A 6 a.m. wake-up call and 7:10 departure left us all in a fog for the 3 and a half hours to Dublin on Thursday morning. Our bus had no legroom, and I really cannot stress this to a point where it can accurately described without experiencing it for yourself. I curled up on my seat and got as comfortable as possible, and after half an hour of dozing, began to feel all the little knobs and knots that were sticking into me and making this the most uncomfortable position possible. We all bore it though, and around 11 we pulled up the the Hugh Lane gallery.
The Huge Lane.
Photography was not allowed inside. The current exhibition,
Sleepwalkers, left me cold, which was unfortunate as it was crafted by a BCA alumnus. But much of the other work was grand. The main galleries boasted a very nice Monet cityscape and a whole room devoted to Corot. The stars of the Hugh Lane are undoubtedly Francis Bacon's studio and the Louis le Brocquy paintings, all of which are staggering and gorgeous and horrifying. While not built up into the third dimension like a Van Gogh, le Brocquy's work is incredibly tactile, and must be experienced in the flesh. In the interest of sharing some sort of reference, feel free to Google
Family, Isolated Being, Child in a Yard and
Homage to Clonfert.
Also on show at the Hugh Lane was a Harry Clarke stained glass window. I knew Clarke from his Poe illustrations, and was only vaguely aware of his work with stained glass.
The Eve of St. Agnes is a delicate treasure, and requires close inspection for many minutes to see every detail. Again, Googling will provide a link to a close up on the Harry Clarke website.
Upstairs was a temporary exhibition,
Revolutionary States: Home Rule & Modern Ireland. First off was a dreadful gallery of what must be the most boring portraiture known to Ireland. Every painter a "Sir" or a "Lord," and every subject the same, all realist renditions of old men. Luckily there was a room of much nicer stuff adjacent. A few Sarah Purser pastels (her portrait of W.B. Yeats definitely spoke to me [figuratively]), some newspapers and printed materials, works by John Lavery and William Orpen, and comic prints by Jack B. Yeats.
Of course the Bacon studio was fantastic. There was a 20 minute filmed interview with Francis Bacon before you went in, and he said so many things that resonated with where I am as an artist. The studio is a complete catastrophe of thrown paint, piled newspapers, easels, books, brushes, rags, shoes, clippings and squeezed out paint tubes. It was a work of art in itself, like nest of forced, manic creativity. There were a few of his paintings there as well,
Head of a Woman gave me a real fright. She looked as if she would open her eyes and come shrieking out of the canvas at you at any second.
After lunch at a Chinese restaurant down the street we were back on the bus. We crossed over the Liffey and headed into Temple Bar (Dublin's "cultural quarter") and our hostel. Checked in and bags unloaded, we walked through the city, hitting up all the trendy galleries with current artists' work, which was very hit or miss. Our last stop on the galleries tour was the RHA (Royal Hibernian Academy). This gallery contained a large collection of Seán Keating's work. His studies are nice, and I did get something out of it. However, I cannot help but feel that his juxtaposition of naturalistic forms (humans, trees, trenches, earth) and picky, measured placements of cranes and machines, all drawn in with rulers and hairlines, is illogical and inconsistent. That said, they are still nice to look at.
There was some strange stuff upstairs, including a bouncy castle dolmen and a wall of tiny, landscape paintings that look like photographs from a distance.
A sort of silly sculptural piece, but it really felt lovely standing in the light.
We walked back to the hostel and were free for dinner. Passed Oscar Wilde's house on the way. It was closed.
21 Westland Row.
Back at the hostel, I spent an hour people watching from the wide windowsill. In the heart of Temple Bar, once sees such lovely pictures. So many people, locals and tourists, mixing and wandering the cobbled alleys. Lots of cyclists and dogs, and always the bustling din. I broke out the camera and had a go at some proper snaps.
Across the street.
A couple of ne'er-do-wells puffing outside the club opposite.
Having a whack at composition.
Contrary to her face and posture, she was not homeless and seemed very happy.
Met up with some of our group for dinner. Returned to O'Neill's on Suffolk street, which may be popular with tourists, but their triple decker sandwiches are everything good in the world. I made a grievous error and said yes to mustard. The stuff they use could make a stone weep. I could eat mouthfuls of wasabi and come out in a better state. I had to grab a knife and fork to dismantle the beast, scrape off most of the yellow acid, hold my breath and close my eyes, and then it was just bearable. But do not mistake my tears for regret, I loved every bite of that sandwich.
After O'Neill's we wandered back to Temple Bar. There were others on a makeshift pub crawl, but our paths never crossed despite a storm of texting. My little group hopped from one pub to another to a mix of traditional Irish music, Johnny Cash and the Proclaimers. Most places were crowded beyond sense, and a little too touristy. I decided to make an early evening of it and got back to the hostel at 11.
A good policy.
On Friday morning we went down for a breakfast of toast and water. We checked out and left our bags in the luggage store before walking to Clare Street and the National Gallery. Many of the exhibits were closed or undergoing some sort of redesign, but there was a whole display of Jack B. Yeats which was, at times, laugh out loud funny stuff. A gallery of Irish artists included some of J.B. Yeat's paintings and a bunch of other, more boring stuff. There was a collection of artists' self-portraits, some of which were very different and really nifty, a gallery of uninspiring figurative sculpture and the main galleries of European painting. Vermeer and Van Gogh made appearances here, and there was a Picasso I really wanted to like, but I just could not manage it.
Our next stop was the National Museum of Ireland, which housed an array of prehistoric objects: pots, cauldrons, axes, gold hoards, brooches, crosses and long boats. With only an hour to spend, I stayed on the ground floor and wandered through the treasury, which housed the Tara Brooch and the Cross of Cong. Deeper inside were pillars adorned with Ogham script and fragments of the Faddan More Psalter.
Photography was discouraged here as well, but I snagged one of the Gleninsheen collar, which was found by chance just a few miles from where I am living.
The Gleninsheen Collar.
Ancient Celtic armaments.
After the National Museum, my fellow Arcadia students and I headed back to Clare Street for our official welcome lunch. We went back to the National Gallery and enjoyed a filling meal at the cafe. I had a teriyaki salmon salad and an almond apple tart with three cups of tea. We discussed how we were settling in, and talked about fairies and ghosts of all things. Back at the Arcadia office we signed off on our official course selection forms and I got the pertinent information about extending my stay at the Burren through the spring semester.
We set our sights on Harcourt St. and M. Kennedy & Sons artist materials shop. It was a hike, but we cut through St. Stephen's Green diagonally. I found some 8B pencils (difficult to find, 5B seems the peak at most places) and coloured conte crayons. There were pads of pastel paper which were incredibly tempting, but I decided €26 was hefty even for the pristine quality.
A willow on St. Stephen's Green.
St. Stephen's Green. Look at that sky.
And so we walked back to Temple Bar. We had an hour before we had to be back to the hostel, and my ever-changing group spent it investigating the little vintage clothing and jewelry shops. I found a very nice scarf and wanted to get a little bracelet or something, but nothing captured my fancy. We collected our bags and spent a lot of time waiting, then grabbed a sandwich for the ride home and were on our way. The bus pickup was right on time.
Our favourite consulting detective, on the wall of our hostel kitchen.
Or candy! Found in a Temple Bar vintage shop.
The ride back was even less comfortable than the journey there, but my failing iPod braved the trip, making it much less painful. We arrived back in Ballyvaughan just as QI was to start, but our television was being temperamental as ever, so I had to make do with going to sleep instead. No complaints there. Today I feel lazy, but as Reggie Perrin would say, time and motion wait for no man.
