January 13, 2009

Epilogue (Or I dunno… Appendix?)

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Orchard House Peeps

Orchard House Peeps

 

December 12, 2008

The End

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Today is unofficially the last day here. Most of the undergrads are leaving tomorrow morning at 4. (Ach! Four in the morning!) They keep warning me that they’re going to wake me up to say goodbye. Meh.

So today is a flurry of frenzy and packing, taking things out of the studios… a big mess. A few of us are staying the weekend, and a lot of people are headed on trips to different places in Europe (Barcelona, Paris, Budapest, Morocco, Berlin…) by train and by plane. I’m not leaving until Monday, so I’ll have a few more days to say goodbye to Ireland.

I was looking through my sketchbook this morning and reminiscing. There are so many things I’m going to miss, and I knew that… only to know that if I ever get the chance to come back here, things aren’t going to be the same. Even if good ol’ Ballyvaughan doesn’t change, it was really the people here that made this experience what it was.

So. A quick list of the best places.

Galway: it rains a lot, but it really is a charming little city. From Ballyvaughan you can see the twinkling lights of the city across the bay from the pier. I loved the street performers (always guitars or fiddles, and carolers last time I was there) and the little shops (The Four Corners: Art shop at the top of the stairs.) And that French Art Cafe. I also loved the Sunday that we stayed at a hostel and I dragged everyone to the Cathedral with me for Mass. They loved the organ music. My favorite Galway thing was the Farmer’s Market — the best crepe stand ever. When it rained, everyone would crowd together underneath the awning and smell the delicious smells and chat and joke. I love Irish people.

Gort: O’Connor’s bakery. The best pastries, bagels, coffee. Also the little fish n’ chips shop at the end of the street. And the two charity shops, where I bought extra long-sleeved shirts when it turned cold. Such a cute little town.

Dublin: Such a great art community there! I loved the IMMA and the gardens. Also I will always remember the morning we left for Dublin we got the incredible chance to see the sunrise over the mountains. Was so beautiful.

Loch Rae: St. Brendan’s Cathedral. Most incredible stained glass windows I’ve ever seen.

Belfast: Beautiful, busy city. The excitement of it was so different to the tiny town I was used to, I think the change was extra refreshing. The Christmas market was my favorite, and listening to the different Northern Ireland (semi-Scottish sounding) accent.

Connemara: I know this is technically a region and not a city, I think of the place just as a whole. It was like a land unto itself… a wild country with fantastic rocky mountains. The Twelve Bens were almost like a presence in that place. There was so much of that untamed ancient Irishness there that used to give me shivers. So much past and history in Connemara.

And Ballyvaughan: The pubs: Greene’s (traditional music sessions every Wednesday), Hyland’s, O’ Laughlan’s, Loughe’s, The New Hotel… The Soda Shop, The Tea Junction. BCA, Newtown Castle… climbing Cappanawala and exploring the top to see the next valley and almost running afoul a gang of mountain goats. The fairy fort, the cemetery, the Burren way. Way too many things to miss.

There were other places I wanted to visit. I’ll have to save these for my next visit.

So to conclude, I’ll post a couple pictures of my work in the undergrad exhibition (not all of my work, mind) and other random photos from my last few days in Ballyvaughan.

Cheers! See y’all soon!

 

December 5, 2008

Nearing the End

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Our undergrad art exhibition starts tomorrow. It’s been ridiculously crazy trying to organize the event ourselves, finish our work, classes and clean our studios (*sob*) while still participating in trips and holiday stuff. I can hardly believe there’s only about a week left. They said at the beginning that this semester would fly by, and at the time I didn’t believe them. Now I do.

Orchard House put on quite a good Thanksgiving this semester. There was TONS of food. And yet it seems all the leftovers were gone before I could even blink. My contribution were pecan bars. They were pretty much an experiment since I didn’t have all the right ingredients and also didn’t have the right measuring tools.

There was an inordinate amount of mashed potatoes. Also desserts and wine. It was beautiful.

