ag siúl le sinsear
walking with ancestors
ag siúl le sinsear
walking with ancestors
the ground is the deep time story. that exists across all time and all space. it is the source. other stories, of water, sea, air, earth and sky are etched over deep time. it's the epigenetics of the land as told by the ancestors human and more than human , past, present and stories waiting to be told.
Artist Residencies 2025
April: Watershed Studios, Galway, Ireland
May: NAT Art Residence, SM Pro Art Circle, Cantabria, Northern Spain
farraige is beatha / sea is life
fola ar an líne / blood on the line
Grandma's father John, born on the boundary of Galway and Clare, got himself a job on the Great Southern and Western Railway. Children were born along the line to the Shanon, my grandmother in Clarecastle. In 1911 the Irish railway workers went on strike. The British Army was brought in to crush dissent. The strike was broken within weeks and 10% of the workers were laid off. "Now that we have the men defeated, we'll never have any more trouble".
an Boirinn / the Burren
On the Burren, an astounding natural beauty holds the scars of genocide - furrowed ridges emerge like dry bones, abandoned bothies and stone walls lead to nowhere. Yet, across the bog meadows, tiny spring flowers emerge, their vibrant colours a testament to Irish resilience.
Under the yoke of British occupation the Irish were systematically starved. Between 1845 and 1852, the British overlords watched more than a million Irish souls perish while they exported from Irish shores prime agricultural produce to fill the greedy mouths of the English. Hundreds of ships carried away Ireland's lifeblood - cattle, sheep, pigs, poultry, and the West Coast's rich ocean bounties of salmon, oysters, mussels and herring. Irish farmers starved as their own crops; peas, beans, onions and oats, wheat and barley and sweet meadow honey fattened British bellies.
ag siúl le sinsear / walking with ancestors
I meet you
fixed in time.
Stubborn scar.
If I unfold the earth
lay deep inside the ancient roots
like a cocoon.
Like death.
Until you learn to trust.
Will you give in.
Will you give up
your stubborn secrets
and rest awhile.