Emrys – The Great Welsh Dragon Sculpture at Swansea Bay University | Welsh Heritage & Mythology
- Julia O'Sullivan of Jupigio-Artwork
- Oct 21, 2019
- 15 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
Emrys
The Great Welsh Dragon Sculpture
How a sculpture became my journey home.
Finding Home Through Art:
Emrys the Great Welsh Dragon Sculpture
Chapter One
The Feeling That Never Left
In April 2005, I left Wales for New Zealand with my husband and our son. Like so many who begin a new life on the other side of the world, I carried hope, excitement, and the promise of fresh beginnings. New Zealand was beautiful, and for many years I built a life that, from the outside, seemed complete.
Yet there was always something quietly stirring beneath the surface.
For much of my life, I had lived with the feeling that I didn't quite belong. Family relationships were complicated, and from an early age I often felt as though my voice carried little weight. I had grown used to standing on the edge of things, watching rather than feeling part of them. Even surrounded by people who loved me, there remained an emptiness I couldn't explain.
Moving across the world didn't silence that feeling. If anything, it gave it more space to grow.
As the years passed, I found myself thinking more and more about Wales. It wasn't simply that I missed the landscape or the familiar places of my childhood. It was something far deeper than homesickness. There was an invisible thread pulling me back towards my roots, asking questions I had never really stopped to answer.
Who am I?
Where do I come from?
Why does this place still call to me after all these years?
During the final years of my sixteen-year journey in New Zealand, those questions became impossible to ignore. I found myself immersed in Welsh history, mythology and culture, searching for something I couldn't yet put into words. I wasn't just discovering the stories of Wales—I was searching for my own story within them.
Looking back now, I realise I wasn't searching for a country.
I was searching for a sense of belonging.
At the time, I had no idea that search would become a sculpture. I didn't know that a great Welsh dragon would one day carry not only the history of a nation, but also the quiet longing that had lived inside me for so many years.
Before Emrys was ever forged from steel and copper, he existed as a question in my heart.
And that question was simply this:
Where is home?
Chapter Two
Discovering Hiraeth
There are some emotions that seem impossible to describe, feelings so deeply rooted within us that ordinary language never quite reaches them. For years I carried one of those feelings without understanding what it was. It lingered quietly in the background of my life, always present but never fully recognised.
Then I discovered a Welsh word that changed everything.
Hiraeth.
People often translate hiraeth as homesickness, but to me it is something far more profound. It is a longing for home, yes, but not necessarily a place you can return to. It is a yearning for your roots, your ancestry, your identity, and the pieces of yourself that somehow became lost along the way. It is an ache that lives quietly within you, reminding you that something is missing, even when life appears complete.
For me, hiraeth wasn't about wanting to move back to Wales. It was about understanding why Wales had never truly left me.
The further away I was, the stronger that connection became. Living on the other side of the world gave me distance, but it also gave me perspective. I found myself reading about Welsh history, immersing myself in ancient mythology, discovering the legends of princes, poets and dragons. I became fascinated by the stories that had shaped a nation and, in many ways, had unknowingly shaped me.
The more I learned, the more I realised that identity isn't simply inherited—it can also be rediscovered.
Perhaps that is why Wales has always held such a powerful place in the hearts of its people. Ours is a nation built upon stories. They have been carried through generations in song, poetry and legend, preserving not only our history but also our sense of who we are. Those stories became a bridge between my past and my present, helping me reconnect with a part of myself I hadn't realised I had been searching for.
It is often said that art asks the questions words cannot answer.
As I immersed myself in Welsh culture, I found those questions beginning to surface in my own imagination. They grew stronger with every story I read, every castle I discovered, every legend I uncovered. Eventually, they demanded expression.
I didn't set out to create a dragon.
I set out to find myself.
Only later did I realise that the two journeys had become one.
In many ways, Emrys was born long before the first piece of steel was cut.
He was born the moment I understood the meaning of hiraeth.
Chapter Three
Why a Dragon?
As I delved deeper into Welsh history and mythology, one symbol emerged time and again, rising above all the others.
The Red Dragon.
Proud, resilient and fiercely protective, Y Ddraig Goch has watched over Wales for centuries. It appears on our national flag, lives within our legends, and has become one of the most enduring symbols of Welsh identity. To many it is simply an emblem, but to me it became something far more personal.
The dragon represented everything I was searching for.
Strength.
Resilience.
Courage.
Belonging.
