Oct 15, 2022
Madly tap my mouse and type on my keyboard with massive expectations with what can be achieved in the next 12 hours,
As I continue to madly tap my mouse and type on my keyboard with massive expectations with what can be achieved in the next 12 hours,
I am secure in the knowledge that it is all ok, even if the world is turned upside down . . You'd never know the world is in turmoil if you make it to Tinahely tomorrow. In the Courthouse, all will be calm. There will be little in the way of speech making, and hopefully some time for a bit of real conversation. If you've not been to an art exhibition opening before, don't be intimidated. It's best described as a relaxed party in the afternoon.
You can ask questions like, "Why don't you paint The Sea/Boats/ Bogs /Rare Fen Habitats anymore?"
And if you either like (or don't like what you see) and are afraid of how to respond if asked, take my advice . . it's nearly always possible to comment that "It's got lots of energy".
I've used this phrase myself, loads of times, to significant effect in the very same situation. (Thanks, John McGahern)
I suspect that some of you might be curious to know what happened to the painting I attempted to repair with the iron and only made it worse. Thankfully, it was surplus to requirements, and the show looks great without it. I even fixed the hole by cutting the painting, and I painted over the melted wax iron-shaped marks. Now it is an even better painting than it was before, although I doubt it will ever see a frame.
And so, it is with more than a bit of embarrassment that I offer this advice: , if you intend to travel tomorrow, do keep a keen eye out all the way and use your own judgement rather than blindly following roadsigns, satnav or Google. I am not afraid to use a SatNav or a map, but as I keep getting lost, I have learned to temper my enthusiasm for blindly going where Google has gone before.
If you are driving from Dublin and the north, use the N11 as far as junction 16 Rathnew, heading for Glenealy on the R772. Avoid going via Arklow as there is really no need, and there were loads of roadworks and weird diversions.
If you are coming from the south, Tinahely is 30 mins north of Bunclody and 40 mins north of Enniscorthy. If coming from anywhere else, I can only advise beware of false directions and crazy diversions and leave in plenty of time. There is a bus service from Arklow train station at 11.58 am if you are that way inclined. It takes 45 mins.
Whatever way you travel, if you arrive early, I understand that O'Connor's Bar, next door to the Gallery, has a carvery lunch on Sundays (if that's your thing). If it's not, the Farm Shop & Restaurant provides for everyone else, and they say that most of their food is "gluten-free and vegetarian".
Sep 22, 2022
Despite my best efforts, there is pandemonium in the studio right now. Wet paintings everywhere, half-finished, half done. I am racing to the wire with my distinctive, peculiar loping gait.
Despite my best efforts, there is pandemonium in the studio right now. Wet paintings everywhere, half-finished, half done. I am racing to the wire with my distinctive, peculiar loping gait.  You might recall that I sincerely tried to avoid this outcome several months ago by getting frames made for paintings not yet started. I even bought bubble wrap. By now most of the paintings for the show are wrapped, labelled, and ready to be hung two weeks from Monday. But recently, I discovered that the list doesn't correspond with the pile and must be redone. So far, so typical If it involves numbers, I get it wrong every time. So, with his generosity of spirit my Beloved is marching around with loving kindness trying to reconcile the list with the neat stack of bubble-wrapped paintings. The labels are duplicated and numerous but in their content they vary wildly. I am at pains to tell him to just "trust the numbers". Whatever about a consistent title, every painting gets a number early on. Then it gets entered into my beautiful database. Always. He can bearly contain his incredulity at the confusion I have managed to create, and neither can he contain his mirth.  I am only interrupting this tranquil scene to let you know that the date has been set for the opening reception for this show at the Courthouse Arts Centre, Tinahely Co Wicklow, on Sunday afternoon, October 16, 2022. My other big news is that I will be included (in a small way) in a TV programme on TG4 called Imeall (Edge) tomorrow night, celebrating Culture Night. The Red Shoe Film crew came here months ago, and despite my love of the cúpla focail, I couldn't cobble together a few sentences 'as Gaeilge'*. For that reason, my contribution will all be 'i mBéarla'.** I find it hard enough to be coherent in English that it was extremely challenging in Irish. I gave it my best shot, and before throwing in the towel, I talked a lot of nonsense about being out of my mind instead of what was in my mind. I probably never said truer words (in Irish or in English) |
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Jul 1, 2022
Requiem for the Norm
I will soon address a conference in New York about my work in the 1980s. The conference was entitled Requiem for the Norm, and celebrated the life and work of Lorenza Böttner. This Chilean/German artist was born in 1959, and although her artistic career spanned just sixteen years, Böttner created hundreds of individual works, using dance, photography, street performance, drawing, and installation to celebrate the complexity of armless embodiment and gender expression. Casting herself as a ballerina, a mother, a young man with glass arms, a Greek statue, Böttner’s work is irreverent and hedonistic, filled with the artist’s joy in her own body.
Curated by Paul B. Preciado, the exhibition was co-produced by Württembergischer Kunstverein Stuttgart, Germany, and La Virreina Centre de la Imatge Barcelona, Spain. This touring exhibition is organized by the Art Museum at the University of Toronto, Canada, in collaboration with the producers, the Württembergischer Kunstverein Stuttgart, Germany, and La Virreina Centre de la Imatge Barcelona, Spain.
26 Wooster Street
New York, NY 10013
Jun 6, 2022
Dutch Hansa Championships
Delighted to have come 5th in the Dutch National Championships in Heeg, today
May 21, 2022
All wild, windswept and interesting . .
if you have been reading this blog for a while, I imagine you think this artful life is interesting and full of strange encounters?
Well, you are right. This week was no different. The studio visitor was all wild, windswept, and interesting (as well as a bit 'flappy'). I did not entertain him for long. He left abruptly, somewhat disgruntled.
