Undergraduate Exhibition Opening

Our final lecture and sojourn with Gordan D'Arcy was on Friday. We discussed art in conflict, the politics of Northern Ireland and looked at a lot of gable art. We took a long walk after that, through the woods, along the road and down a peninsula I never knew existed. It was a beautiful day for it, brisk and bright and made all the more special by friends.

Sarcoscypha coccina, spotted on the final Irish Studies trek.

A friendly fellow.

Walking along the sandy peninsula.

I helped a few others with their hanging on Friday night, as I was finished with my own set-up. Precious few hours remained before our exhibition opening. The title of the show is 14:1, in reference to the female to male ratio of the undergraduates. In the end I chose to use an abstract artist statement, because I realized I was tired of summarizing my work in dry, academic fashion. I priced each piece, though I am not very hopeful they will sell. Everyone else's work is astounding, and the use of the new barn studios for gallery space was a boon. 

My exhibition space.

Playground: just about the most ambitious thing I've done.

And so the opening commenced on Saturday night. People began arriving a little after five, and in droves by six. In characteristic Irish fashion things were only loosely on schedule, and so the opening speech was not until 6:30. I ducked out to prepare for my performance, which was immediately following. It was a flurry of preparation and then suddenly there were twenty or more people staring me down and waiting for a piece of performance art. But things went smoothly, and I received very encouraging feedback on it. I filmed the piece, and it will be uploaded somewhere in the wasteland of the internet ere long.

The only major injury of the opening: Rebecca breaks her toe.

Just before my performance began. Photocred: Laura Love.

Winding down.

At eight, Robert "the Brilliant" Wainwright was kind enough to drive us all home to Orchard House. I will leave the festivities to the imagination of my readers, as I have already heard enough about what I don't remember of them. Congratulations to us!

The Weekend, Part II

I will open this post with my artist statement for my "politics of place" project.

"This work depicts a gathering of the major players in world affairs. I have followed the tradition of personifying nations as symbolically female. America is a morbidly obese woman, an excess of kitsch resting in an inflatable pool overflowing with oil. She is handcuffed to China, a mix of tradition and industrialism. Europe is old, at once fertile and maternal. She is paired with an emaciated Africa, and they share in desperation: one for sustenance, the other to provide it. The middle east's emotions are an open question as she isolates herself, cutting her wrist into a stream of black oil. The ambitious scale of the piece presented challenges I have never faced before. Covering large areas in flat black necessitated the use of different media such as ink and oil bar. This experimentation has been useful because it is conducive to my stylistic direction, and an encouraging step forward. As with previous work, I have tried to keep a darkly comic, narrative sensibility, allowing the viewer to bring their own subjectivity to the piece."

I sketched this project on Wednesday the 28th of November, but began in earnest on Thursday night. I pulled two semi-all-nighters (4 am and 6 am) at the studio and somehow pulled through it without destroying my health. Eating lemons and cayenne pepper helped. In my statement I neglect to mention South America, who is in the background snorting cocaine. She is less important, and mostly there as a self-indulgence. I expect this will offend some people, and my hope is that it does not discriminate in its offense. This project really is about apathy with the state of the world. Politics sucks. Hopefully I have pulled something beautiful from the suckage. Dimensions: 94" x 65".

Graphite sketch.

Erasing graphite, drawing in charcoal and ink.

Significant progress! Flat blacks are happening...

The ceremonial halfway point.

The pipes are finally in...

...and there they go. And this is when I called it done.

The Weekend, Part I

 Much has transpired since my last post. A visit to Coole Park made for a fascinating and productive fungi hunt during the Irish Studies field trip. My camera has spontaneous flickered back to life, my mixed media project has come down to make way for the graduate student show, and I have slaved endlessly on my final drawing project. This weekend was my last chance to go to Galway until the bus transfer en route to Dublin at the end of the term.
In the interest of cohesive chronology, let's begin with my "beauty" project. This piece comprises 32 9"x12" drawings. The media include ink, charcoal, graphite, colored pencil and watercolor pencil. Plus gratuitous smudging. I installed the drawings along the length of one of the gallery walls, and unfortunately I was unable to document the entire installation due to other pieces obstructing the view. I am currently working on stitching together the photographs I have to recreate the effect of all 32 drawings laid out horizontally. Below is a bit of documentation, just to give you an idea of how it looked.

"Too Much Everything" I.

"Too Much Everything" II.

"Too Much Everything" III.

"Too Much Everything" IV.

Kelsey imitates her favorite face.

On Thursday this work had to come down. After I finished de-installing, it was time to begin in earnest on my 'politics of place' drawing project, the final on this term. I knew it was to be a late night, so I prepared a miniature feast for myself and a few friends, and fortified my spirits with green tea.

Left this note to myself after a nasty burn, but tonight the thrill of the forbidden beckoned, and I did indeed drink my tea directly from the flask.

Quinoa salad (feta cheese and basil with honey balsamic vinaigrette), freshly made hummus, sesame Ryvita, red dragon wine.

The 'politics of place' project sketch. The piece of 94"x65".

Still a sane hour, as shown by my clean face and only semi-charcoaled hands.

Around 2 am I had a chimney sweep vibe happening, so naturally I burst into song.

At some unearthly hour we left the studio and collapsed into bed. Of those who stayed late, I was the only one to attend Irish Studies the following morning. The others were not incapable of making it to the lecture, but rather preferred to use the day to work. I was envious, especially since the field trip consisted of visiting touristy places (our topic was "The contemporary Burren").

In the blur of exhaustion on Friday.

The mist coming in.

The Burren Perfumery.

On Saturday I had to be up early again to go to Galway. On the way to the bus we noticed some new arrivals in the field across the street.

The cattle across the street from our house have been replaced by horses.

