I have been painting for ten years now. I see myself at a point of transition. While still deeply interested in landscape, circumstances have led me to try to work more from my memory of places, rather than directly on site. This is so not what I am used to. I am used to the wind in my face and the rain on my palette. Early in 2014, I injured my neck. As someone already without arms, it affected my ability to do most things, and I became very incapacitated as a result. This limitation stopped me painting for some time and changed the way I approach a canvas. Now when I want to paint, I have to now plan it carefully, think long and hard, and then very fast, and very swiftly apply the paint. As a result, my paintings are different. And for me, better . . . and its not just because I love big brushes. Early in the morning has always been the best time for me. It offers the promise of magic to be achieved before breakfast. I often get up early , like I have this morning, driven by the promise (especially in winter) of the pre-dawn hour. But these days, I take this to extremes and I have gotten into a bad habit of getting up at 3am with a satisfied grin on my face and the promise never to do this again. However, it works. And that is what is so wrong with me. I like what works. So when all else fails, it is the middle of the night that I turn to to complete my projects. I have too many unfortunately . . . my toes are in too many puddles . . . I got totally immersed in writing a socio-economic profile - don't even ask what that was. But suffice to say, it was very interesting and totally absorbing, but after sixty pages of pictures and numbers I just had to stop, because even I know when, too much is, too much. Another middle of the night project was to write a few lines about Dubin of article about Dublin and artists on for a new UK based magazine for emerging artists . . When all three copies that came to Ireland hit the shelves they were gone by lunchtime. The magazine did a feature asking a number of artists to contribute their best tips for artists visiting Dublin for a few days. My top tip was to visit art shops in the city. Yes, I know. Probably as boring as hell to you who pass them every day but to me - sitting here with my view of the sunrise and the cattle across the Goose Field, mooching in an art shop is something to be savoured. This is not just because they are endangered species - real shops one can mooch in - but also places of real inspiration.

On orange not being the only envelope..

I am getting ready (to send empty envelopes)

Yesterday I got a call from my good friend, the magnificent Mary Bale, who has tried to help me with my problem with numbers and data and generally on how to get a grip. 

In the course of our catch up she asked about the exhibition, and how was all the organising going? I didn't know quite how I understood that there was something not quite right.  It was probably that her tone was a bit non-plussed and at the same time curious. "Ooohh, so you have sent some out already?" Yes, says I. Big job. Lots of lists and ticks and boxes and stuff. I will be seeing orange envelopes in my sleep for some time to come.

"Oohh!" she says, Orange? How orange?"

Yes, says I. Very. Orange. They were quite big and orange.

"Well that explains it", she says. "I did get a big orange envelope some time ago. Beautifully addressed. Stamp in the right place. But no return address or any indication where they came from" .  . and wait for it . . . "nothing in it!"

It's been a long 24 hours . . .  wondering just how many envelopes went out with nothing in them? My new studio assistant points out brightly that as long as I don't have many left, most of the envelopes must have gone out filled, and not empty. There is some logic in that. But none had a return address . . . so if you got a big empty orange envelope with nothing in it, well this is what you were missing.

In the meantime the work continues. .labeling, measuring, counting, framing, stringing, bolting and boxing.  There are even more (different) invites going out late next week for those who are so organised that they like reminders and for the rest of us . . who decide the big things at the last minute.

If you got an empty envelope can you please let me know? 

Thanks

 

INVITE: The Goosefield - An Exhibition 

Opening Reception June 23rd 2017 - 9pm

Signal Art Gallery, Bray

As I write this  I am reminded of a time I spent ten days painting in North Mayo, and picking seaweed.  This was not least because tonight, I had the seaweed for dinner.

Seaweed for dinner

Painting of the coast in North Mayo
where my dinner came from tonight

Sitting here on a Sunday afternoon with the sun is shining - I'm tying myself to my desk trying to play catch up with all kinds of things, because I have lots of news to share.   

Some of my news is that I have participated in two shortish movies about painting . .  One,  at 60 seconds is really really short - and rather sweet. It is called Dathanna (meaning "colours" in the Irish language). It was put together very fast by two young men. The TickTock lads have entered it into a competition run by Sony to tell a story in 60 seconds. 

