Salt of the Earth...

The driftwood burning
Learned its jewelled blaze
From the sea's blue splendor
Of colored nights and days.
-Driftwood. Sara Teasdale

The rain has set back in, green days awash with grey. I'm still reading my leaves each morning, and I constantly have blue ink on my fingers and thread in my pockets. I'm putting the stories in order, my mind is full of words; lines sounded out in rhythm and whispers. My hands are full of pebbles, smooth and worn. And my desk and floor are covered in a flurry of paper and images, text and waiting books. I always work this way, finally putting it together during the last weeks, before that it remains fluid; shifting, gathered and windblown until I breathe deep and pin it down...

Today I love soft knits and the drum of rain on the roof, I love blossoms that fall like snow and cups of steaming tea. I love bare feet and loathe words that taste like lies. Today the woman I am has been scanning the sky like a map and eating jam from the jars, she wants to pocket those stars and sprinkle them in her tea leaves and the only person she tells it all to has salt in his hair, a bird on his foot and the ocean in his blood...

North Winds...

That North wind tugged at her hair, it pulled at her clothes and unwound the blue in her hem...

I'm not very happy with this narrative, I'll rewrite in over the next few days... The weather has set back in; grey and green, wind through the trees and rain on the windows. I'm making lists; trying to get a lot done, and I'm still collecting those superstitions; does anyone have any they'd like to share?

Today I love my cream lace scarf, I love spring greens and wild primroses. Today I can't wait for the swallows to come home, I love gritty pears and as always I loathe fair weather people. Today the woman I want to be knows that recipe off by heart, the north wind doesn't tug at her hair or whisper of ill change, she has more time for her camera and never has to guess her friends motives...

Borrowed Blue...

Always use new pins, old letters and borrow blue from the sky...

Last Saturday was my birthday, I had such a light filled weekend; friends, family, bunting and ribbon, cakes and flowers, raspberries and blue skies...

This week I have been making headway on my degree show; days on blustery beaches with my camera back in my hands, late nights spent filling cabinets with superstitions; always use new pins for quilts and dresses, stitch blue thread into your hem and keep a pebble from home shores in your pocket. My tree, an apple tree is on it's way to me, soon it should be on a ship crossing the Irish sea, fitting for a tree I intend to haunt with pearls, sea salt and pebbles. Mature apple trees, it would seem, are difficult to buy in Northern Ireland...

Today I love sky blue thread and my wispy sea grey scarf, I love tea steaming in the early spring air and the sound of pebbles underfoot. As always I loathe injustice. Today the woman I am sleeps soundly, and has somehow managed to leave books and coffee in almost every room in the house, she has been baking and dreaming of the sea and she can almost taste freedom...

Salt and Light...

Ohhh I have lovely news... I have the opportunity to show my work, the Salty Superstitions narrative in a public space. It is a beautiful community centre overlooking the sea, location wise it couldn't be more perfect for the narrative; all that salt air and sea light, the sound of waves right outside the door... I just need to get moving, get them printed and framed up and on their walls soon...

I am also looking into opening an Etsy store selling prints of my work soon, I'm a little worried about this; I have no confidence about letting my work lose in the world... I'll start very small and see how it goes...

Tomorrow I have to give a ten minute presentation on my work in college; how I form narratives, my refrences, my inspirations, my materials; photography, writing, documentation along with found and created objects. I plan to serve tea and tell stories but what else I plan to say or do changes by the hour... Confidence here is also an issue, I've put so much of myself into my work that standing with it, revealing my hows and whys makes me feel more than a little exposed...

Today I love every shade of blue and fresh raspberry scones with tea, I love rain on the windows and inky pens. Today I love stacks of well worn books, old friends made of paper and ink and as always I hate dreams that leave me reeling... Today the woman I want to be is comfortable enough with herself that she is grace and light, she is as at home in a crowded room as she is on her own, she walks along the beach each morning and her life is daylight and sea salt...

Salty Mornings...

By winter there were water marks on the walls and blue light filtering through every room, and each wavering breath she took was as salty as tears...

Christmas was wonderful and quiet, family and friends, fairy lights, old movies, champagne and coffee, and today I had a day of frosty beaches and steaming tea, low golden sunlight and salty crisp air, a perfect winter day... and so I am content.