The Christmas market is up and running at Eyre Square. Every stall is tempting: there is are food carts offering sweet and savory crepes, fried breakfast foods, macaroons in the flavors and colors of the rainbow, and exotic meats from kangaroo to springbok. I skipped over the shopping I could not afford and went straight to business picking up the bits and pieces I needed. Loaded up on cappuccino, I took a walk along along the river Corrib, where I passed a defecating wolfhound and made awkward but brief eye contact through a window with a dentist hard at work. St. Nicholas Collegiate Church was ringing out Christmas songs all day. I discovered a few charming clothing shops and an Asian food store on Abbeygate Street, which has become my new favorite spot in Galway city.

Didgeridooist.

 Attire for analyst/therapists or actors in a vintage shop.

An Imperial loyalist at the Galway Christmas market.

The River Corrib in the afternoon light.

Horses for safe and easy riding.

I looked around but could not find the author of these words.

Sweet ascots.

Because we had not the least intention of staying until the 6 pm bus, our group of four pooled on a taxi. Our driver was a pleasant enough man, quite old and recently retired, he had lived for many years in San Diego and also knew the East coast of America a bit. Unfortunately he was an incredibly slow driver and did not know where Ballyvaughan was, so what should have been a 40 euro taxi ride ballooned to nearly twice that. Even splitting four ways it was a gross expense. But such is life.

Next time we explore the progression of my final drawing project, stay tuned!

New Work in Life Drawing

This morning was heralded by the welcome surprise of my camera spontaneously working again. I was so ecstatic I took photographs all day. Here are three of some recent work in life drawing class. More to follow, including the documentation of my "Beauty" piece currently on display in the gallery.

Narrative Project completion.

At last my Narrative project for Advanced Drawing comes to a close. The work is based on dream imagery which has specific, personal meaning, but it is my hope that the piece remains open to the interpretation of the viewer. This endeavor has used the very last remnants of Char-Kole, so I may have to use the lower quality compressed charcoal from now on, which is a sad thing indeed. It just does not get the dense, flat black.
But to business. The largest piece is very approximately 5 ft square, but that is a generous ballpark. The peripheral pieces are somewhere in the vicinity of 2ft wide, but they are not square and all have slanting edges, so there is nothing exact about it. The important thing to note is that it is large and covers half of one of my studio walls.

 Window.

Detail of Dad.

Detail of Mum.

Detail of Visored American.

Drawer 46.

Surprise Party.

Cash.

The entire assembly. 

Apologies for blurred focus, thanks to Lindsay Stevens for the loan of her camera.

Dingle

It should be noted by any follower of this blog that my camera is currently banjaxed (to use an Irish colloquialism), so until I am able to consult a Canon-literate professional, I will not be posting any photographs excepting those taken with kindly lent cameras.

This past weekend we took a trip to Dingle on the Kerry coast. The bus ride was long, but we stopped in Adare, a rich and touristy town that reminded me strongly of New England. A sudden hailstorm forced a few of us into the nearest pub for a quick lunch before we continued on to Dingle.

The landscape changed as we entered Kerry. The hills rolled and inclined more sharply, the valleys and bluffs seemed straight out of fantasy stories. Heavy rain met us as we pulled into the town of Dingle. It is the quintessential coastal destination in Ireland. Our hostel was the best I have seen yet, cozy and snug and better equipped than any in Dublin. The room I shared was more like a hotel room than a hostel. I walked about with a group that continually changed, losing or gaining companions as we went. We stopped into the little shops for an hour before everything closed. It was not the best planning that we had left at 10:30, as it allowed very little meandering time on Saturday evening. We did manage to visit The Little Cheese Shop, where I procured a wedge of staggeringly strong Stilton and a couple of exotically flavored chocolates. I only tried the thyme/basil and salted pecan flavors, but they are life-changing. As soon as I got back I had to look up bus routes back to Dingle simply for the chocolate. Turns out it involves at least four bus transfers, and a total trip of between 7 and 18 hours. There is always next semester.

I detoured with Luisa to the church on the hill to see if they were still open, as the building boasts some Harry Clarke windows. Unfortunately we had just missed their opening hours. We had consolation sandwiches at Harrington's fish restaurant and wandered back to the hostel. A quick run to SuperValu (the only thing open past 6 pm) and an evening of QI with tea and biscuits by the fire made for a pleasant if uneventful evening.

On Sunday morning we climbed back onto the bus for a tour of the Kerry coast. We stopped here and there for photographs, and my fellow students were very obliging with their cameras. We made it to a sandy beach where many of us, myself included, decided to take a wade in the freezing Atlantic waters. A particularly robust wave nearly washed all of our shoes out to sea, and we scrambled madly to save them before being hurried back to the bus so we would not miss our appointment at the Great Blasket Island center. There was another group at the center, most of whom were from Springfield, Massachusetts, where the residents of Great Blasket emigrated in 1953.

Enjoying the surf. Credit: Allison Bogard.

On the beach. Credit: Allison Bogard.

The path to the Gallarus Oratory. Credit: Luisa Earle.

The Westernmost point on the Irish mainland. Credit: Allison Bogard.

We continued on the coast of the peninsula and stopped off at the Gallarus Oratory, a tiny Church believed to be early Christian. We traveled back into Dingle the faster way and had a quick lunch. I was sorry to leave without having more time to explore, but I added many spots in Dingle to my list of places I mist revisit. Nearly everyone fell asleep on the return journey, but we were roused for a bathroom break at the Crescent shopping center in Dooradoyle an hour or two before reaching the Burren. Reinvigorated with miniature muffins and tea, we dozed for the last stretch of the bus ride before collapsing in our beds. At least I did, though I know some people of questionable sanity who ended up pulling all-nighters at the studio after getting back.