Tomorrow is the day I have to say goodbye to my friends here, mothers through the school mostly.. And of course everyone is so matter-of-fact and upbeat on these occasions, when I want to cry at the finishing of a most precious year, just actually lament the passing for one day. What has been. What must become anecdote, memory, not remain the fibre of my life.
Fancy that - I've had: a year not working, a year with lots of trips to places I longed for for years!, a year rediscovering my own thoughts, a year of housework and excess childcare, a year of feeling part of this great thick blended throng of Europeans. A year on the up side.
The boys have grown a lot, physically and in their understanding of it all. LMM and I have had times to talk about the next 20, the next 5 years. And often not talk at all really, in the flurry of our separate logistic challenges - his the hospital, mine the boys and home.
Ireland has found its way under our skin, seeping in its green slow way as it does to buildings too. The kindness, the welcome, the accommodation to people's various needs. One of the Liberty-mamas, actually the first mama I met on the first day of school last year, said that when she moved to Cork, it wrapped its arms around her and she never wants to live anywhere else anymore. Now, at this point, a year in, I can understand and share the sentiment. It makes no sense at all that we should be leaving.
I love the range of people they are, the work they do in creative ways, the treasures of their children, their beautiful homes full of brilliant toys and games, their straight competence, their travels, their acceptance of a new one into their midst. Thank you all so much. And still, I leave.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
All is Bared
What an awesome experience. I went to Blarney in the night, driving out the back way. Encountered not a soul on the road, not sure at all how many would be ahead in the Blarney Castle grounds. Pitch black, wondering about speed on a dark night, yellow street lights, even the hedges by the side of the road were still green tho.
Then, to the entrance. Suddenly it was like a world music festival, with people from ALL walks of life, warmly dressed, making their way in. People in pairs, in groups of friends - Cork, where nothing is a secret. All made our way down to a huge lit space, floodlit by sportsfield lights, sitting on our plastic bags, settling in for a long wait. And it was LONG.
What got to me was the cigarette smoke, my god they were all puffing away a lot. I had to go to the edge of the space we were all waiting in to clear the nausea. A group of women singing, a man stripping off to cheers WAY too early (just had to get his kit off), people with thermos flasks, ipods, warm beanies. I didn't speak much.
Some words from the crew, Spencer Tunick himself, then more waiting looking to the sky to lighten. It was only at about 5.30 that we all got our kit off. Which was easy, it was. Stuff everything into the bag, and walk out.
Walking out between the trees in a luminous crowd of white bodies was very moving: like the first humans walking out from the trees, primeval experience, even if totally removed from any historical accuracy ever!. Everyone still warm from clothes, shoulders sheltering bodies, curling over as they could. Eye contact.
Soon after, cold wet feet. Soon after, shouting and moving the mass, the putty we had become, into the right shape for the shoot, as determined from a crane high over our heads. Soon after, surreptitious glances at tattoos, shapes, colours of skin. We are all beautiful naked, even when cold in the grey light of dawn. Never more so.
More time passing and we are getting colder. During the lying-down shoot/red and white roses held aloft, I heard chattering teeth from a young guy near my head somewhere. The sun was nearly golden on the birch leaves nearby now, white light fading out the early grey.
It has seldom been harder to get my socks on, as at about 7am! The women only then made their way to a spot closer to the castle, for another stripping down. There was much hooting from both sides as the men watched from lower down the hill, like a scene from Braveheart now, cheering hooting, almost bawdy, but in such a fine humour in the early morning! Other folks are probably stirring and slurping their first cups of tea now, we're out here in full swing. Yep. As it were.
Dressed again, nothing but our big smiles to separate us from the rest of Cork anymore.
For me, an awesome, enormous feeling of wholeness in my body. Being one shape, inhabiting one vessel, not a collection of lumps too big and limbs too untoned.. Wonderful, a liberation.
Then, to the entrance. Suddenly it was like a world music festival, with people from ALL walks of life, warmly dressed, making their way in. People in pairs, in groups of friends - Cork, where nothing is a secret. All made our way down to a huge lit space, floodlit by sportsfield lights, sitting on our plastic bags, settling in for a long wait. And it was LONG.
What got to me was the cigarette smoke, my god they were all puffing away a lot. I had to go to the edge of the space we were all waiting in to clear the nausea. A group of women singing, a man stripping off to cheers WAY too early (just had to get his kit off), people with thermos flasks, ipods, warm beanies. I didn't speak much.