Today I have sand on my feet and salt in the curls of my hair, the sky is a scattering of stars, I still have ink on my fingers and poets in my car and I that feeling of freedom only wide horizons and maps can bring... Today I love scarfs and picnics, I love frost underfoot and golden light, I love keys and as always I hate selfishness. Today the woman I want to be can see the beach from her bedroom window and the waves lull her to sleep each night...

Wintering...

All through that winter the house smelt of apples and ice. And in the Spring when the frost thawed, he was gone. His boots filled with salt water and no blossoms on the trees...

oooh I missed daylight... cold and golden daylight. Blue fingers and toes, the crunch-click of frost and film. I missed my camera too. The dissertation is over and although I have my narratives and Fairy Tale to get ready I feel free.

The family have been donating old film cameras to me, it turns out we have quite a few photographers amoung us and so I'm gathering up quite a lovely stash...

Today I love pearls, soft jumpers and frost on the glass. I love the beach on cold days, low sunlight on white sheets and a sky scattered with milky stars. I love fresh white notebooks with sharp pencils and as always I hate half truths. Today the woman I want to be keeps film in her back pocket and poetry in her bag, she knows her limitations and keeps her friends close. She sleeps soundly and her life is daylight, she eats jam from the jars and smells like vanilla...

Apples and Polaroids...

Ohhhhhh, I LOVE my Polaroid camera! I've been playing around with it for a while, and I adore it. I love how it sees light, golden and dreamy...

I bought an old sx-70 from eBay at the end of the summer, and filters from save Polaroid so i can use 600 film. And so I'm very conscious of using the film, it almost feels precious; stored in my fridge, between the coffee and jams, and developed under my jumpers next to my skin. I love the involvement with it, not the detachment there seems with digital...

Autumn is here, today crisp and golden, I've been filling my days with stacks of books, apples and coffee.

Salt and early Autumn Light...

Every evening, as the waves lapped in, stray apples would wash up on the beach and the horizon would tilt a little more off balance...

Its been over a month since my last post, I'm back to college and I've had a few family hiccups but my world is settled now and autumn has truly set in, long golden sunsets, turning leaves, crisp air and so I feel much more content.

I spent last weekend in Donegal, my favourite place in the world, salty air and golden light... I loved taking these beach images (more on flickr) it was a little tricky but I'm happy with this now.
I'm developing my narratives for college, and I'm very excited about how each could become a final body of work. I'm not settling yet though I want to explore as much as I can, I feel some of my images will be fixed points in the narratives but I need to create something tangible, something I can hold. I'm thinking of a book, although that would create a fixed order to the narratives...

I had a wonderful experience last weekend, I put my images and narratives on the coffee table in Donegal and my friends moved them around into the order they felt right with, I'd like the narratives to be that fluid, to act as mnemonics and become personal narratives to the viewer. I'm not sure if this will be possible for me...


I've been watching the apples change, and much prefer this image to the earlier greener one. I love the colours of autumn but my narratives have been so summer based I'm worried about how to take them through into autumn and winter, but I'll let it go, just keep taking photos and see where the narrative takes me.

Before the apple tree goes over I'd love to install hundreds of pearls strung through the branches, purely for the aesthetic, typical me, but you never know what that will lead to...

I'd really love to know how these images work for others, I know the narrative and it makes sense to me, obviously, but I find it difficult to take a step back and detach myself from it to view it as the audience would...

Something else I've been thinking of is selling prints of my images, my aunt has framed and hung two of my images from the Vie en Rose narrative, it was strange to see my work on someones wall, but it got me to thinking if my images would sell, I'm not sure... So any feedback about either point would be more than welcome...

I hope to be posting more regularly now, I have so many ideas for this project and I'm lucky to be in a course where I can indulge them.

Today I love golden light, sand in my shoes and salty air. I love my Lizzie Bennet coat and apples in my pockets, and as always I loathe lies. Today the woman I was, drank frothy strong coffee in the morning light and ate a pear walking down the street, she accepted a compliment and watched movies spoken in a foreign tongue...

"Where to begin?- that was the question at what point to make the first mark? One line placed on the canvas committed her to innumerable risks, to frequent and irrevocable decisions." -Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse.

Blues, pearls, waves, salt and the sea... Where to begin indeed, this is how I work, on lines where I can see it all until I'm confident enough to stick it down, to commit to it...

