Poetry Ireland Introductions : Round 2

I enjoyed Monday night's Introductions reading so much (some snippets above) I went back again last night!

Glad I did too. It was quite a different vibe, a slightly smaller crowd gathering in the IWC on a somewhat gloomier, more overcast, drizzly evening than the previous night. The sombre weather was kept at bay by the warmth of the chat (and a couple of glasses of wine) making for a more intimate affair. Surrounded by the centre's extensive collection of modern Irish paintings, one veteran reminisced about very different days when the upstairs rooms were populated only by pigeons. Good to chat again with Peter Goulding too, from the previous nights readings.

The first reader was Andrew Jamison, very much a poet of the locale, with themes and images drawn from his home turf of Crossgar (?), Co. Down to the fore. Bus journeys, landmarks, window views and the music of Ash featured, with Jamison making light of his fascinations. I enjoyed this work, poetry of place being a bit of a touchstone for me. The lighthearted reading never undermined a set of skillfully worked ideas, thoughtfully communicated.

Next up was Simon Leland, whose softly spoken meditations were a precise, surreal world away from the previous reader. His work read like a philosophers stone wrapped in an encyclopedeia thrown by an insomniac, exploding in a roomful of mirrors. In a natural history museum. And I mean that as a compliment! Amalgams such as Mata Hari, Good King Wencelas and "Blue herons heading for a mystical painting" made for a hugely vibrant lyrical tapestry.

Niamh McAllister graduated from Cultural Studies in IADT, going on to an MA in Creative Writing at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland (I think Jamison may have studied there too?). She spoke of how living beside the sea had infiltrated her work, one poem in particular, with an epigraph by Auden, saw her meditate on her weakness at decision-making, in the face of the tides. Poems were pared down to the hilt - I'd like to read some of these texts.

The last reader was Connie Roberts, originally from Offaly, now teaching creative writing in the US. Her work was fundamentally informed by her experience of a childhood spent in Irish orphanages. Her poems touched on remembered experiences within those walls, troubled family circumstances, affinities, affections and anger. Noting that physical and sexual abuse within these institutions had been well covered of late, she spoke of the emotional abuse, often less quantified. Referencing the classical Omphalus, she responded to the absence in her life of anything like Heaney's Mossbawn, yet left us on a bright note of alliterative rurality.

So, a very different mix to the previous night, but equally enjoyable.

I'm disappointed that I won't make Thursday's reading, featuring Pauline Hall, David Mohan, Cliona O’Connell, Edward O’Dwyer and Rosie Shepperd. But I'd recommend that you make every effort to attend. Should be a good crowd too - so get there early!

Poetry Ireland Introductions : Glóry be!

Off to the Irish Writers Centre last night, for the first reading in the Poetry Ireland Introductions Series 2010. Four poets read, each a very distinct and individual voice and the overall effect was an enjoyable, rich and varied evening of new poetry, well presented and warmly received. Judging by the quality on offer, I'd recommend making the effort to get along to the other readings in the series, tonight and Thursday.

Joe Woods of Poetry Ireland gave each poet the briefest of introductions, leaving their own voices to do the talking. Andrew Caldicott kicked things off. A former Dub, now well settled in Wexford, I became familiar with his work a few years back from the mutually encouraging ambience of the Poetry Ireland forum (a resource which seems to have unfortunately lost some of its brio of late). Andrew's work is considered, crafted and concerned with the shadows of history, travel and family. He read a body of warm, poignant poems, sourced from the soul, but with their feet firmly in the physical world.

Jessica Colley came next, a US expat, exceptionally well-travelled in her guise as travel writer, but longtime resident in Dublin. I've bumped into Jessica at workshops over the last few years, but hearing her read a body of work tonight really brought her particular voice into focus. Fragmentary and atmospheric, her poems conjured shades of their subjects as if layered together from ricepaper.

Then came Martin Dyar, winner of this year's Patrick Kavanagh award (for an unpublished collection). When this poet's first collection hits the shelves it is going to make a very big impact indeed! I'd read some of his work, yet here again his overall presentation brought new levels of poetics to the mix. Sometimes a misjudged performance style can overpower a poet's work - here the poems flourished under supremely confident iteration - his subjects never allowed to overwhelm their honed colloquial voices. This was seriously crafted material, merging the structure of tradition with the workings of today's language; formal scaffolding folding into some very original organic expression.