I became captivated by the ancient stories surrounding it, particularly the legend told by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Beneath Dinas Emrys, two dragons—one red and one white—lay imprisoned beneath the earth. When they were finally released, they fought a mighty battle. The red dragon emerged victorious, its triumph becoming a prophecy for the Welsh people and their enduring spirit in the face of adversity.
There was something profoundly moving about that story.
It wasn't simply a tale of good overcoming evil.
It was a story about identity refusing to disappear.
For centuries Wales has fought to preserve its language, culture and traditions. Despite invasion, hardship and political change, its identity has endured, carried through poetry, music, folklore and the stories passed from one generation to the next. The dragon became a symbol of that resilience.
As I reflected on my own journey, I realised I had been fighting a quieter battle of my own.
Not one against another nation, but against disconnection.
Against the feeling of never quite belonging.
Against the fear that somewhere along life's journey I had become separated from my own roots.
The dragon became the perfect metaphor.
Powerful yet protective.
Ancient yet timeless.
A creature that carried within it the spirit of an entire nation.
By then I knew I wasn't simply creating a sculpture.
I was creating a love letter to Wales.
Every decision that followed—the materials, the symbolism, the stories, the portraits and the craftsmanship—would become another chapter in that letter.
Emrys would not simply tell the story of a dragon.
He would tell the story of a nation.
And, in many ways, my own.
Chapter Four
Forging a Dragon
Every sculpture begins with an idea, but ideas have a habit of growing beyond anything we imagine.
When I first conceived Emrys, I knew I wasn't creating an ordinary dragon. He couldn't simply be fierce or beautiful. He had to carry the weight of an entire nation's story. Every part of him needed a purpose. Every material had to speak. Every detail had to earn its place.
What I thought would become a sculpture slowly became an obsession.
For two and a half years, Emrys consumed my thoughts. I sketched, researched, redesigned and questioned every decision. The more I learned about Wales, the more I realised there was another story waiting to be told, another symbol that deserved to be included. The dragon seemed to grow with every discovery, becoming richer and more layered than I had ever imagined.
There were moments when the sheer scale of the project felt overwhelming. Standing 2.8 metres tall and weighing almost half a tonne, Emrys demanded patience as much as creativity. Steel had to be shaped, copper had to be beaten by hand, slate had to find its rightful place, and every element had to work together as though it had always belonged.
Yet I never wanted him to become a collection of impressive materials.
I wanted people to stop and look closer.
To discover that every copper scale, every carved detail, every painted panel and every piece of Welsh slate held a story of its own.
As the sculpture slowly took shape, something unexpected happened.
The more I poured into Emrys, the more Wales seemed to pour back into me.
Each castle I researched became more than a monument; it became a reminder of the resilience of the Welsh people. Every historical figure I engraved onto a copper scale introduced me to another chapter of my country's story. The industries that shaped Wales—coal, slate, copper and steel—were no longer simply facts from history books. They became part of the dragon's body, just as they had become part of the nation's identity.
Piece by piece, Emrys ceased to feel like something I was making.
He became something I was discovering.
Looking back, I realise that while I was forging a dragon from steel and copper, another transformation was quietly taking place.
I was forging a connection to my own heritage.
Emrys was no longer just becoming a sculpture.
He was becoming home.
Chapter Five
Every Detail Tells a Story
Standing before Emrys, you may first be struck by his scale. Towering at 2.8 metres, he commands attention with the presence you would expect from a dragon born of Welsh legend. But his true story isn't found in his size—it is found in the details.
I wanted Emrys to reward curiosity.
The longer you spend with him, the more he reveals.
His body became my canvas, carrying the stories, industries, legends and people that have shaped Wales over centuries. Rather than creating a dragon that was simply decorative, I wanted every part of him to have meaning. Every element was chosen with purpose, allowing the sculpture to become a visual history of a nation.
His legs celebrate the industrial heart of Wales, echoing the towering structures of coal mine headframes that once dominated the valleys. These were places of unimaginable hardship and extraordinary community, where generations of Welsh families worked beneath the earth to build the country's prosperity. By giving Emrys the strength of these structures, I wanted him to stand upon the foundations of the people who helped shape modern Wales.
Covering his body are hundreds of individually handcrafted copper scales. Copper has long been woven into Wales' industrial story, but these scales carry another layer of meaning. Each one was created by hand, a reminder that the identity of a nation is built through countless individual lives, each contributing something unique to the whole.