Today I love blueberries and my sea green jumper, I love my grandmothers cameo ring and the blue of the sky. Today I love my polaroid film in anticipation of the camera I finally bought and as always, I can't stand fairweather friends. Today the woman I want to be sleeps soundly and dreams only of the present. She reads whole books in one sitting and the newspaper with her morning coffee...

That Sinking Feeling...

That Autumn the trees were laden with fruit, each one bitter and hollow, the cakes made from them needed ladles of sugar, and still they caused dreams so deep and murky that even the bravest feared drowning...

Autumn is coming quickly, washing in, in torrents, today smelt of rain and earth. That rich, brown scent of Autumn. The light is golden, underneath the storm clouds...
I'm not sure I like this narrative, I'm getting nothing done, every time I turn around another day has come and gone... My notebooks are instead filling with lists, lists of what I love, what I don't and who i want to be...

I love the smell of rain, and the sound of pearls. I love jumpers over dresses and bare feet. I love compasses and loathe clocks.
The woman I want to be speaks fluent french, plays piano and leaves apple cake to cool on her windowsills. The woman I want to be trusts herself and owns red silk shoes, she eats pears walking down the street, she accepts a compliment about her looks and her secrets are only recipes...

Theres a storm brewing...

all through that summer it rained, deep green, salty rain which fell in sheets so suddenly and so heavy the world became blurred... and so the lost settled in, roosting in the blue china and between the sheets...

It has been raining for so long now, deep grey days, thunder rolling in, I love this weather, its great for a cup of tea and a book, not so good for light, or long walks or pretty skirts... its writing weather, I'm trying to progress my narratives, unsuccessfully, I may just leave it for now and work on my dissertation, I need to get it out of the way...

Narratives and Fairy Tales in the Visual Arts, eugh so much work to do!

She could call up a storm with a single thread of her raven hair...

Blossom...

He bought her a house in the woods and tea with flowers in the morning when she woke...
Apple cake and sunlight on the windowsills
Fresh sheets on the line
Laughter in every room...

Salty superstitions... a story of apple blossom, love, lost souls, storms, superstition, the sea, pearls, pebbles, white slips and blue jeans... I'm working on it...

Plant apple trees for a happy marriage, add the blossom to bridal boquets.- Old superstitions.

In Irish mythology there is an island across the sea, the isle of promise, an isle of medows and orchards where golden apples grow. The island belongs to the god of the sea, and few ever return...

Salty superstition...

Slip a pearl into his pocket, draw a swallow on his foot, hide his boots, fill his bath water with salt, add black pepper to his food, grind peony root and add it to the wash, wrap strands of his hair around oak branches, buy him shirts of sky blue... it won't matter; if she wants him there's no stopping her, you can't argue with the sea...

I'm working on two narratives for my final year and one sculpture project, this may change as I continue, but just now it's the "haunted" story and the bog cotton, along with this narrative, a story of pearls, superstition and the sea. It started to come through as I worked on last years Rose narrative, I would sit down to write for the rose photographs and would find myself writing a different story... or I would just decide to photograph the pearls instead, I would see the image in my mind and need to create it...

I'm not as sure of this one as I am of haunted but it will be interesting to see how it progresses, I feel it must be in my head and is a story that needs told, so I hope to allow it to develop organically and see what it is... is that strange? :)

As the storms rolled in that spring the apple blossomed early, its fresh scent rose in waves drawing schools of rosy salmon into the shallows, and when they were cut open their bellies were full of bones and buckles, pearls and rings, and lost souls that settled right on the sea green slabs of the harbour. They clung to the salt and seaweed on the men’s boots and travelled home with them, settling in on the garden paths and in the branches of those apple trees...

I wrote the above narrative a long time ago, it was just waiting in one of my many notebooks, and so when I photographed the pearls it just seemed perfect. What is interesting me with this one is the mnemonics, I seem to be unconsciously triggering myself to progress the narrative..

I grew up having holidays on a Donegal island, and an island on Strangford Lough, my parents spent years at sea before I was born, making it around the world twice on various ships, and family mythology tells that an ancestor was washed up in cork from a foreign land (we guess Spain). My friends are surfers and sailors and so given all that I suppose the salt water is in my blood... there's that mythology again ;)

That May the air turned hazy, and as the boats set out the forget-me-not wove itself through the grass, little pieces of sky fallen to earth, a sure sign of a love to be lost...