Literally seven or eight hours after everyone finally went home after Thanksgiving, the fourteen of us squeezed into the minibus (all cozy-like) and drove five or six hours to Belfast for the weekend. And once again, a great time. We stayed at the Youth Hostel right outside the city centre, where there was the most incredible Christmas market fair. The city hall was all lit up and there was the most beautiful lit Christmas tree. We had mulled wine, macaroons, fudge, crepes… just about any and every kind of seasonal food and craft you could imagine from a number of different countries. It was a lot of fun.

I forget which night it was (not important) but two of my good friends and I wandered around the city centre and ended up at the outdoor mall. It was this incredible five or six story domed mall, and you could take a glass elevator all the way to the top and look down. We chatted with the greeter person there, and felt the floor sway beneath us with the height. I’m afraid of heights… so that was interesting.

Once again we visited St. George’s Farmers Market. It really is the most spectacular place. Whoever came up with the idea of Farmers Markets like that was a genius. My favorite was a crepe stand, and you could watch the friendly Frenchman make the crepes with his perfect expertise. Haha. There was also a craft stand selling these awesome flattened glass beer bottles made into clocks and cheese plates. Also, there was more Irish music. I never get tired of it.

I went back to the Botanic Gardens and took about a zillion photos of flowers in the Palm House. I love those gardens and those greenhouses. I also love little coffee shops in Belfast; the three of us went to Esquires, where they actually make spectacular white chocolate mochas. Wonderful.

On our way home from Belfast we went to Giant’s Causeway (we got lost a couple of times on our way.) This time a few of us climbed to the top of the causeway (a lot of very narrow and frightening slippery stone steps) and I swear we could see the coast of Scotland.

From there we drove the long way back through Donegal and County Sligo. We stopped at a little village for dinner (the name of which I don’t remember but it was somewhere in Sligo.) They were having a Christmas parade and it was pretty ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many people out on a Sunday night in such a small Irish town.

Then coming through Sligo we drove between snow-capped mountains. They took my breath away. I think that has to be one of my favorite things about visiting Northern Ireland: there was snow!

So yeah. Another fantastic time in Belfast.

So now I’m working on getting all my work put together and cleaning. It’s altogether too sad to have to take down all the paraphernalia off my studio walls. I remember first arriving here and seeing those stark white studio walls. I was kind of frantic to put something — anything — up there so that it wouldn’t be so blank and bare. I remember how intimidating it felt to have my own studio and to be expected to work everything out on my own. Now I’m staring at a blank white wall again, anticipating an exhibition and then leaving!

Last night we had a prom. I know, ridiculous, right? Art students are very strange creatures. But everyone got dressed up fancy-like (we did our hair and make-up and I felt like I was back in highschool again) and ate a nice dinner and danced all night at the New Hotel down by the pier. I think everyone had a good time, even if we’re all a bit slow and groggy today.

I’m hoping to post some photos of everyone’s wonderful work at the exhibition tomorrow.

Well… I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are enjoying Advent, anticipating Christmas. I hope my fam hasn’t decorated the tree without me!

I’ll be home for Christmas!

 

November 18, 2008

Belfast, #1

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So I guess it’s been awhile. S’pose there’s not a whole lot to report.

Well….

This past weekend four of us from BCA took a trip with Butler (the university that our study abroad program went through) and about 140+ other study abroad students to Belfast, Derry and Giant’s Causeway. It was an insane seven hour trip. Augh. Not too much fun. Belfast, however, was pretty sensational.

Being in Northern Ireland after staying most of the semester in the Republic was pretty intense. EVERYTHING is different. The accent, culture, city life and especially recent history. The impact of the Troubles is still very evident in Belfast. Through the city stands a wall that divides the “Catholic side” from everything else. The gates of the wall still close at night. People still throw rocks and such over the wall and set cars on fire. So suffice it to say there’s still quite a lot of turmoil, though our black cab tour guides informed us there’s quite a lot of progress made. On our tour of the city we stopped at the Peace Wall, which bares the signatures, murals, quotes and such from people from all over the world. Most of us added our own signatures.