If you hear no sound, there is a "volume" bar on bottom left, beside the play button. And, if you know how to, and are skilled in these matters, please do "share it" and "like" it. You can forward this email to a friend by clicking on the link     

The second one is a much bigger production (be maybe 8 -10 times longer) and being made collaboratively with Caroline Brennan of Giant Leap Productions and it is currently being lovingly edited.  If you have watched the short documentary, at the 58th second you will have seen me standing on one leg painting like a mad thing, with a canvas tied to fence post and the rain pelting down. So far, so normal . . . 

This is all in aid of my exhibition in Bray in the summer. The exhibition will be in the Signal Arts Centre and will run from Tuesday 20th June - Sunday 2nd July 2017. The opening reception is planned for Friday 23rd June from 7 - 9 pm. 

As the woman said, if you have more than one priority, you have none. And so it is with regret every evening I turn off the blinking screen that I have not yet managed to write a Blog for many weeks now. 

However, today is the day and this is going out before I have my breakfast whether I like it or not and if it is full of typos my new motto as you know is that perfect is the enemy of the good (enough). Seriously. 

Yes, I have lists of my lists. That is so bad and it can only mean one thing. Yes, I am preparing for an exhibition. It is called The Goose Field, and is a series of paintings based on what I see every day. There will be a few surprises in it for those of you who have been following my journey for some time now. 

Suffice to say that it will be my first solo show for a while and I seem to have lost the knack of figuring out what to do in which order. I bought canvases that don't need frames and I painted most of my pictures on special oil paper that do need frames. I order frames in a panic for pictures that are not painted yet. "Business as usual, so", I hear you snort into your morning cappaucino. Well, yes, even I admit this bit is true. 

My blue beetle is sadly no more and for many months now I have been without a car. It has both shrunk and conversely, expanded my world. It has shrunk my work in the sense that I reach out now only within what I consider striking distance of my other set of wheels - about 12 miles. My spectacular bike - which is built for speed, is a challenge on the small country roads. I am of course lit up like some kind of fluorescent lemon and lime spectacle in an effort to be seen by the crazed motorists. 

It has expanded my world in that the world now seems to come to me . . sadly mostly in the form of big brown boxes by courier. But I do try and buy from real shops that deliver. Ding Dong! As the door bell chimes that means another delivery of something I ordered that I don't need yet, but will do one day. It also means it is time for breakfast.

Floving . . the way forward

I have an exciting piece of news. It is in fact for me the MOST EXCITING THING EVER. I am experimenting with new media, Cold Wax. It is a really mucky business.  Really mucky.  What has really helped are things I am now calling "floves" . . which are really really terribly ugly but also by far the best thing  to happen to me since  . . . well since screw cap wine became the norm. These floves are disposable gloves for my feet. My experimental painting rate has shot up now that I not longer need half an hour to clean up after painting with cold wax for 15 minutes.  But more about them at a later date. Yes, Floves. The Way Forward. Now it's time to feed the cat . . 

Still Making Friends with 'Plastic' Paints

Being large, and being
acrylic means I can
walk on it if I want to . . .

For this whole year, I am trying to work with acrylics.

They are slowing me up no end. This is because when they dry, and they dry very quickly, and when it's done, it can't be undone. This is such a different and unforgiving way to work with paint that it is taking some getting used to.

I am working on this large painting since last March. This is not my style. I am, as I have said before trying to paint more the feeling of the place as well as simply record the landscape. 

This painting is of a place I know very well - Six Mile Point in Wicklow. The day I started this, a cold wind was blowing from the East and the tide was out and about to turn. It was only mid-afternoon, but already almost dark and the clouds and the sea were threatening. 

The painting is about 5 feet wide and about half as high.  

It's on a board that is so heavy for me to lug around that I doubted many times the wisdom of starting it. And yet, I keep coming back to it for more than 6 months now.

Yesterday, I managed to stand on it with one foot, while my other foot was trapped under this heavy lump of MDF board. As I felt the searing pain, I was also trying to figure out how I could be crushing my own toes?

But this morning, I think it might be finished.  This is never quite a certain thing, but I am hopeful.

Here are some details from this enormous (for me) painting. When it is declared properly finished, you may see it here

Hanging Myself at the Annual Exhibition of the Royal Irish Academy

This weekend, my self-portrait

has been selected for the Royal Hibernian Academy Summer Exhibition and that will run from May 25th right through the summer until early August.