Some words from the crew, Spencer Tunick himself, then more waiting looking to the sky to lighten. It was only at about 5.30 that we all got our kit off. Which was easy, it was. Stuff everything into the bag, and walk out.
Walking out between the trees in a luminous crowd of white bodies was very moving: like the first humans walking out from the trees, primeval experience, even if totally removed from any historical accuracy ever!. Everyone still warm from clothes, shoulders sheltering bodies, curling over as they could. Eye contact.
Soon after, cold wet feet. Soon after, shouting and moving the mass, the putty we had become, into the right shape for the shoot, as determined from a crane high over our heads. Soon after, surreptitious glances at tattoos, shapes, colours of skin. We are all beautiful naked, even when cold in the grey light of dawn. Never more so.
More time passing and we are getting colder. During the lying-down shoot/red and white roses held aloft, I heard chattering teeth from a young guy near my head somewhere. The sun was nearly golden on the birch leaves nearby now, white light fading out the early grey.
It has seldom been harder to get my socks on, as at about 7am! The women only then made their way to a spot closer to the castle, for another stripping down. There was much hooting from both sides as the men watched from lower down the hill, like a scene from Braveheart now, cheering hooting, almost bawdy, but in such a fine humour in the early morning! Other folks are probably stirring and slurping their first cups of tea now, we're out here in full swing. Yep. As it were.
Dressed again, nothing but our big smiles to separate us from the rest of Cork anymore.
For me, an awesome, enormous feeling of wholeness in my body. Being one shape, inhabiting one vessel, not a collection of lumps too big and limbs too untoned.. Wonderful, a liberation.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Ungrateful Wretches
Today the counting of votes towards the Lisbon Treaty revealed that it's a No here in Ireland. After everything which Europe has done for Ireland these past 15 years.. It's not a vote for the little guy - Europe has been created and remains a big organisation regardless - this was about simplifying rules, making it easier for Europe to deal with the rest of the world.
This tiny nation in Europe, less than 1% of the population of Europe, holds up a process which must cost fortunes. Gawd. What can possibly be achieved if this one state holds up the passage of the final attempt to get a new constitution, years in the negotiation? Does anyone actually want to move on? Europe's got troubles enough.
Some other people's reactions here.
And tomorrow there won't be a 'no' voter to be found, they're that contrary in their politics here..
This tiny nation in Europe, less than 1% of the population of Europe, holds up a process which must cost fortunes. Gawd. What can possibly be achieved if this one state holds up the passage of the final attempt to get a new constitution, years in the negotiation? Does anyone actually want to move on? Europe's got troubles enough.
Some other people's reactions here.
And tomorrow there won't be a 'no' voter to be found, they're that contrary in their politics here..
Thursday, June 12, 2008
A June to Remember
A year ago, as we were in the throes of packing up our house to prepare for this trip, a massive storm hit Newcastle, followed by floods for days. Winter, lashing rain, grey for days.A coal ship, the Pasha Bulker, washed up on the beach 10 minutes drive from our house, grounding on the sand - and remaining stuck there for more than a month.
It was primal, collective - as people lifted out of what they thought they were doing in their own worlds that weekend, to participate/help in this disaster. We thought we had my parents to visit, to help pack up: instead we, and 2 other neighbouring families, ate dinner at a neighbour's, who had an open fire and a gas stove - the power was gone for 12 hours that Saturday. And we all fared very well compared to much of Newcastle.
The local ABC Radio site is running some memory stories with lots of pics from 2007, having been THE source of information and support for everyone for DAYS, they just stayed on air, suspending all normal broadcasting. Amazing effort, which won them awards later last year.
And I was talking about it to someone here and promised one of my photos from then. BIG days they were.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
It's here - Spencer Tunick looming up in Cork
Next week, and unknown number of people in Cork will be taking part in a massive photo shoot with Spencer Tunick - taking all their clothes off, staying very close together, keeping quite still. From other photos at his site, it looks as if it's a silent activity, almost devotional, in an odd way: to large public spaces, to our common humanity, to our collected assembled bodies as an articulate medium in their own right.
I'll be there. For me, it's an occasion for a last hurrah, a treat on my own account to celebrate a year living here in Ireland, being part of the great mass of European humanity. This is my birth too, the collective unconscious of my own mind. And in view of the fuss about nude bodies used in Bill Henson's art in Australia these past few weeks, it seems highly appropriate - let's please not have a new age of prudery.
In my work, I've been involved with creating ephemeral activities for large crowds in public places, with Live Sites, in a role which required clothes on at all times! This is another way to participate in that work to blur the distinctions between a) formal public places and b) memorable artistic experiences - to change our views of a space and place - of appropriate and inappropriate behaviour, even!