Resting beneath Emrys is a base crafted from Welsh slate, one of the country's most recognisable natural resources. Rising from it are castles that trace the history of Wales through stone and landscape. They speak of conflict, resilience and survival, standing as silent witnesses to centuries of change.
His wings stretch outward as symbols of freedom and imagination, reminding us that mythology allows history to breathe. Legends are not simply stories from the past; they are the threads that bind generations together, giving meaning to places and people long after they have gone.
Throughout the sculpture, paintings and symbolic details weave together Welsh folklore, literature, music and national identity. Every addition became another conversation with my heritage, another attempt to honour the richness of Welsh culture.
When people ask me how long Emrys took to create, I usually answer, "Two and a half years."
But in truth, he took much longer than that.
He was shaped by centuries of Welsh history, by the stories passed from generation to generation, and by my own lifelong search to understand where I belonged.
That is why I have never thought of Emrys as simply a sculpture.
He is a collection of stories, brought together beneath the wings of a dragon.
Chapter Six
What Emrys Gave Back to Me
When people admire Emrys, they often see the finished sculpture. They see the steel, the copper, the slate and the craftsmanship. They see the dragon standing proudly as a symbol of Wales.
What they don't see is the journey that unfolded within me while I was creating him.
I have often wondered whether artists choose their subjects, or whether their subjects quietly choose them.
Looking back, I believe Emrys found me at exactly the right moment in my life.
For years I had carried a feeling of disconnection that I couldn't explain. I searched for belonging in places, in people, and in the hope that one day I might feel completely at home. Yet the more I searched outside myself, the more I realised that what I was truly seeking could never be found there.
It had to be built from within.
Every day I worked on Emrys, I discovered another piece of Wales and, in doing so, another piece of myself. Every castle I researched, every myth I explored and every copper scale I shaped deepened that connection. I no longer felt like someone looking in from the outside. I felt part of a story that had begun long before I was born and would continue long after I was gone.
Perhaps that is what heritage really is.
It isn't simply history.
It is the thread that quietly binds us to those who came before us.
Before Emrys, Wales had always been my birthplace.
By the time he was finished, it had become part of my identity.
Creating him taught me that belonging is not something another person gives you. It isn't dependent on acceptance or approval. It grows through understanding where you come from, honouring the people who walked before you, and recognising that their stories have helped shape your own.
For much of my life, I had felt like an outsider.
Emrys reminded me that I had roots all along.
They had simply been waiting for me to discover them.
I often say that Emrys is my monument to Wales.
The truth is, he also became a monument to the journey of finding myself.
He gave me something I had searched for over many years.
Not certainty.
Not perfection.
Simply the quiet comfort of knowing where my heart belonged.
Chapter Seven
The Journey Home
Every story has moments that cannot be planned.
Moments where one person's path unexpectedly crosses another's, creating a connection that changes everything.
For Emrys, that moment came in 2018.
The sculpture was featured in the Western Mail, and among those who saw the article were Phil Saunders and Rev Rosan Saunders. They had followed their own difficult journey through years of hardship and unexpected challenges. After a long period of struggle, they found themselves in the position of receiving a small amount of money.
Rather than keeping it for themselves, they made a decision.
They wanted to rebalance the scales.
They chose six worthy projects to support—acts of kindness designed to create a ripple effect and help others in the way they themselves had hoped for during their own difficult times.
One of those projects was Emrys.
They believed that a sculpture celebrating Welsh heritage, created with such passion and love, deserved to have a home in Wales. They approached me not asking for anything in return, but simply offering their help. Their only wish was to help bring Emrys home.
It was an extraordinary act of generosity.
At that time, I was living in New Zealand, and although Emrys carried my love for Wales within him, he was still physically separated from the country that inspired him. Phil and Rosan became the bridge between the two.
Because of them, the dragon's journey back to Wales began.
What touched me most was that their kindness came with no expectation attached. It was a true act of paying it forward—a belief that when someone helps you, the greatest way to honour that kindness is to pass it on when you are able.
Years later, I found myself able to do exactly that.
A distant uncle of mine, who had no immediate family to support him, suffered a stroke. I was able to step in and help him through that difficult time. I did it because I remembered the kindness shown to me, and because I understood the importance of keeping that circle of generosity moving.
Perhaps that is another part of Emrys' story.
A dragon is often seen as a symbol of strength and protection, but his journey also became a reminder of something equally powerful—the kindness of people.
Emrys was created from steel, copper and slate, but the journey that brought him home was built from compassion.
