Art Blog

Day 13, Saturday 14^th March 2009

"Hogshead" oil on canvas, 50x40cm.

After breakfast I load up a selection of paintings from the past two years and head for the Siopa Cill Rialaig at the village of Dun Gagen. This is the gallery and visitors centre for the Cill Rialaig Project. Profits from the work sold there go towards the renovation and maintenance of the project. I collect the pieces I’ve had there during the past twelve months. It takes a while to complete the receipts and paperwork.

Weather wise its warm and quite clear, and now I can finally see the panorama of mountains and headlands. The irony is that today is my last painting day and I’ve got only the afternoon to get something done. The feeling of spring is too uplifting for me to be frustrated.

Now I finally get a chance to paint Hog’s Head across Ballinskellings Bay. At first it goes very wonky, and the image looks stiff and awkward. I take a big brush and blend all the colours into one, leaving just a shadow of the image. Next I use the palette knife to carve a skyline around the head. I trawl raw sienna and ochre onto the highlights of the peninsula and finally scrape white wave crests across the green, blue sea. That’s better.

I am running late as I search for some clothes without paint stains. I head for the pub arriving two minutes after kick-off. The fixture is Ireland versus Scotland in the Rugby Six Nations Championship. The game is played at a ferociously high tempo, but Ireland get ahead in the last quarter and clinch it. This result makes it four out of four for Ireland; now only Wales stand between us and the Triple Crown, the Six Nations and the first Grand Slam in fifty years. There is time for a few pints before dinner with Becky and John and I am in bed by midnight.

Day 12, Friday 13^th March 2009

Happiness is a studio with stove.

I am out of bed and straight down the stairs for a weather report – it’s a whiteout, with mist and rain beyond the front door. They said it would start bright this morning but springtime is obviously just something that happens to other people.

I need a few supplies so I head to Cahirsiveen hoping it might clear by the time I return. No joy. I stop to sketch the abbey at Ballinskellings from the drivers seat because there’s no way that I am getting out to face the South by South West sideways rain.

Later, back at the ranch I use the sketch to make a mini triptych canvas of same abbey.

Becky arrives for beer and a chat, and I light the stove. The rain stops and I am thinking of going out to paint but within twenty minuets a new weather front replaces the last.

After dinner I get stuck into some small canvases based on more historical seascapes. I am very happy with the results but more over it helps me understand the past masters. It’s late when I go to bed.

Day 11, Thursday 12^th March 2009

Vanishing headlands.

I am up early, and looking outside see every peninsula wearing cloud on its head.  The sea is flat, clear and blue. I get ready and head out, not really knowing where I am going or what I want to paint. I stop at the pier but the tide is out and the landscape is colourless. I decide to head for Valentia Island but when I reach the pass between Ballinskellings and the Glen I see it’s all cloudy and fogged up here too. If I am going to paint the fog I can do it just as well from the comfort of Cill Rialaig and don’t need to drive for hours. I am happy with my small epiphany and set up to paint outside the studio.

I work on a picture of the rocks and sea at the foot of the cliff below my feet while waiting for the cloud to lift off Hog’s Head.

Across the bay three quarters of the Hog’s Head becomes visible briefly before it disappears completely for the rest of the day. I paint the immediate headlands as they too melt into the mist. Eventually it’s just my easel and me left standing alone in the fog. I move back inside as the fog turns into rain. During the evening I finish the mountain sunrise.

Day 10, Wednesday 11^th March 2009

Painting the Skelligs from Glen Pier.

Now I remember why you shouldn’t mix your drinks. I am very slow to get my stuff together. The climate is warm, windy and dry outside but visibility remains poor yet clearer out to sea. It’s after midday before I get on the road.

I hope again to paint the large triptych of the Skelligs from Glen pier at St. Finans Bay. It’s a big task so I get out my extra large palette knife. My energy levels are low but the fresh air clears my head. I paint relentlessly knowing that if I take a break or sit down I won’t be able to get started again. I am still feeling very shaky, trawling streaks of Prussian blue into the sea.  I am very satisfied with my work, especially the fact that I actually managed to finish.

Back at base I reward myself with pizza, a glass of wine and early bed.

Day 9, Tuesday 10^th March 2009

Road to the edge of the world.

Plan A is to paint a big triptych of the Skelligs from Glen Pier. Sea fog nearly completely obscures the islands and plan A is not to be. Plan B is to travel further to Valentia Island and paint looking back towards Puffin Island. But the sun, above the sea fog, is directly in my eyes, putting an end to plan B.

I push onwards towards the Atlantic side of the island, driving down a rocky track. I walk the last 20 minutes of the track to be sure I won’t get stuck and will be able to turn the van at the end. Walking through the windswept bog I can smell the sea salt and hear the distant roar of massive waves on rocks, but there is nothing to be seen. Suddenly I am standing on the edge of Europe and realise, “oh-my-god, this must be the place Noelle was telling me about”.

A flat plane of bog simply drops away in to the ocean, where massive waves swell up and crash into cliffs. I am very excited as I walk back to collect the van and my painting gear. I park head to wind and set up my easel in the slipstream. The energy of the place is relentless and the painting is good. Giant rock formations look like over dimensional chocolate cake tumbling into the sea and the waves are the frothy cream. There is no horizon between the water and sky with the sea mist so close.

Bray Head, Valentia Island.

A little red van comes bumping down the track, past my position and across the bog at the cliff’s edge on a trail invisible to me. He knows his way around and is probably here to cut turf a few hundred yards away. I observe the ‘turf-cutter’ take out his tools and place something small on the ground in front of him. He then whacks the something across the plane towards the cliffs edge. Was that a golf ball? It slowly dawns on me that this place is the Kerryman’s private Atlantic driving range, and no turf will be cut today.

