Blog written 26th June, 9.50am
Woke up this morning in the cottage in Roundstone feeling very hot. The central heating system seems over zealous! I have become acclimatised to island life and sleeping in a draughty shed. Strangely although my shower last night was unbelievably fantastic, refreshing and cleansing, I am now yearning for the very REALNESS of the island and the way I felt so vital and alive there in spite of the basic facilities and lack of water. Thoughts of lying awake, hunkered down in my sleeping bag, wind and rain circulating the shed outside have become memories and as such a great loss, the result of which is an overwhelming, engulfing sadness.
On waking I read several pages of the book by Tim Robinson, Connemara, Listen to the Wind. It contains many references and uses the Irish language, which has its roots in Celtic and/or North African language. Of couse it was the english around 1200 that chose to impose the anglicised versions of Gaelic onto this country – evidence of empire building? At that time it was punishable to use the Irish version of place names.Yet here today in Connemara the accents are broad and the native tongue frequently heard. Young people now learn Irish at school and teachers are expected to be fluent enough to teach using the traditional tongue.
Blog written just before leaving the island
It is strange to be leaving. I have grown accustomed to the pace and way of life here. The relaince on nature and natural cycles of light, dark, wind, rain which become the order by which life is dictated. So quickly one falls into a different pattern of living. Now I am wondering how easy it will be to slip back into the world at home with emails, phones, modern stressful living, flushing loos, and plentiful water.
Because we are leaving a day early I will have some time to spend on the mainland, to acclimatise back into civilisation.
Blog written 25th June 2007, late afternoon
The majority of the artists have left – a boat came at 1.30 to collect them and it is possible that the remaining few of us will also leave tonight as the wind shows no sign of abating. This is a day earlier than planned. Understandably Rosie knows the risks that the weather presents and the very real possibility of being trapped on the island when supplies have run out. Some have flights to catch tomorrow evening.
In the short lull between boats I have managed to make the final memorial piece (IV). This is a releif as I had planned to make it tomorrow on the last day here but our premature departure has dictated different plans.
I decided to place the cairn on the highest part of the island, visible from east, west and north. Using stone dotted around the hill leading up to the site I hope the piece is both reminiscent of a walker's mark to signify reaching a hilltop but also references the Irish Celtic tradition of cairns or cenotaphs as memorials to the lost. Mine is (and by neccesity) simple – unlike those that sport heavily decorative work such as found on the Aran Islands.
The third memorial (Candles) is now impossible to perform. Too much wind and no longer a dark evening as a backdrop to the piece. Its not a problem though – it gives me a reason to return here.
Blog written on Inishlacken dated 25th June 2007
Very tired.
Extremely windy outside and choppy sea. Wondering if the boat will get here ok as several people are leaving; only five of us will remain.
Had planned to make the third memorial piece today but it requires the lighting of candles outdoors so may have to wait until the wind drops. I have placed the candles in their positions ready for action just in case.
Last nights meal was delicious. Padriag (I think that is his name) caught around 30 mackerel in his nets on the way over from the mainland and these were gutted and cooked on the open fire by Eamon. Accompanied by garlic potatoes and washed down with red wine , delicious. There was much music too. Irish folk songs and tales from Eamon egged on by Siobhan and music from Kate, the Australian composer who currently lives in Holland.
Its a small world. I found out that Rosie's sister works at Addenbrookes Hospital in Cambridge in the Speech Therapy department – the exact place where I spent two years on a residency in 2004.
Note to recent retrospective blogs.
I was hoping that by writing these blogs once I was back at home, they would keep alive the memory of my Inishlacken adventure. In fact the reverse is happening and each one seems only to serve to remove the experience further into the depths of my mind.
If you look at the dates, my entries are getting further and further apart – a sign of everyday life making a takeover bid inside my head.
I can identify with those who never return either physically or metaphorically to a place once left. I am wondering if this approach keeps the memory pure, unadulterated and unfettered by present happenings that absorb the mind.