Now, to be fair, I know him well. He visits regularly. In fact, his family has been guests under our roof for as long as I can remember (well over two decades). They are all intrepid, independent traveler types. They drop in, poke about and stay the whole summer.
This week, when one of them popped into the studio, the welcome was a little cold, unfriendly, possibly even, a bit, dare I say . . hostile?
It was not a good time.
These days my studio is busy. I am preoccupied, dealing with numbers. There is a lot of measuring and labeling, stacking and storing to be done, as I force myself to focus on preparing for not one, not two, but three exhibitions before the end of the year. As a result, I can't do much painting. I rely on most of my visual thrills in artfully arranging cucumber peel or lime zest over baba ghanoush. But now as the measuring and labeling, storing and stacking continues, I can actually see an end in sight. In the past, it was different. There was never any sense of completion until the work was dispatched to the gallery. At that time, my biggest failure was to keep painting until the day before the exhibition was hung, madly framing anything that didn't move. This meant when it came to hanging the show, I would have many options, few regrets, and lots to choose from. This is no way to organise an exhibition. Trust me. So, now, I am doing it differently. I am determined to do it better. For weeks now, most of the work has been spread out all over the floor. Five months out, I find myself working with what I've got until I have it all finished, framed and ready to go. I have even ordered bubble wrap. In this context, yesterday's visitor proved quite the disruption. With the sun shining, and a light breeze blowing, I had flung the doors wide open with abandon. He swoops in, with a flourish. He was all glamorous and noisy, purposeful and speedy while managing at the same time to be darkly dramatic. I was in no mood. I reached for the floor brush sweeping it about, hoping to discourage his enthusiasm for an unscheduled visit. This didn't work very well as a strategy.  Instead of getting the hint and going back out as quick as he came, he artfully avoided the messy floor by soaring above it all. At the same time, I must admit, he was making very appreciative noises (I can only assume it was about the artwork).Because my workspace is full of wet, white-painted frames, I couldn't help noticing his rigout. He was stunningly attired . . . black dress suit complete with tails, and a lovely bright orange sash to the front. As elegant as he was handsome, as noisy as he was nimble, I still urged him towards the door. But he wasn't having any of it. Eventually, tiring of us I suppose, and the artwork, he started to screech so alarmingly I feel sure the whole neighbourhood would rush in to find what the commotion was about. In desperation to see him leave, I closed the blinds. It had the effect of darkening the space. It left him one option. And thankfully he took it, leaving as swiftly as he came. For my troubles, on his departure, he endowed me with a gift of his own. During his swooping strike on this studio, he shat on the nice, clean, white frames. As it is being washed off and repainted, we can only marvel and be forever grateful that he missed each and every one of the paintings. |
Feb 14, 2022
On Bravura and Barmy Requests
"How long did it take you to paint that?" It is a question that I am asked frequently and I never quite know how to answer. In the old days, I would say (with a smirk), “half a day and half a lifetime”. But that was me just trying to avoid the question. It was not true then, and it's not true now. My paintings are always like open-ended conversations. They start at some point after I begin with bravura* and end only when the painting leaves the studio. Tone, of course, is everything. Often the question sounds like an attempt at polite conversation . . . (which it is not). Like the question awkward adults often ask children . . “What class are you in at school?” Other times, it presents as a challenge.. . . If it costs this much, and it took you that long, "shouldn't we all have a go at this painting craic?" And yet, other times, the tone has a dollop of “All the same, isn’t it a great way for you to pass the time?” So, really, how long does it actually take me to paint a painting? I finished a commission recently so I should really be able to quantify it. Since December 1st, I have worked mostly on this one commission (although I have tried and failed to finish 3 other paintings as well). That’s about 9 weeks. In getting to the final piece, I used three large canvases (most bigger than myself). I knew what was the right size for the job, but in the Brexit / Covid climate,  But even then, as I discarded the one that was too small, and started on a larger one, the conversation turned slightly weird . . The image began to represent something not at all suitable for the living room of a couple starting out in life. And so it was a big brush and lots of white paint to pivot that conversation. That painting reminded me of a woman in the supermarket who explained to me in all seriousness that she can't wear a mask because she needs to lipread. I resisted pointing out that a mask would not cover her eyes and therefore would not interfere with lipreading. Instead, I just moved along. At last, I am learning to disengage with all the daft conversations that exist in my world. . . like the intense, earnest young man who asked me to teach him to paint “with his feet”, because he said he had “tried and tried and read all the books" and he still couldn't paint. He told me "Seriously, I really couldn’t manage it with my hands. I need your help" He had tried very hard. Now he wanted to try using his feet. He said I made it look "easy". Right. I confess I did look around for the hidden camera. But he was serious. I was, he said, his last shot. Would I not help him realise his dream of being an artist? As I said, it is really enough to have the paintings talking to me without him at it in that slightly too serious tone of voice. The conversation with the painting does not begin easily and certainly, not straight away. There is that awkward bit of making a start first. This ball is firmly in my court. I start really without knowing what to expect. But when it does begin, the talking back never stops. I can only get to appreciate the painting when I take it out of the studio and place it on what I call, “my breakfast wall”, my wall of contemplation (what I see before I try and do anything else in the morning). When on the contemplation wall, something changes. The conversation on both sides ceases. But back to the big painting I delivered recently. I had some instructions for the commission before I started. . . It had to be big. It had to light up a large 5-metre high dark wall. It had celebrate the colour orange and mark the start of this couple’s lives together. It does all this and more. Happy Valentines Day to you and yours, |
Bravura . . I had to look up the definition to make sure it meant what I intended and the answer is yes. "a show of daring or brilliance" |
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