We took an hour bus trip to Derry, home of Bloody Sunday. There were quite a lot of murals from the Troubles there as well. One depicted a small girl who had been killed during these times alongside a butterfly — painted black and white originally, color has been slowly added to it as peace comes to Ireland.

Living for so long in a tiny village so far to the West of Ireland I never really thought about Catholic and Protestant tumult, as it isn’t evident in little Ballyvaughan. It was kind of a shock to see it still going on in the North.

The group of us also went to Dunluce Castle, a structure built right off of a cliff, facing the sea.

Our last stop was to Giant’s Causeway. That place is intense. My roommate commented that the four of us from the Burren were immediately drawn to the rocks on the sea. I guess we’ve been conditioned to have interest in stony landscapes.

My favorite part of Belfast was the Botanic Gardens. Absolutely beautiful. A friend of mine and I wandered around the Gardens for a while and ended up meeting an eccentric older gentleman with an impressive memory and interest in Quantum Physics. He could name the exact page and paragraph number of a dozen or so books about Science and could also list the names, birth dates (and birthplaces) of famous scientists, writers and poets from Ireland. It was pretty incredible; he talked with us (or more like at us) for about an hour.

BCA is taking another trip to Belfast is two weeks. I’m excited to go back (even if it means another seven hours there on the minibus.)

Orchard House is hosting Thanksgiving, as is traditional, but it means the ten of us have to clean the house spotless and cook turkeys and other dishes. Augh. It’ll be fun though.

The weekend after that is BCA prom. We’re all going to dress up for a night out.

The week after THAT is preparation for our final exhibition. Lots to do to prepare for that. Makes me so nervous.

I cannot believe I’ve only three and a half weeks until the end of the semester. It’s frightening, sad and exhilarating all at the same time.

Just want to conclude that I miss you all quite a lot. I hope things are going well for everyone, that it’s been a good fall and a good semester. I’m looking forward to spending Christmas with you all.

 

November 3, 2008

Loughrae, Yeats Tower, Coole Park

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The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore,
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

From Wild Swans at Coole by W.B. Yeats

 

November 3, 2008

Yeats, Stained Glass and Cemeteries

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I’ve spent precious little time working in my studio lately. Sometimes I feel suffocated in there… the weight of everything I SHOULD be doing and need to get done bears down pretty heavily.

We went to Coole Park on Friday. Well actually, it went like this: we left early in the morning and rode in the minibus (I love riding in the minibus — bumping and jostling on country roads over hills and around the coast and staring out the window) to Lough Rae to visit St. Brendan’s Cathedral. See, apparently (and I never knew this) for a time Ireland was world famous for her stained glass work. (I can barely read the notes I took about it — I tried to write them as Gordon lectured for about ten minutes on the bus.) Anyway, St. Brendan’s Cathedral boasted incredible stained glass work; I was captivated. My favorite was one window just to the right of the tabernacle at the front of the Cathedral, of the Annunciation, because the sun shone right through the bright red wings of Gabriel and it amazed me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such bright, colorful glass images before.

Then we sat in the cafe. One of my very favorite things about the Irish is how easy-going they are; so very willing to just stop and have a cup of tea. (Also, my favorite cafe is one in Gort called O’Connors. It’s also a bakery and has some of the best pastries and soda bread I’ve ever tasted. Sorry… that was just a side note.)

From Lough Rae we went to Yeats Tower. This was apparently where William Butler Yeats wrote many of his poems. And I could completely understand that; the place was so lovely. I can’t even describe it. But I think what made it that much more surprisingly beautiful to me was that the weather was autumnal and the leaves on the trees were golden where the sun shone through. Everyone kept saying the place was probably even more lovely in spring when the flowers come out, but I don’t believe them. I think I could’ve easily stayed right where I sat to sketch for hours.

