"This earth is my sister; I love her daily grace, her silent daring and how loved I am, how we admire this strength in each other, all that we have lost, all that we have suffered, all that we know: we are stunned by this beauty and I do not forget; what she is to me, what I am to her." Susan . . .
The death of winter
Death or the long sleep, is a subject that I am endlessly interested in. There is such beautiful decay around us in everyday winter fading. Maybe we are divided into those who yearn for Spring and those who are slower to leave Winter? Confinement has shrunk my world for now, and yet I'm closer to the small and the . . .
Hope is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve . . .
Broken
First things first. In Ireland the first day of February besides being St Brigid's day is also the first day of Irish spring. OK, meteorologically speaking we are still in winter, but psychologically, because it's our tradition, we're happy to go with it. It's not the only thing we’re totally delusional about. But it's such a . . .
On another threshold
"Well, I think that the threshold — if you go back to the etymology of the word “threshold,” it comes from “threshing,” which is to separate the grain from the husk. So the threshold, in a way, is a place where you move into more critical and challenging and worthy fullness. And I think there are huge thresholds . . .
Better than the real thing
My dear old Dad loved Christmas and did his very best to provide a magical morning of surprises under the tree. During the years when he was left alone with four girls under the age of 9, his inner child often went shopping for the kind of presents that any small boy would adore. We girls got cowboy suits, holsters and dart . . .
If women remember, that once upon a time…..
‘If women remember that once upon a time we sang with the tongues of seals and flew with the wings of swans, that we forged our own paths through the dark forest while creating a community of its many inhabitants, then we will rise up rooted, like trees. And if we rise up rooted, like trees … well then, . . .
Suddenly it’s winter again
Suddenly it's winter. A time I savour. The inclination is to hibernate, pause, mull over stuff. It's a time for saying no. A time to rest. A time to enjoy early frosty mornings. Although in truth we get very few of them here in the South East of Ireland. The changing seasons are a constant reminder of the cycles of life. While . . .
Challenging invisibility by making an exhibition of yourself
It's all still sinking in. The hard work, the experience of exhibiting, the aftermath. Because I work in an alone space it shocked me on the night of the opening that people would actually arrive. When they came I was somehow still in the middle of the making. I had fallen out of bed that morning, showered, put on a blue dress and gone . . .
Dear Patti Smith
My friends! This is a repost from one year ago. It's always relevant! I am still a bit overwhelmed from the exhibition and the work coming out of it. Normal service will resume soon! "I’ve done records where it seemed like no one listened to them. You write a poetry book that maybe, you know, 50 . . .