The organisation of large crowds is fantastic, the detailed email which arrived is brilliant people management, and all a big secret until the day. (UPDATE: NOT. LMM heard all about it at work one night, with 3 days to go. Confidentiality is a loose notion here in Cork.)
Fun. Can't wait, will reveal more in due course. Ha ha.
I'll be there. For me, it's an occasion for a last hurrah, a treat on my own account to celebrate a year living here in Ireland, being part of the great mass of European humanity. This is my birth too, the collective unconscious of my own mind. And in view of the fuss about nude bodies used in Bill Henson's art in Australia these past few weeks, it seems highly appropriate - let's please not have a new age of prudery.
In my work, I've been involved with creating ephemeral activities for large crowds in public places, with Live Sites, in a role which required clothes on at all times! This is another way to participate in that work to blur the distinctions between a) formal public places and b) memorable artistic experiences - to change our views of a space and place - of appropriate and inappropriate behaviour, even!
The organisation of large crowds is fantastic, the detailed email which arrived is brilliant people management, and all a big secret until the day. (UPDATE: NOT. LMM heard all about it at work one night, with 3 days to go. Confidentiality is a loose notion here in Cork.)
Fun. Can't wait, will reveal more in due course. Ha ha.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Auld ancient Ireland vs the New
In miraculous sunshine, truly transporting me to a different planet than this Cork-planet I've grown used to - we drove to Midleton, for the Jameson Experience, a tour of the old, now disused, distillery building, laced in fine tales of brewing and distilling, small feature films, and of course, a tasting at the end.
It occurred to me there that, on a weeklong visit to Ireland from, say the USA, a body could get a completely different view of Ireland than ours, gained in long slow steeping in the country. It was so clean, tidy, freshly tiled, swept, painted, orderly at the site. And it's a bit the same at Muckross House, at Kilkenny Design Centre,and Killarney hotels look to be the same. Shiny, freshly painted, new grey stone. Squared edges, crisp colour, though in heritage shades.
The Ireland I have lived in this time is more mossy, disorganised, with haphazard arrangements of windows, ugly new and dilapidated old buildings side by side. Moss grows on the sills of our car, moss grows on the wall out this window, moss grows on the buttresses of ruined cathedrals. Which, in bright sunshine, looks romantic, gorgeous, nostalgic like Easter-nests of old: not at all like way too much rain all year round.
A stunningly characterful pub will be tucked in beside a new bright yellow convenience store, almost invisible from the street front. In the pub, a group of people half my age were puddling away on fiddles, bodhrans, banjo, just for theirselves - oh and also the crowd squeezed thickly into the tiny, vertical space of the stairwell over them). Sin E!
It's odd then, to me, that the main difference in the appearance of Ireland for a short visit, seems to be efficiency. When this trait is just not apparent in Irishness - all manner of other qualities are, but not that - and yet they're portraying it out there now. Maybe it was the shot of Jameson's with cranberry that set me to thinking like this. Maybe the sun.
It occurred to me there that, on a weeklong visit to Ireland from, say the USA, a body could get a completely different view of Ireland than ours, gained in long slow steeping in the country. It was so clean, tidy, freshly tiled, swept, painted, orderly at the site. And it's a bit the same at Muckross House, at Kilkenny Design Centre,and Killarney hotels look to be the same. Shiny, freshly painted, new grey stone. Squared edges, crisp colour, though in heritage shades.
The Ireland I have lived in this time is more mossy, disorganised, with haphazard arrangements of windows, ugly new and dilapidated old buildings side by side. Moss grows on the sills of our car, moss grows on the wall out this window, moss grows on the buttresses of ruined cathedrals. Which, in bright sunshine, looks romantic, gorgeous, nostalgic like Easter-nests of old: not at all like way too much rain all year round.
A stunningly characterful pub will be tucked in beside a new bright yellow convenience store, almost invisible from the street front. In the pub, a group of people half my age were puddling away on fiddles, bodhrans, banjo, just for theirselves - oh and also the crowd squeezed thickly into the tiny, vertical space of the stairwell over them). Sin E!
It's odd then, to me, that the main difference in the appearance of Ireland for a short visit, seems to be efficiency. When this trait is just not apparent in Irishness - all manner of other qualities are, but not that - and yet they're portraying it out there now. Maybe it was the shot of Jameson's with cranberry that set me to thinking like this. Maybe the sun.
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