Peter Goulding had the unenviable task of following these three distinct voices. Within a minute, he had the room in the palm of his hand. With a track record in humorous poetry, the manner and ease of this prolific writer was apparent from the off. Irreverant, and with a fair smidgin of cheekiness, his work nevertheless displayed a depth and ability which respected subject, tradition and audience. A fitting end to as enjoyable an evenings poetry as I've experienced in yonks.

Kudos too to the Poetry Ireland crew, for their lowkey organisation and upfront hospitality.

Out the door of the IWC and the night was still young, so it seemed only logical to head across the Liffey to the Glór session, hosted - as ever - by the ebulient Stephen James Smith. I've been meaning to get to this gig for a while now. Along with Nighthawks at the Cobalt, The Brownbread mixtape, Milk and Cookies and others, Glór is part of a vibrant landscape of "old school craic" as Kalle Ryan would have it.

Being on a tight (public transport) schedule meant we couldn't stay all night, but we caught SJS himself, Eddie Keegan's street-rap-rousing, Hitman Lord's (Lord Hitman's?) urbanbeatnik ballads, Lou McMahon's whirlygig, ethereal splashsongs and the ever-mighty Bernie O'Reilly (of the Valentine poets) with fistfuls of pared back scenes of peacefulness and empowerment. A packed house. A positive vibe.

Two quite different gigs, so many different voices - and all on a mild Monday evening for the price of a few pints and a bus ticket! Folks, there's a lot to be thankful for. The weathers getting better for a start. Might be time to get off that computer and out that door!

Poetry Bus : Sign O' The Lino

This week, TFE's Poetry Bus is in the safe hands of the good Barbara Smith - and her prompt involved responding to the line;

'I got down on my knees and smelled the brand new linoleum,' from a story by Edna O'Brien, with emphasis on responding with longer lines.

Which I did - like this;

Trackstopper

I got down on my knees and smelled the new linoleum
and blessed the modern age that threw this dreamtime down

unrolled a pristine plane across my gritty concrete cage
clapped into place a slippery playground, this stage

across which - newly confident - I'd glide, a dancer born
my encores blowing faded floral curtains wide

a technicolor faun cavorting in my den until
I'd curl to snooze - a faded star becalmed again

alas, at other times my knees would squeak and drag as if
arrested by some drogue, a limpet smacked in place

I'd stick - just like that - scabbed knees turned to roots, topple
face down, cheek pooled cool to ground - looking back I'm glad it wasn't jute

The Poetry Bus : Scalderville Request Stop

World Wide Weird. One of the other poets mentioned a bizarre coincidence in terms of the image this project threw up for them.

Now I've just had mine. Shvvvvvr. I went with the number 12. The 12th square linked me into the image archive of the Musée McCord in Montreal. The McCord Museum is a public research and teaching museum dedicated to the preservation, study, diffusion and appreciation of Canadian history. Now here's the spooky part.

I counted down the page to image number 12, which turned out to be the photo of the august gentleman you see above. The caption describes him as "Mr. Whitney(?), Enniscorthy, Ireland, about 1885." An Irishman! What a coincidence, eh? Not major though - except that Enniscorthy is also my hometown, where I was born and raised. WTF? The universe is definitely trying to tell me something. Very 'Artists Way' indeed :-o

Enniscorthy is a beautiful place, culturally and historically rich, yet there's sadness too. The local landscape is dominated by Vinegar Hill, where the 1798 rebels were finally defeated, blasted back against the bare rock, as commemorated in Seamus Heaney's poem Requiem for The Croppies.

For a small enough town, it has produced a great many writers, including Anthony Cronin, Colm Toibin, Eamon Wall and - a more recent addition - Peter Murphy, whose novel John The Revelator, garnered noteworthy reviews and heavyweight fans.

Anyway, enough metaphysical tourism - how to deal with such a familiar subject in this particular context?


Around 1885

There was river traffic still
though the forest had long been cleared

In Deadwood they were mining seams
at home the gold was barley, harvested and brewed

Rabbits scattered - just as now - bared on stubble
cropped by hand, the season still the same

By the gate, Whitney saw a final coney jink to cover
opened his eyes to Montreal snow


© P Nolan 2010


And now, a warm Scalder welcome to my fellow Poetry Bus passengers. Tayto anyone?

Karen is thinking thrashy.

Rachel Fox Mad Max, the opera?

Dominic Rivron is having a Kiwi moment.

Enchanted Oak is laying down supplies.

Sandra Leigh is getting minty fresh.

Niamh B with a touch of Poe.