His story is not only about Welsh heritage.
It is also about human connection.
About strangers who become part of your story.
About generosity that travels further than anyone could imagine.
And about the quiet truth that kindness, like art, has the power to outlive the moment it was given.
Chapter Eight
Emrys Finds His Home
After two and a half years of creation, there came a moment I had imagined many times but could never fully prepare for.
The moment Emrys left my hands.
For so long he had existed within my studio—a constant presence, a companion, and a reflection of everything I had been exploring. I had spent countless hours shaping his form, refining his details and breathing life into a creature that had existed first only in my imagination.
Then came the day he would begin his own journey.
Emrys found his home at Swansea University, where he now stands proudly in the Great Hall at Bay Campus, surrounded by the landscape and people of the nation he was created to celebrate.
There is something incredibly moving about seeing him in that space.
A dragon born from Welsh history, mythology and identity now watches over a place of learning, curiosity and discovery. It feels fitting that he should stand among generations of people who are shaping the future, just as the stories woven into his body honour the generations who came before.
When I created Emrys, I wanted him to do more than simply be admired.
I wanted him to create a connection.
For someone visiting from another country, perhaps he offers a glimpse into Welsh culture and mythology. For Welsh people, perhaps he evokes pride, memories and a connection to the stories they grew up hearing. For younger generations, I hope he inspires curiosity about the history and heritage that surrounds them.
Art has the ability to become a meeting place between the past and the present.
A sculpture can be more than an object.
It can become a storyteller.
Every person who stands before Emrys brings their own experiences and interpretations. Some may see a powerful dragon from ancient legend. Others may notice the craftsmanship, the materials or the symbolism hidden throughout his design.
But perhaps the most important thing is that they stop.
They look closer.
They ask questions.
And through those questions, stories continue.
That is what I hoped for when I created him.
Not simply that people would see a dragon, but that they would discover Wales within him.
The mountains, the mines, the castles, the legends and the people—all carried within one sculpture.
After spending so many years searching for my own connection to Wales, it feels incredibly special that Emrys now stands as a symbol of connection for others.
He began as my personal journey home.
Now he has become part of a much bigger story.
Chapter Nine
The Legacy of Emrys
When I began creating Emrys, I thought I was making a sculpture.
I now understand that I was creating a conversation.
A conversation between the past and the present. Between mythology and reality. Between a nation and the people who carry its stories forward.
Emrys began with a longing—a desire to understand where I belonged and to reconnect with a part of myself that had felt distant for many years. Through his creation, I discovered that heritage is not simply something we inherit; it is something we continue to build, protect and pass on.
Every generation adds another layer to the story.
The miners who shaped the valleys of Wales.
The craftsmen who carved its slate and forged its steel.
The storytellers who kept ancient legends alive.
The families who carried Welsh traditions across oceans and through generations.
And now, in his own way, Emrys carries those stories forward.
Standing in Swansea University’s Great Hall, he has become more than a sculpture. He has become a meeting point—a place where people can encounter Welsh history, mythology and craftsmanship in a single moment.
But perhaps the greatest legacy of Emrys is not found in the materials used to create him.
It is found in the emotions he inspires.
The sense of pride felt by those who recognise their heritage within him.
The curiosity of those discovering Welsh mythology for the first time.
The connection felt by those who understand what it means to search for home.
Creating Emrys taught me that art has the ability to hold things we struggle to express in words. It can carry memories, emotions, histories and dreams. It can become a voice when our own feels uncertain.
For me, Emrys was that voice.
He spoke of hiraeth—the deep longing for a place, a time or a connection that feels woven into the soul. He helped me understand that sometimes we spend years searching for belonging, only to discover that it has been quietly waiting for us all along.
The dragon that I created to represent Wales ultimately helped me find my own place within it.
That is the magic of art.
We begin by creating something, but sometimes the creation transforms us in return.
Emrys is my tribute to Wales.
He is a celebration of resilience, imagination and identity.
He is a reminder that stories survive because we choose to tell them.
And perhaps, most importantly, he is proof that even after years of feeling disconnected, we can still find our way home.
"The full journey of Emrys—from the first sketches, through the symbolism hidden within every detail, to the story of how he found his home in Wales—is documented in the accompanying book, Emrys the Great Welsh Dragon."
The Great Welsh Dragon | Welsh Mythology and Art join us as we explore the legendary tales withing this captivating book "Emrys - the Great Welsh Dragon"
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