Between a Rock and The Burren: Massive Update.

Obligatory apologies would be in order if I did not have the excuse of genuinely working hard and having little time to blog. But that is over for this evening at least and I am going to allow myself a little break to play catchup.

Last Friday saw the first Irish Studies lecture in a month. Gordon D'Arcy introduced the lecture with a recap of his recent travels in Romania, and posed us a philosophical question based on the reading he did whilst away. He mentioned he had been catching up on his Dawkins and I leapt on that conversation like a leopard on an antelope calf (on Monday night I watched the first in Dawkins' new three-part documentary series, Sex, Death and the Meaning of Life. The program was an examination of sin and morality; it was a bit unfocused, and a bit old hat for the initiated, but there was a cute dog). After an hour and change of slides showing the flora and wildlife (plus the fauna now extinct from or no longer present in the Burren, e.g., wolves, bears and the Great Auk), we broke for tea and chatted about natural history and the origins of the universe.

Our field trip took us to the Burren National Park, where we hiked between two turloughs (when flooded they become one and cut off the road) and up Mullaghmór mountain. Along the way someone spotted mushrooms, and Gordon wagered they were a variety of psilocybes, with which I initially agreed. Later research left me in doubt, but perhaps the specimens I collected were lookalikes amongst genuine articles.

The folded geology of Mullaghmór.

Bracket fungus.

Mushrooms.

Not sure about these, just thought they were pretty.

Psilocybes?

Turlough with a sinkhole (the darker area in the middle).

Lacking foresight, I had consumed a whole pot of peppermint tea in the cafe before we left. I waited for the herd to pass and paid a visit to nature in a hazel thicket, then jogged through the mud to catch up. The trail became increasingly difficult, steadily uphill and rockier as we went. I regretted wearing a skirt. At length we all reached the summit, and just as the weather turned. Our group huddled at the top of Mullaghmór, sharing umbrellas and raincoats and sandwiches. Gordon pointed out the house where Father Ted was filmed. After ten minutes or so the rain abated and the sun broke out brilliantly. We were try in no time, but the trail down the opposite side of the mountain was fatally muddy.
I very nearly took a nasty spill more than once. A few people did, and no one really escaped without a bruise or a thorn wound. At the bottom Gordon showed us a famine road, leading to nowhere.

Father Ted's house.

Mullaghmór summit.

Points for spotting the subtle rainbow.

Mullaghmór summit as the rain passed over.

The bank of cloud moves on.

The sun warms the hills as we climb back down.

Another big black slug, they are becoming a common sight.

Cladonia fimbriata, or "golf tee" lichen.

After the hike we were all beat. Lindsay discovered the shop in town makes pizza for takeout, so a bunch of us chipped in a few euro and shared two pizzas. Possibly the best decision of the week. The rest of the weekend was relaxing, no one did much except a few Arcadia kids who went to Belfast. I would have missed Irish Studies for it so I did not attend that trip, but I figure there is time enough in the coming months.

This past week kicked off with a laid back Monday as everyone prepared for the London trip. I am one of seven who remained, and even those few dwindled to three by Friday. The majority of the BCA student body headed out at 4:30 or so on Tuesday morning, and the rest of us headed in for a mini-critique with Martina the photography teacher. The session was intense and one of the most helpful critiques I have ever had. Perhaps it was the questions Martina asked, or the input of the post-grads, or just the smaller group size, but I felt more accountable for my work and inspired to investigate my motivations. The critique took all day. On Wednesday we watched Andrei Tarkovsky's Nostalghia followed by brief discussion. Tarkovsky's work requires digestion, but the film is sensitively constructed and intensely Oedipal.

I did not get very much done on Wednesday afternoon, and by that evening I was beginning to feel the crunch. On Thursday I had a plan. I did not go into the studio but filmed an hour for my live art project. I think it will be obvious that I have never used video before, but as a test piece I am satisfied with the result and hope it grows into something more. I spent Thursday afternoon editing the piece together and doing sketches for another project.

On Friday, my roommate Rebecca and I were the only two left in the house. Everyone else had gone to Cork for a photography exhibit. Only the two of us and a couple of post-grads were left, and we were in doubt about a van pickup in the morning. I chose the long way for the walk to the college. The sun was rising over the Burren and it was the most balmy of mornings. I did not even need a jacket.

Morning in Ballyvaughan.

I spent the morning and some of the afternoon sewing pockets onto my winter coat for mixed media. At lunchtime Jill (MFA student, and the only other one in the studios) was kind enough to hunt down the keys and unlock the cafe for me so that I might microwave my lunch and grab a spoon. I began my next advanced drawing project in the later afternoon. The topic is "narrative," and I am drawing from recent dreams and some images that keep cropping up in reality. The narrative will surely be a bit ambiguous, but so far I am pleased with it. I spent all day in the company of the T.C. (stands for The Cat, in case you forgot), who gratefully relieved me of some bits of egg in my fried rice.

T.C. chillin'.

I cleared this spot for him but he still preferred my lap.

The walk home was another good head-clearing. Everyone was coming home from London in a few hours, so I made the most of the solitude. I biked down to the petrol station for toilet paper and decided that an eight euro bottle of South African red was in order. I made grilled cheese and fried some parsnip crisps in olive oil for dinner. Who could ask anything more? The last few quiet hours were gone too soon. It would be a lie if I said I prefer the bustle of ten other bodies moving to and fro all the time, but the isolation would probably have begun to get unhealthy after another day or so.

I will wrap up with a few recent samples from life drawing class.