Titus the Dog is feeling a little 'ruff', yet experiencing the Poetry Bus twilight zone.

The Watercats are seeing Goblins.

Argent is time travelling.

The Bug is sizzling.

Jeanne Iris is setting sail.

Uiscebot is getting frisky.

Poetikat razzes the moneymen.

NanU is catching toads.

Swiss considers British algae.

Crazyfieldmouse is parched.

Pure Fiction is exorcising.

Great stuff and thanks to all!

The Poetry Bus conductor is hanging out the back with an outstretched hand for tardy travellers - make a dash for it!

* ADDENDUM * Here's a response to the prompt from my non-blogging friend, poet Chris Allen;













Not unlike the Trees at Dyrehaven

Tomorrow in this place the sun will shine,
The choirs of old will be recalled in the acoustic arch,
The beauty of nature reign supreme
And the holly trees squat and summer green,
Their thorns a little rounder - berries gone,
November passions fallen – their reds fired to earth.
This formal wheel - its turn in turn will take.

And I cannot imagine the face that I might have
There in the moment to carry the tides of existence,
To turn into the wind of shapes and matters
This final record of the watch.

Tomorrow as you rise above the valley
Move beyond the canopy and linger
Fluid and abiding like a river returning

The berries I saw fall here last October,
A velvet vein of wine in the still of winter
Sweetened and distilled by time and distance
A moment alive in the breath of it all to trace
Elements as periodic as a glimpse of the eternal
In which a man might make his soul a shelter.

If everything is thrown before the heavens,
Exposed to every weather in acceptance,
Home, is a memory sustained
By forces which are more than we can name
Of moments felt and entered in the heart -
A place existing always where you are.

© C Allen 2010

The Poetry Bus : All Aboard!

So the Poetry Bus has been rattling away along its circuitous route for a while now, and.. Parp! Parp! Good Lord, here it comes, hurtling with a distinct lack of decorum down Scaldervillage's main street, mit ye merrye olde buschauffeur ag gáire amach as an fuinneog. Let the dust settle, stock up on Tayto and Red Lemonade and step onboard to partake in this week's trip.

So, first things first. Before going any (ahem) furthur, please pick a number between 1 and 14.

Ok? Got it? Certain? Right, onwards.

The following link will bring you to a web page. To the right - just below the main image on that page - you'll see a group of 14 small squares. Each of these is a (randomly generated) link to a particular archive of photos. Click on the square that corresponds with your chosen number. Count down to the image in that particular collection that matches your chosen number. Let that image (or whichever tickles) be your prompt. Write.

Here's the link.

These photo archives are part of a larger project called The Commons on Flickr. Be Careful! You could quite easily spend the rest of your day (and then some) browsing the visual riches therein.

Don't do that (now). Instead, write! Then post your poem on your blog and comment here to let me know when your work is online. I'll post again on Monday.

Note : In general, the photos in The Commons are intended to be used for personal, educational or research purposes, so there are usually "no known copyright restrictions" - allowing you to reproduce them on your blog if you wish. But please respect any restrictions that may apply to any individual image, if so stated beneath the image.

Have Fun!

Poetry Bus : The Dury is Out

Well now. I've been a-walking the inner wilderness this last few weeks. Beats sleeping in airports, I guess. Really haven't had the wherewithall for blogging, nor much else beyond the necessary and rudimentary. Yet the poetry bus trundles on, and a new prompt from glorious sonicists The Watercats referenced one of my all-time favourite groups, lyricists, musicians and songs - so the universe reached out across Babylon, you could say - and here's my ting!


Slaughterer

Lugh's weapon buried in its sack of dope
dark light under a bushel
a hunger drowned in dregs

If every sleeping spear's a gift
perhaps the loss of that vainglory
may yet prove to be the kinder cut

© P Nolan 2010

(My image above is a response to a 'memories' theme on Scamp.ie)

Time turns around : Spring Sprung Sprong

What the... ? Where was I? Where am I?

Haven't been doing much blogging in the last while - been a bit swamped with one thing and another. That's not to say I've been mad busy, or anything like that. Just gridlocked amid the tangled logistics of the self and the occupied space. Or some such something. Hooped by 'The Fallow'. Frozen in the headlights of time. It happens.

Nothing much gets written at times like this. Nothing much gets made at all. Except, bizarrely enough, mistakes; errors of judgement rattling like seeds among the wilted vegetation of the mundane. And then - just like that - green shoots! We hope.