From Yeats Tower we drove to Coole Park, home of the famous autograph tree and walled gardens. The autograph tree was very impressive, but my favorite was the woods. I love the Irish woods. 1,000 acres of trees and turloughs. I couldn’t even believe it. I wish photos and sketches could accurately present the beauty of the place. Maybe that’s why Yeats wrote so many poems there and about it. Keeps reminding me how much I’ll miss Ireland.

Yesterday I walked to school thinking I would get some work done. Didn’t happen. Instead I went walking. I went back the the little Hill Stream that we’d passed going up to the Mass Path and sat on the bank for a good hour or so while my fingers froze. Then I walked down to this church along the Burren Way. I met an Irish woman from Ennis (I can’t remember if she told me her name) and she told me about the church and the cemetery there. She said it was the first church built in Ballyvaughan and many of the grave stones there are famine stones from the early 1800’s. The second church was the one I visited early on in my stay… the one in the middle of a cow pasture. And the third church built in Ballyvaughan is St. John the Baptist, the one still in use for Mass. The other two are ruins. Still, this first church, though lacking a roof and covered in ivy still looks over the graves of families from 1800 to the present. This is all such an anomaly to me; I don’t know what to make of it.

Today I went back and I sat in the cemetery for a few hours. This morning the fog was so heavy I could barely see past the front doorway, and I could just barely make out the cow parade that regularly processes past the back pasture every morning at eight (it’s like a weird ritual for me; when I come down for breakfast I watch them lumber by through the kitchen window.) The fog lifted and what was left was an odd sort of diffused light. So I sat in the cemetery and sketched and contemplated.

On a single gravestone was written all this:

“Of your charity pray for the repose of the soul of James McCarthy who died March 12th 1903 aged 83 years. Also his wife Margaret who died June 1st 1909 aged 87 years and their son Patrick died Feb 13th 1925 aged 60 years. Thomas McCarthy died March 20th 1955. His wife Agnes died Feb 16 1965 R.I.P. Patrick McCarthy died March 31 1995. In loving memory of May Jo McCarthy died 9 May 2003 aged 87 years. In loving memory of Rita McCarthy died 1950 aged 35 wife of Tom Burke and her infant daughter Anne died 1950 both interred in Limerick city R.I.P. inserted by her daughter Joan.”

And I came across this epitaph on an otherwise unmarked (or at least unreadable) grave stone:

Little Angel,

They say there is a reason

They say that time will heal

But neither time or reason

Will change the way we feel

The grave and the epitaph were all covered over with dried grass. And it being November and as Saturday was All Soul’s Day I remembered to say a prayer for all those I didn’t even know that were buried there.

Later on when the sun began to set, I’m not even kidding but I heard someone playing an Irish flute off somewhere. At first I thought I was hearing things. But it was definitely there.

Sometimes I think I’m not even living in reality when I’m living here. Sometimes it’s like a completely different existence.

Now, however, I should return to real reality and get some work done.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

FROM Broken Dreams by W.B. Yeats

 

October 28, 2008

Mass Path and Gleninagh

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I’m a little annoyed with myself. I definitely haven’t gotten a lot done in my studio in the past week. There’s been quite a lot going on, but that’s not really an excuse. I keep trying to bring some of my more portable work home with me to work on, but nothing ever gets done.

Tomorrow we will have our first MFA-postbac-undergrad student critique that was organized by a couple of my studio-mates. I’m looking forward to getting some good feedback. I’m also thinking I’ll be a little more comfortable asking for ideas and specific feedback from my peers rather than two-out-of-the-three faculty members whom I’d never actually met or talked to about my work before (as happened in my mid-term assessment last week.) So. Yes. Looking forward to that. Also — Greene’s pub will have trad music again tomorrow night! (And there was much rejoicing!)

