A few interesting things happened today. Firstly, there was an email from my Step-mum Jane in response to yesterday’s post reminding me to live in and enjoy the moment. And, to be honest, that was what I wasn’t doing. Especially
There are a lot of things swirling around in my head at the moment and I’m trying to capture them all either by doing them or by writing them down. But the problem is that I feel rushed because I
I rarely ask myself why I’m doing this. You know, the creativity thing. But over the last few days I have been thinking about it a bit. Sometimes it serves as a distraction: something to divert my mind from thinking
Yesterday I mentioned that I had bought some Air Dough, a lightweight children’s modelling clay. Clay is not quite the right word for it. It’s VERY light and has the consistency (but not the weight) of icing sugar. And it’s
I ate one and, as is customary, loved it. The latest edition of the breakfast blog is here.
When I had another look at the actual pebble that I painted on yesterday evening, rather than a photo of it, I kind of re-evaluated my view of it. The photo distorted my view of the size of it and,
I’m in Letterkenny. I drove up yesterday morning, examined yesterday afternoon and again this morning. Crashed out in the Radisson Blu hotel this afternoon and I’ll be examining all day tomorrow, driving home tomorrow night. Sunday will be my first
This was the poem I recited for one of my speech and drama diploma exams.
We were at a book launch during the week. The Loneliness of the Sasquatch by Amanda Bell, a friend of Christine’s. It’s a translation of a work written in Irish by Gabriel Rosenstock. Actually, it’s more than a translation. Amanda
I was 10 years old. It was 1970. The end of a busy summer spent mostly on stage in the Eblana Theatre under Busaras, in a popular play called It’s a Two-Foot Six Inch Above the Ground World. The first
More tea bag art … It’s interesting how you can make different shapes from the tea bags, depending on how you unfold them. I’ve now got the knack of emptying them too, with the minimum of damage. Clicking on this
I came across images from the Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations many years ago: striking make-up, dramatic clothing, interesting symbolism. A couple of years ago, I saw an advertisement for a Dia de los Muertos celebration in Dublin but
I love this Yeats poem. A coincidence, a sequence of events, and a bookmark gone astray have inspired its treatment here, both in terms of the artwork and the interpretation of the poem itself. Clicking on the image below will