught the sight of a set of eyes gazing back at her from the floor where she was sitting. It was partly masked by the corner of an old newspaper and she slowly pushed it away. It was Nine! It had to be him! Stephanie could just make out the curve of the large, red numeral embellished on his stitched leather breastplate. A small infant in his arms, he was smiling proudly at the camera. The 8x10 was addressed to her uncle and signed by Number 9 himself. Just beneath the signature was a date: Christmas ‘74.

“Wow. 1974.” Stephanie smiled. She turned the photograph over in her hand noticing even more writing on the back. It read:

“Milford Meanswell,

Gleðileg jól! And even warmer wishes this merry season all the way from Iceland. How are things going in LazyTown? I should like to return this coming summer, but in the meantime, Santa has delivered us a early and most precious gift that I simply must share with you, and is the reason for my delay. The misses’ and I welcomed our firstborn just this autumn — A son! He weighed 8 pounds and 6 ounces. He didn’t want to wake up much for the photographer, but he has these great, big, beautiful blue eyes just like his Pop. For my ancestors’ sake I have called him, ‘Ten’, but my wife is often tired of the monotony of numbers in our family and has insisted that I at least give him a name, so ‘Sportacus’ it is. Sportacus 10”

~Níu (Number 9)

Nothing could be wider than Stephanie’s eyes were that very minute. Again and again that one single sentence just kept on repeating, growing larger it seemed as though it were written right upon her startled face.

Perhaps it really shouldn’t have been so much of a alarm. Afterall, who else could Nine have been? Surprise aside, it made sense of everything else. Why Sportacus acted the way he did, how he behaved .... with a face to go with the name at last she could see exactly where it all came from. Enough to chuckle.

The story never progressed much further and often ended upon Stephanie taking the box with all it’s letters downstairs to her room and setting the 8x10 upon her nightstand.