Nick Laird had an interesting piece on 'The Fallow' (I'm getting to like his occasional columns more than his poetry - almost - but definitely more than Utterly Monkey) in last Saturday's Guardian, which somewhat relates to the above. See here.

I still have a little more to write about Poetry Now - hopefully I'll post that soon. But for now, I'll clock in and out quickly with a mention of an interesting reading at the Irish Writers Centre this Wednesday, featuring Kevin Barry (who I haven't yet heard read his wonderful short stories) and the serene Catherine Phil MacCarthy (one of a number of individuals working steadily to turn the fortunes of the centre around). Should be well worth a visit - hope to get there myself.

The image above is entitled Estuary I and is one of three paintings I've just submitted for this years RHA Annual Exhibition. This is a study for a finished painting (which, for some reason, ended up bearing little enough resemblance to the initial studies). Fingers Crossed!

Finally, best wishes to blogpal Emerging Writer aka Kate Dempsey, who's nominated in the Emerging Fiction category of the Hennessy X.O Literary Awards, to be announced at TCD on April 20. You can check out all the shortlisted writers and their work here. Go Kate! You can catch the talented Ladygirldiva herself reading in Trim this Thursday.

South Studios : It ALL Rocks

Soooooooo - the auld brain's a bit fritzed since Sunday - so this will be somewhat scrambled.

The image above is my contribution to the DrawErs project mentioned in the previous post. This was painted from scratch last Friday 26th March, between 11am and 5pm at South Studios on a cheapo, flatpack set of drawers from IKEA (which I'd assembled beforehand).

I was heading out to the DLR Poetry Now festival to hear Justin Quinn, Luljeta Lleshanku and Philip Gross read at 6.30, so I had to miss the exhibition and social shenanigans that evening. Which is a bummer. Because there was free beer. And nice people. And good craic. And the Drawers all looked brilliant by the look of things - as you can see here.

BUT! (and its a big one) Poetry Now delivered yet again, with a weekend of striking and diverse voices. Which is why my head is still a-bit-a-babble. Of that particular reading, Philip Gross stood out as a remarkably concise and measured communicator - meticulous, almost hesitant, in the formation of ideas - drawn from the closest inspection of the simplest details of the world, natural and otherwise. Quinn worried me a bit at the outset. Poems about his home turf of Blackrock (the park in particular) felt a bit pedestrian to these ears. He was on better territory when he moved to inner landscapes - more physically immediate than nostalgic - like a great wee poem about being punched in the balls by a four-year-old who states (love this) "that's the Batman way". Striking indeed.

Lleshanaku seemed to have some gem-like ideas coming through, relating to the person and the person-to-person, but her grasp of English wasn't the best (helluvalot better than my Albanian, obviously) and her mic technique combined to let her down a bit - moreso on the poems themselves than when setting context, unfortunately - so most of what I got was fragmentary. So, a fitful start to a smashing festival.

More later - still decompressing.

South Studios : Roomful of Drawers

Lots happening at the moment. Not much time for blogging of late.

Looking forward to the upcoming dlr Poetry Now festival which kicks off this Thursday. Not, alas, contributing to the graphics this year - can't win them all - but the line-up is cracking, including this year's TS Eliot winner Philip Gross and The Man Muldoon (who was speaking on RTE Radio the other night).

Delighted to have landed a place in Vona Groarke's writing workshop! I very much enjoyed Groarke's recent-ish collection Juniper Street and her overall tone in general, so quite excited about hearing her read AND getting some tips (hopefully).

I'll be busy this Friday daytime, taking part in Drawers - an exciting collaboration between the Illustrators of Guild of Ireland and South Studios. Organised by IGI colleague Steve Doogan, this event sees a whole bunch of illustrators, artists, designers etc. coming together to customise a wee chest of drawers from IKEA. Not the same one, mind you - we'll do one each.

Friday evening, you are all invited to drop into South Studios for a beer and to check out what all these drawers look like after the creative frenzy. All (?) will be for sale - so this could be a chance to pick up a genuinely original piece of furniture for your bedroom, office, studio, friend etc. I'll have to dash off to Dún Laoghaire for the 6.30 reading, but my piece will be on show.

The drawers are on show/sale for one day only and should be well worth a look.

Poetry Bus : Monday Poem

This week's Poetry Bus prompt is the wonderful couplet "She was wearing Stella McCartney /I was drinking Stella Artois".