For Irish Studies Gordon D’Arcy took us on a hike along the Mass Path just beyond the Burren Way. Actually, I should probably begin by introducing the topic of Friday’s class: the conflict of the 1600’s up to about the 1900’s between the Irish and the English — mainly between the native Irish lower class and the upper class English and Anglo-Irish. It’s all in my notes and I’ve been reading my copy of The Book of the Burren, which gives many wonderful insights into the Irish history of which we’ve been learning in class. What my brain automatically focused on, however, was the “Penal Times,” when Catholicism was completely suppressed by the “English Authorities.” The Penal Laws were written with the intention of eradicating the Catholic Church from Ireland. Priests became outlaws and exiles, and the celebration of Mass was prohibited. Churches were destroyed. So Mass was celebrated out in the open countryside. Mass Paths were what the Irish Catholic “peasant” class used — I believe to get to and from the illegal celebrations. (After the Penal Laws were relaxed, Mass was said in barns and then in Mass-houses and small chapels.)

The weather was ridiculously beautiful on Friday, after days of horrible drizzling and threatening wind. There was that crisp, cool, autumn flavor in the air. We began by strolling down the Burren Road — I think we were all extra giddy with the sunshine, even Gordon — and for a moment I almost felt like I was home. Especially when we passed over a river and through a wood, suddenly things were so familiar. It wasn’t a sad feeling, really — not true homesickness — just sweet and strange. But the moment was gone when we came upon those imposing Burren hills again and I remembered where I was. And then I was left trying to figure out where that familiar feeling went.

What was also ridiculous was the nasty, soggy mud we had to slosh through when Gordon led us through a bunch of cow pastures. That was pretty ridiculous. And gross.

But then there was this faint rocky path scratched into the side of a mountain — we scrambled to the top. It was very cold and very difficult; I wondered what it could have been like hundreds of years ago for the people who frequented the path — how on earth, poor as they were, they could have driven themselves up there onto that mountain so many times as to wear a path into the ground. Someone should build some kind of time-traveling device so that I can go back to the past and witness this first-hand.

For heaven’s sake that view was incredible. I couldn’t believe it. I could move my finger along the pencil scratch of a path we’d just traveled along and the whole trek was laid out below me. I only wish I could have captured it completely somehow on film or paper. The wind whipped me around the top of the mountain for a little while and when I finally began to make my way down the other side, another spectacular view met me. The whole bay and the blue blue ocean was spread out just beneath the rocky mountain. Beautiful.

When finally we all made it down the mountain, we visited a ruined chapel in Gleninagh. There were large stones randomly laid out behind the chapel — famine graves, with no markings. It would have seemed very eerie except that the sun was shining on the stones and it seemed so pleasant. But then I wonder what the people who lived through the famine years would say if they could see it all now.

Our final destination was Gleninagh Castle. Like our own Newtown Castle, it’s a tower house built by the English. Very impressive. But I’m always sad when we can’t actually go into the castles. To make up for that, I stole some rocks from the shore to add to my stash.
So that was Friday. Saturday all my housemates left for the “haunted” Charleville Castle in Tullamore. Much nonsense was made about their stay, as far as the place being haunted by poltergeists and the ghost of a little girl named Harriet who was killed when she fell down the staircase. It was strange having the whole of Orchard House to myself for the weekend. Saturday a friend and I went into Galway for the day — it was a really nasty, wet, windy day. Not much fun.

Sunday I forgot to turn my clock back for daylight savings time and ended up at church an hour early. So then I felt ridiculous.

Yesterday we went to Galway again. It was a really nice day, the first day I’ve had in Galway where it hasn’t rained. We got lost a couple times in the city and ended up at a book store for a few hours.

So that’s all the rigmarole I have to post for now. I’ll leave some photos.

 

October 20, 2008

Gaels vs Normans

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Friday’s Study of Ireland was focused on the Normans in Ireland. To sum it up (just barely adequately) those wonderfully notorious Vikings pillaged all over the place, but ended up settling in Northern France (Normandy). They also set their eyes on Britain, where William the Conquerer comes in. For a while they didn’t bother with Ireland, which was pretty independent of all this, ruled for the most part by petty kings. An inward conquer of all Ireland began with a struggle between two Irish petty kings, MacMurrough and O’Connor. MacMurrough teamed up with the Normans and won. However, once the door is open, it’s hard to shut it against these kinds of adversaries, for once the Normans saw the grand Irish land, they decided to start establishing their own lands there. And thus began the slow takeover of Ireland by the Normans.

