Blog written 25th June, mid afternoon
Good conversation has been had today. This may be becaue I was happy(ish) with the work I made and so I am feeling positive, but I also think everyone is really settled into the island routine now, and people are feeling more confident and relaxed with each other.Funding systems are a favourite topic, the comparison between England and other nations. Also the benefit of space to think.
On a more basic note we all agree we are beginning to smell. Washing in the sea does help but not everyone is happy to brave the cold water. I have sympathy for the more recently arrived artists who are trapped in the small cottage each evening with those of us who have been here a few days!
More work ideas are flooding my mind and I have two further pieces that I think I will make. These too will be memorials. Tomorrow I will walk to the highest spot of the island up by the old water tower and remains of the windmill and make a cairn.Both a symbol of achievement – as in walkers reaching a summit – but also as a symbol of existence, seen from all sides of the island. Throughout Irish history, cenotaphs and cairns have been made as memorials to the lost. Although many of these have elaborate celtic decoration, some are simple . They hold an eloquence of meaning by direct statement. Although memorials can have both Pagan or religious roots, for me in simple terms, they mark the spot and it is this aspect that I wish to honour.
Rosie and I have talked about the possibility of an exchange between Ireland and England. My studio is situated in a coastal area and there are some similarities between Roundstone and home. I think this is something that I should pursue once back in England.
Blog written 25th June early morning
I have woken feeling bright, energetic and full of excited anticipation for making. What is it about being an artist that revives the soul and invigorates the mind and body? Is it because of the inherent need to create? Are artists responding to their genetic code? Or is it because artists choose to listen to their inner creative voice more than others? And by responding to a subconscious desire we automatically feel fulfilled and enriched?
After seeing a large pile of sheep fleeces abandoned and wet alongside one of the island tracks I started thinking about the commerciality of living and the need for currency in order to exist. Islanders here led a simple life and yet still maintained (and needed) a trading relationship with the mainland. At its most potent, the economy on Inishlacken thrived. The fish, wool and boat building industry [today the word 'industry' implies big business unlike on Inishlacken, which would have been small] provided much needed commodities. But now, as in many parts of the world today, fish are caught only when quota's allow, boat building is not a viable business and the fleece of a sheep is worthless.
These thoughts form the basis for Memorial to the Islanders II, a performance piece incorporating the fleeces from the sheep of Inishlacken.
Rosie and Una agree to film and shoot stills and the performance is scheduled for later in the day. The weather is wonderful, hot and sunny with a light breeze – perfect. Phil warns me to watch out for ticks in the fleece. It's not advice I relish although I am grateful to him never the less.
The piece goes off ok, its hard to tell when you are the performer. Una seems pleased with the view through the video lens. I will wait until I return home to Suffolk to pass judgment. The video editing will give me ample chance to analyze every second!
We sunbathe afterwards and chat and I feel the skin on my arms begin to burn. The sand is white and the sea an amazing blue, more reminiscent of the Mediterranean than the Atlantic. This is truly an idyllic place on a day like today.
More images of Memorial I
Blog entry for 24th June
This evening my first piece of work was created; it is the first in a planned series of four entitled Memorial to the Islanders. Thinking about life (and death) on Inishlacken, the need to take the dead to the mainland by boat for their last blessings and burial and all this at the mercy of the weather, typifies the routine imposed onto life here by the elements. The Irish are known for their religious beliefs, looking from the outside for those of us from other cultures, sometimes it can seem more like religious fervor. So I am left wondering what impact a death must have had on this small close-knit community. Although any life that is lost is a tragedy to the Inishlacken Islanders it must have been a keenly felt loss. Not just because the religious rituals could not take place here but also because the size, efficiency and viability of the community would be less strong with the loss just one person.
Memorial to the Islanders I began as a private work but ended as one involving the whole Inishlacken community. My intention to make 200 paper boats (one for each islander) became a shared task and by 3.30 in the afternoon, without any coercion on my part, pretty much everyone was around the table in Finklater’s Cottage folding, pulling and teasing paper boats from torn sketchbook sheets. Mo, Siobhan, Emma, Jenny, Sean, Kate, Phil set up an industrious boat-making factory with an average work rate of three boats per minute. In a short time we had made 160, and to my sadness also ran out of paper. To mitigate this two sheets of larger watercolour paper was used to make a flagship and rear guard vessel, big enough to have carried the remaining 40 of the population.
Today is also St John’s Day, celebrated across Ireland and linked to the longest day but also a Catholic observance. Fires are lit along the coastline and this evening several could be seen from here, glowing along the mainland and the coast of Inishnee island. Today’s windy weather with some showers gave way, as if ordered, to a warm, dry evening so by 11.30pm being outside in the fading light was a pleasant experience
As the light was lost and the moon assumed control, the flaming boats were launched by their makers into a large rock pool whose shape bore a loose resemblance to Inishlacken. Against the darkening sky the flames illuminated the pool and surrounding area as Kate played the Bodrhan in a solemn rhythmic beat. People stopped talking and stood still, watching.
One of the problems of retrospective blogging is that the dates can get confused. And it is no surprise this has happened in my busy and currently rather disorganized life. This entry was in fact written on 22nd June and precedes the last three entries.
More people have arrived today, Mo, Jemima and Siobhan. Talk is about the project next year and artists who are on Rosie's wish list to invite next year.
Went swimming – very cold water – Rosie and Phillip came too and we swam and talked about the Venice Biennale (Rosie went to Venice just before the project started). The opening of the English Pavillion and Tracey Emin’s speech, her desperate attempt never to grow up but to remain disruptive, controversial. Does she need to do this anymore? I read a press article (or was it something on the television?) that stated she was now part of the establishment. Maybe she still feels the need to grab the headline and kick over the traces lest she lose her appeal to the press and publicity to boot.
I’ve thought a lot today about work and the differences here to my everyday life back in England. The most liberating aspect is not being at the mercy of the mobile phone or computer. It has been three days and I feel free! I am running on leisurely Irish time. The practical work has been done at a steady pace and in the company of like-minded people. This makes me question the tendency for life to be so instant and frantic. Deadlines need to be met but at what expense? Does true creativity flourish in a climate of peace and tranquil thought and reflection? Can it truly be manifest from an environment of pressure and brinkmanship?
