In 2015, I spent five months on the west coast of Ireland. I had no idea how drastically the nuances of my experiences, although seemingly banal and placid at times, could produce such a rich influence on my work.
I spend my winter mornings walking over
the landscape of the Burren. Large
surface rocks, called ‘Glacial Erratics’,
catch my eye. I follow them, like an array
of markers, making a course over the
limestone pavements. I stop to consider
their presence, and see them as a momentary
assortment, lingering here temporarily
after being carried by the fluxes of past
glaciers.
They seem to sit lightly now, while the
soft day-to-day mineral erosions of wind
and interspersing rain play out in the fresh
happenings around them. I wonder as to
their potential, perhaps as a reminder that
some things shouldn’t be controlled,
understood or neatly organized.
I started painting by questioning what I knew of rocks as being heavy, inert, ancient, and lifeless, forgoing their likeness to capture their essence. A sense of dichotomy was building on the painting surface, that rocks could be simultaneously stationary yet seemingly fleeting, or indestructible yet delicate like a butterfly wing.