Thus Gordon took us to see the very few (i.e. two) bits of evidence of Norman influence in the Burren area, in Kilnaboy, where stands a Norman church. We also traveled (a roundabout way) to Dysert O’Dea castle just outside of Corrofin. Dysert O’Dea was the spot of a significant battle between a confederation of Gaelic Lords and the Normans. (Though the Normans conquered much of Ireland, they were never able to get their hands on West Ireland, specifically County Clare.)

Between the Norman church in Kilnaboy and Dysert O’Dea castle, we stopped at the monastery, which, though ancient and half-destroyed, is still the burial sight for many Irish families. Strange how that kind of tradition works.

Unfortunately, intelligent and resourceful Hannah forgot to buy more batteries for her camera, and so was unable to document the trip. However. Through the spotty downpours, she attempted to document the experience with her handy sketchbook(s) and thus can say proudly that she does in fact have something to show for the whole thing. Neither rain nor sleet nor dark of night can keep artists from making art (whether good or poor.)

And so I will upload those sketches here. The first is a montage of random stuff from the church in Kilnaboy; the second a sketch from Dysert O’Dea Monastery; the third from inside the Monastery and outside the Dysert O’Dea castle. Meager, but when the rain is dripping from the tip of your rain jacket hood down onto the page and smearing the ink, it’s difficult to get along.

I think Friday was the first day that it actually felt like fall; wet, windy and lots of brown leaves. And the old stone and enormous craggy trees enhanced that impression somehow. There was that heavy autumn feeling in the air; if I could express it with color on a canvas, it would be a mixture of gray, orange and brown with gold around the edges. That’s how autumn is to me.

Weather-wise, it’s been a pretty nasty day today. And everyone keeps telling me to get used to this. Augh. I dreaded the walk to school (it had to be done, I knew; critiques are tomorrow and I’ve yet so much to finish) and I sat in the kitchen hoping against hope that the skies would clear up and some blue sky would show up. No such luck.

However, taking the long back-road to the college, the weather grew very strange. There wasn’t so much rain as a very wet, harsh wind that blew sideways. And boy, did the wind have a voice — it blew through spaces in the trees with howls. Creepy. But halfway there, a tiny bit of blue showed through a patch of thin cloud and there was a very faint rainbow. I could see the spots of rain thrashed in the wind, but the sun shone through. So so strange.

 

October 15, 2008

Just a little something that needed to be documented

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I nearly forgot about this until the other day, when it all came back to me as I was walking home from school around sunset.

Saturday was a very quiet day. We’d had a communal Orchard House cleaning in the morning (I mean serious cleaning, not just running the piles of dishes through the dishwasher– vacuuming, even!) and then went to Gort for fish and chips and grocery shopping.

That evening I got antsy, so I went for a walk into town and back. It had been raining bullets the past few days and so our Turloughs (disappearing lakes courtesy of rain and limestone, unique to this part of Ireland) were filled to the brim. On Friday the water had been rushing in torrents through the rain ditches, but now the Turloughs were quiet and still. The sun was just setting (it was getting cold) and you could see the perfect reflection of the mountains and the trees and the pink sky in the water. To complete the insanely beautiful picture, a couple of docile cows lounged along the edges of the lake. My initial instinct was to curse the fact that I hadn’t thought to bring my camera. But then… that little moment was such the essence of perfection that a stupid digital camera could not capture it. So I just stood there. And stared. And tried to store it in my memory as best I could, with words to describe it running around my head. (None of which I remembered, as this rendition of it is not near as clear as what I actually experienced.)

These things come so unexpectedly. You’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off, just inches away from running straight smack into a brick wall, and these kinds of moments save you. They cleanse. They clarify. Thank God.