As tempting a prospect as it was to flesh out this tale of designer gear and Belgian beer, I found myself tugged in a more imagistic direction - as follows;


Stella

I was struck
not by a star nor that quality
about her

stuck nonetheless
my frozen face before
the heat of her

jaw slack, molten
mouthful held stock still

grazing suspended

shocked as a calf
witnessing this meteorite
plough my pasture


© P Nolan 2010

Winding Stair : Vintage Irish Book Covers

Anyone interested in retro book design, illustration or the history of Irish publishing would do well to check out this nice little show curated by Niall McCormack’s blog Hitone: Vintage Irish Book Covers.

“The good people in The Winding Stair Bookshop have been kind enough to ask me to put together a small exhibition of Irish book cover design. The exhibition, which will feature a small selection of books published between the thirties and seventies, will be on display in the shop for two weeks from Saturday 13th March. All of the books have been selected for their striking cover artwork. The Winding Stair Bookshop is at 40 Lower Ormond Quay, Dublin 1.”

Details: Irish Book Cover Art 1930s – 1970s

March 13th – 27th, 2010

at The Winding Stair Bookshop

40 Lower Ormond Quay, Dublin 1

Niall does a nice job of book cover and poster design himself - check out his work.

Via The Small Print.

United Arts Club : Life Drawing Exhibition

I've spoken before about the Thursday Life Drawing group at the United Arts Club, which I attend as regularly as possible. This Thursday, March 11th, sees the launch of our annual exhibition of drawings at that venue. It's always a fun evening - an enjoyable and interesting opportunity to view (and purchase) a selection of drawings by a wide variety of artists. Consider yourself invited!

The show launches at 8pm and runs until March 29th - viewing Monday to Saturday from 5.30pm (as the UAC bar / gallery only currently opens only during the evening).

The piece above is one of two drawings that I'm exhibiting, and there'll also be work by Comhghall Casey, PJ Lynch, Aisling Dolan, Michael McWilliams, Eoin Coveney and many, many more talented people, including Brian Gallagher, who runs this drawing group.

Brian also has an interesting solo show launching next week at the Signal Arts Centre in Bray.

** UPDATE ** My IGI colleague Mario Sughi has posted some photos of the life drawing exhibition launch here.

Poetry Bussing : Training Day

Totalfeckineejit's Poetry Bus rolls along, forming an integrated public transport interlink with this weeks theme, "TRAINS". What with all the connections, I though I might as well get the ferry in there too (well, being honest, this particular image was in the old headnotebook a while now). So - no planes, no automobiles, but rail, sea and myth are present and quite possibly correct;

Transit

Winter early afternoon
the wane of waxy light

Off the west pier a ferry clots from fog
seethes beyond the carriage pane

Hybrasil unmoored and restless
looming into town for the weekend

© P Nolan 2010

Illustrators ireland : February 2010

As I've said elsewhere, the current post over on Scamp.ie is sooooooooooo good!

This selection of recent work from members of the Illustrators Guild of Ireland shows that Irish illustration is alive, kicking and running laps with aplomb, all the time reciting poetry aloud in several different languages with charm, grace and a splash of tabasco! I love the image above, by Belfast illustrator Jonathan McHugh - but there's a shedload of other varied and beautiful images too - so check it out!

Magpie Tales : Photo Prompt Poem.

Magpie Tales is another blog running a regular photo prompt for aspiring writers to throw an eye over and see what results. Here's my first stab at this week's 'weighty' topic;


Shelter


Days build like scales

each a measure, particular unto itself

accumulating combined heft


new weight thrums to composition


chiming into place a melody

which, in twining towards the familiar

cools to a carapace



© P Nolan 2010

Poetry Bussing : Monday Poem

Our good friend Totalfeckineejit continues to navigate new territory with his Poetry Bus. This week its all about the big question. As Prince might put it; Dearly beloved / We are gathered here today
2 get through this thing called life / Electric word life / It means forever and that's a mighty long time / But I'm here 2 tell u
There's something else / The afterworld.

So, in the spirit of the ehhhh.... spirit, I give you;


Silver


This ill wind they talk about

that blows some good about the place

while making a hames of all in its path

- you know the one? I think it's on the way.


My worry is this - how to get a grip

on the benevolent margins of the thing

without being swept up in the chaos.

Sounds easy, doesn't it?


No. Not really, you say.

That sounds tricky as hell.

You'd have to be some class of stormchaser

decked out with sensors, anemometers


Shining colanders with flashing lights

a wig of wires to helmet yourself

beneath the fury

- improve your chances, like?