I finish the painting as the mist moves in and the rain starts. Grinning I bounce back along the pot-holed track towards my Kerry home. John from Glasgow invites me for a bevvie at his place later, to see off Stefan who is returning to Austria the next day. I am on a high after my day’s work and drop my idea of a night shift in favour of joining them mixing beer, wine and whiskey. They say  not to mix your drink – but it can be so much fun.

Day 8, Monday 9^th March 2009

Painting in the weather window.

The weather forecast was right when they said there would be a gap between fronts during Monday morning. So I am up early to avail of the weather window. I position myself on Ballinskellings pier, again, to paint the single cottage on Horse Island. It’s only accessible by boat and it looks like a very lonely place.

A man walks to the end of the pier to take in my subject matter. There’s something about his body language that says he has been here before. We chat when he comes back and the stranger tells me was born in the cottage and lived there for 14 years, and I am not surprised. In an amiable way he tells me to “paint the feckin’ house straight” before he continues to walk the headland. I am sure every step holds a memory, so I feel obliged to try.

Back at the studio I hang up the picture just as the promised rain sets in. I light the stove and attack the gannets. Later in the evening I start on a painting of the sun rising behind the inland mountains. It’s not bad so far but I am just too weary to continue. Tomorrow is another day, supposedly of sunny spells; I could use some of those all right.

Day 7, Sunday 8^th March 2009

I wake with a very fuzzy head on me today.  Rising at 10 it’s all I can do to make coffee.

The northwest wind has turned to a westerly and gales have turned to storm force mixed with hail and snow.

It suits me well that its a studio day and not to have any choice in the matter. I have breakfast then try to read my book, but this makes me dizzy. I go outside for air, but the hailstones rattle on my head and the wind wants to carry me away. I come back in and lie down – that’s better.

An hour later I feel much better and start on the book again promising myself I will get stuck into the gannet painting soon. But sooner rather than later I am on a fantastic journey; it’s “The Tennis Stars Balls” by Stephen Fry, “a gruesome romp through the canon of human wickedness” according to the Times.

Either way the gannets will have to wait. I remind myself that it is Sunday and I am on retreat and I let myself fall deeper and deeper into the Cill Rialaig pace of life.

I decide on early bed with the tennis stars balls and promise myself to make an early start tomorrow. The forecast is better for the morning with rain for the afternoon. The tempest outside only adds to my inner peace as I drift off.

Day 6, Saturday 7^th March 2009

View out the backdoor, Cill Rialaig.

Bolus Head is swathed in low cloud this morning. I can’t see further than a few yards beyond the cottage door. Every time the rain seems like it is going to stop it gets even heavier. I concede that I will be working indoors today.

I want to paint some of the gannets I photographed from the boat to the Skelligs a couple of years back. We could see the birds flying above our heads, beaks laden with nesting material destined for the massive colony on Skellig Beag some 13 km out to sea. On clearer days I’ve watched the gannets below the village diving from a height on unsuspecting fish. Splash!

All the artists, including new arrivals Pierre et Estelle from France, and Ethina (London-Irish) are invited for drinks to Noelle’s house near the village. Noelle is the matriarch of the project. She is good at holding court with stories of celebrities, VIPs and love in an artist’s retreat.

Later it’s John and Becky’s for dinner. And later still the pub for last orders, which is even a chance to see some of the day’s rugby highlights.

Day 5, Friday 6^th March 2009

Painting on Ballinskelligs Pier.

I wake early, clear headed and ready to paint. I look out the window to see the mountains are playing peek-a-boo in a mist and the fog is still being blown in by the northwest winds. I get going straight away, and head for Cahirsiveen to get some bits and pieces I missed last Monday. It’s a chance to stop off at the Point (Reenard); my mother’s family came from here. There are great views of Knightstown and surrounding headlands ‘over the water’ on Valentia Island. But the fog makes it too grey and distant to paint with any definition. I need to get closer to my target.

At least now I do know where I need to go to get really close to the landscape, and I head for the Ballinskellings pier. I set up and paint a panoramic view of Hog’s Head through the gap between Horse Island and the mainland. I don’t use a brush at all, but instead trowel the paint on with a palette knife. Quickly the layers build up and the rocks and wave crests stand proud on the canvas. Its textural and tactile and I like it.

I have parked my van at my back so as to block the wind but after a few hours I am cold and ready for home. As soon as I arrive friends Becky and John drop in for a short visit on their way back from a dusk walk. I light the stove when they go. John from Glasgow knocks at the door to see if I want to come to the pub. I am tempted but I decide to stay home and continue painting whilst polishing my halo.

Day 4, Thursday 5^th March 2009

I get out early today. The cold northwest wind is still blowing showers of rain and hail.

Painting at Finnans Bay.

I find a spot above the beach at St. Finan’s Bay and set up my easel facing Bolus Head. The sea is reflecting silver and white into my eyes and the headland is in silhouette – I am worried it will make a very monochrome image. But by the time I have sketched an outline the sun had moved around to turn the surf a rich turquoise, blue colour with bright sunlit wave crests.

There’s a little black dog on the beach chasing the stones the tourists and day-trippers throw for him. The people come and go; just the dog and myself remain. Lost for a playmate he brings up a stone and delicately lays it on the floor of the van, beside my palette, for me to throw. I would dearly love to play but I know if I begin there’ll be no end and I won’t get my painting done. Fortunately the next hire-car soon arrives and the occupants are charmed when he tosses the stone at their feet. They probably think he is my dog.

My timing is perfect and as I complete the last palette knife stroke the rain hits again. I retreat into the van and work on an oil sketch looking out the side door. I pack up before the sun sets and head back to the village cold, tired and hungry, and very, very happy.