Last night I walked home from school after dark and there were two glowing rings around the full moon. I love the nights when one doesn’t need a flashlight. There was a spotlight on the castle, so it looked even more spooky and ominous and ancient-castle-like than usual.

Also last night I fell asleep with my lamp on again. I feel sorry for my roommate.

Back to painting!

 

October 13, 2008

The Celts and More Fairy Ground

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Every Wednesday we have what’s called a “Wednesday Session” in which different artists present their work. Usually it’s the professors (professors? instructors? I’m so used to calling them profs that I haven’t been paying attention to what they do actually call art teachers here) that present, but sometimes it’s a guest artist or two. Last week it was Martina, our photo prof and Emmit, one of our drawing/painting profs. It was kind of a strange day… I don’t know if it was just me, the Irish weather, or the atmosphere in the lecture hall that day… or a combination of all of those things. But I sat through their presentations with the thought that it was so… unusual I didn’t know what to think of it. Martina’s work consisted of a lot of pen & ink drawings. They were very random, the kind that just kind of spill out of your mind onto the page, not making a whole lot of sense to the outsider. She also had some photography… “creepy” photography, the kind that makes your skin crawl, of inside and outside derelict places in Ireland. Emmit’s work was all paintings, mostly portraiture. Right now I’m trying to think of a way to describe it. Most of it, again, made my skin crawl a little. His work would emphasize certain aspects of a person’s face, closing in on a feature so as to almost make it grotesque. Some of it was self-portraiture, and he explained it thus: when you get up in the morning and you take that first look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, that’s the moment you look the most natural.A lot of his self-portraiture was of himself in that “natural” state. Very honest.

Sometimes I wonder why I spend a lot of time reflecting and commenting about other artists’ work. There are some things there that I want to try. Sometimes I think you have to try a spin-off of ideas others have tried to get to where you want to be with your work. It’s like… a lot of experimentation, and these reflections I think are helpful when you’re stuck in a kind of artists’ block.

So anyway.

In Irish Studies on Friday we learned about the Celts. Oh, so much interesting information on those people. I could babble on and on through all the notes I took. Apparently historians only know so much about them through the writings of the Greeks and Romans, who traded with them once upon a time. The Celts passed on their history mainly through oral tradition. And of course there’s quite a lot about their religion, much concerning their “sacred objects.” Trees were of special significance to them, and children grew up learning their Irish alphabet through the names of trees. (P.S. Irish is not the same as Gaelic. Gaelic is something more Scottish than anything. If you call the language used here Gaelic, you will be corrected.) Birds were also considered sacred, as was the place where water meets the shore and where water came up from the ground. So according to Gordon, the Celt’s religion (also being described as having a “dark view of the world”) was a combination of Animism and Pantheism. Interesting and creepy at the same time.

We weren’t able to go on our scheduled field trip once again this past week, as the weather was horrible. A steady, cold drizzle all day. No one was very happy about it. We did, however, end up going to an old cathedral ruin and a monastic tower. The tower, built only by hand by a bunch of monks, is so tall and built with no foundation, that it leans and bulges a bit like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It was built as an escape from Vikings way back when.

Let me tell you, there’s even more of an odd, skin-crawling feeling of “otherness” in rural Ireland when it’s raining. That probably sounds weird, but the combination of fog, rain and very old, damp ruined structures gave me goosebumps. (Probably did nothing for my head-cold either.)

Sunday a friend and I tried to go to Doolin and the Cliffs of Moher, but we missed the bus. Stupid bus. We were more than ten minutes early, and just got to the bus stop to see it drive past at top-speed without even stopping. Argh.

I spent the entire afternoon at the Fairy Fort again. I think I’m becoming slightly obsessed with the place. I can’t explain it; it’s another one of those places in Ireland that are almost… I don’t know, haunting. With that “otherness” again.

So now, it’s Monday and I’ve all day to work in my studio. There’s so much I need to get out of my head and onto the page. And next week are mid-term assessments. Meh.

 

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