Perhaps a freelance synaesthete for good measure

sifting various temperatures of threat

aflame under rosepaned spectacles

rating risk by hue


the findings a flittered book of scribble

to be reviewed once the storm has fled

and the land calmed.




© P Nolan 2010

Back on the BUS : Monday Poem

Well, hey! It's Monday again and the Poetry Bus is back on the road. Over at Totalfeckineejit's the theme is LURVE! (Something to do with the weather, I think). Anyways, I'm sending a little bloggerly love out to the world - in particular to Barbara over at her Bleurgh, who has posted some nice things about Crossroads. Also sending some to all those people who supported our Haiti fundraiser by buying the (admittedly bargaintastic) life drawings at the United Arts Club. We raised just under 1400 euro folks! Well done all.

Finally, a little more love to tonight's Glór session, downstairs in the International Bar, where the Poetry Divas(!) amongst others, will be spreading vibes a-plenty.

So, in the name of love, by way of love, and simply in the general loving vibe, here's my wee contribution to the LoVe BUs, baby.

(note : actual wee not used in the creation of this poem).




All of it


Everything I loved came on at once

I was pinned down, I tell you

pinned flat


under the weight of all this love I couldn't breath

but how beautiful I felt, giddy and light

slipping out of consciousness


I told myself, or rather thought (I couldn't even squeak)

you got it now, baby, L-O-V-E to the maximum!

Now here I lie


a psychedelic swirl of it

a peacock tail of love, a butterfly

under glass



© P Nolan 2010

Help Haiti : United Arts Club Drawings

The United Arts Club, 3 Upper Fitzwilliam Street, Dublin 2 hosts regular life drawing sessions each Wednesday and Thursday evening. This Thursday, members of both drawing groups are coming together to raise funds for the victims of the Earthquake in Haiti.

A portfolio of unframed life drawings, donated by members of both groups, will be available to view in the UAC bar for ONE WEEK ONLY - from 9pm Thursday 4th February until 8.30 pm Thursday 11th February (the UAC Bar opens at 5pm each evening). Members, guests and visitors may select and purchase drawings to take away on the spot. As all drawings will be presented unframed, prices will be very affordable (maximum price 50 euro!). If people wish to donate more than the purchase price, that's fine too.

I'm a (sometimes) regular at the Thursday evening session, run by IGI colleague Brian Gallagher. The slideshow above shows my drawings, all A3 in size, which will be available for 20 euro each.

This is a great chance to pick up some really nice original drawings, from a wide selection of artists (including some well-known names) at very reasonable prices. So, do drop in for a look if you're around Dublin 2 any evening during those dates - but don't dither - 'hot cakes' and all that!

Great Scott : He's New Here

Very pleased to hear that Gil Scott Heron's new album is coming out next Monday! The guy's been through a tough old time and it'd be great to see this work out well for him.

One of the highlights of my shortlived musical career was playing support to Gil and his band at the Gaiety theatre way back in the early nineties. That gig was a real mellow blast, daddio. Our band was called Grief... sort of a hybrid of Galliano, The Blockheads and The Commitments! Brilliant, we were. Yiaow!

I've always loved Gil's music - to be fair, he's done some duff stuff in his time (and he was wrong about the revolution, it WAS televised after all!) - but the nuggets are plentiful. 'The Bottle' was one of our regular cover versions, when we had a flautist (much better than that anodyne version by The Christians too). And as for 'Beginnings' - pure balm of Gil.

He's never been afraid to try new things, and this album seems to carry on that attitude. Enjoy!

Springalingaling : Wakey Wakey!

Hey! Hello! Hoopla! (....sounds of tumbleweeds dustily bouncing down one deserted backroad of the interweb).

Where'd January go? Between winter blues, landscapes white and deadlines aglow, the month - or at least the will to blog - kinda got away from me there. For a while there I wasn't even sure if I'd keep it going here - but then, what the hell. The sap is rising and stuff, so here I am again.

I haven't been wasting my time though - lots done (with more, as ever, to do). First finished painting of the year up top. Entitled 'formburn', it's a small canvas - 195mm x 150mm - and will be for sale in The Little Picture Show, a fund-raising exhibition for the Crow Gallery in Temple Bar. The show features loads of small works from artists including Brian Gallagher, Aisling Dolan, John Nolan and many, many more, all at very affordable prices. Opening 6pm this Thursday, 4th February.