Have a look at this video by photographer David Creedon. Such gorgeous imagery from another time. Many things strike me about it – so much was left behind, the colours of the walls are striking compared with pale modern decoration and there is religious imagery everywhere. It is sad and indeed ghostly because of the subject matter and the print of human life that remains. These rooms have been photographed beautifully and reverently as they appear to crumple and disintegrate before our eyes.
I went out to the Bog Road between Clifden and Moyard last week. It was about 5.30pm and the light was really beautiful, low and clear. The colour of the bog grasses was striking – rich metallic shades of gold, copper and bronze. There was still some warmth left in the sun but the wind had a bite to it which isn’t evident in these pictures – the colours are so deceptively warm, it could be some hot and arid place..
I wandered down this road to get a better look – a typical Irish side road with impressive pot holes..
Mmmm, need a tractor to get through this next bit, good job I brought my wellies..but just look at the blues reflected in this pool.
One last picture, I like the way the hill peaks over the top of the road in this one.
I drove to Galway yesterday and stopped on the way to take some photos just outside Oughterard. It’s a favourite spot of mine – I took some photographs there last Summer. It’s a different place in January but no less beautiful and in fact there’s still a real richness to the colours of the bog and grasses, lovely russety browns and mahogany shades..
There was very little colour in the sky and this is reflected in the pools of water which have a metallic quality, like liquid silver or mercury. A lovely contrast against the earthy mix of colours around it.
There’s a quietness about the place, a stillness, as if the earth still rests. I imagine tiny tendrils underneath, waiting to move upwards and change this place again with a wash of green. Soon..
Yes! We’ve had our second dry day in a row. In a row! Great cause for celebration and excitement after the last few weeks of non stop rain. Our poor hens have been trudging around in the swamp that used to be our garden looking very bedraggled and forlorn. I can detect a spring in their step to day which is catching..
Yesterday I left the breakfast dishes in the sink I was so keen to get outside and enjoy the sun. I went to visit a friend in Moyard, a small townland nearby and I stopped on the Bog road ( above ) to take some pictures en route. It’s near the spot where I took the blurry rain shots in a recent post, just a little further along the road. Here’s some more photos – just look at that blue sky below!
I remember taking some pictures not far from here last January and the sky was a similar bright blue colour. It’s striking when you see it reflected in the water pools as you can see in these next images.
I love the blackness of these turf stacks in the next shots, I suppose due to the fact that they are sodden with water.
Just look at this next one, it’s more like black iron or lava than turf..
This Christmas was one of the mildest and wettest in my recent memory. We’ve had almost three weeks of rain now. I’m struggling to remember a rain free day in that time. G tells me it was fine on New Years Day and I can’t figure out how I missed it! Must have had my head in a book when the sun came out! I took these photos at the week end out on the Bog road to Moyard. It was pouring rain at the time, had been raining since early morning and there was a thick mist hanging low and covering everything in the middle and far distance save for a haze of trees and telegraph poles. Several of the images are blurred due to drops landing on the lens. I quite like the some of the results though. There’s a drama about them, a romance that I would love to be able to translate in to paint. Here’s some more blurry shots.
Here’s the clip from RTE’s ‘Nationwide’ programme that aired last month. It features my work and my studio and also the Lavelle Art Gallery here in Clifden where myself and my husband Gavin make our living.
I drove to Galway city on Wednesday morning, a hundred mile round trip from Clifden town. It’s a journey I make about once a month and usually out of necessity when I have a sufficient amount of errands to run. This particular morning was beautiful – crisp and sunny and still. Fortunately I had my camera with me so I was able to pull in at Ballinafad and take some pictures. You might think that I’ve photoshopped these but it’s the real thing and exactly as it was ( I’m not a great fan of photoshop, especially when it comes to landscape ). This is the N59 looking towards Galway with ‘Lissoughter’ and ‘Binn Ramhar’ mountains on the left.
Here’s the road looking back towards Clifden with the lower slopes of Benn Lettery on the right and Ballinahinch Lake to the left.
And here’s the view south west taking in the lake and forest beyond.
Facing south now and some gorgeous reflections in the lake which was as clear and still as glass – the posts supporting the new saplings, the tree line of the forest and the fisherman’s beats outside this little shed. I love the grasses too, golden like burnt caramel and warm to the eye.
I find myself marveling at it all and the fact that I live in such a beautiful part of the country. I think back to the first time I took this road about twenty years ago and the thoughts that ran through my head. It was like going deeper and deeper in to the unknown, into a kind of wilderness. The water almost touches the road in places as it twists and turns around the lakes ( much narrower then ) and I remember finding this a bit unnerving. The remoteness of the landscape, which seemed to recede in to itself further and further was more than a little daunting for a city girl like me but the extraordinary beauty of the place was unmistakable. You might imagine that you would get used to it, stop seeing it perhaps and begin to take it all for granted but this simply isn’t true. Every season brings a change and each season has it’s own special kind of beauty and moments like these in Ballinafad are made for savouring.
The first week of November has come and gone with more dry days than wet. It’s a remarkable thing here in Connemara where the rain is never far away. We feel grateful when we get a whole day of dry weather, even more grateful when we get two in a row. I find an excuse to go outdoors when it’s like this, everything else can wait; housekeeping, book keeping, laundry, shopping, even painting is put on hold. If I’m really organised I’ll put some washing out to dry first thing, so that I can leave guilt free.
I took these photos out on the bog road between Clifden and Roundstone. October’s gold has deepened to these Wintry hues, it’s brown all over and under – russety, chocolatey, chestnut brown. The light is low, shining across rather than above and making the brighter grasses glint like shards of coloured glass or metal.
The water makes a silvery stripe against the bog and there’s an inky blackness at the edges where the grasses are reflected. It makes me think of a pool of mercury sliding through the landscape.
There’s a stark kind of drama about it all, a bareness from the flat grey light of the sky that seems to muffle colour like sound. I like to track down the words, sometimes a verse to match the way the land looks. That’s how I stumbled across these lines from the poem ‘November‘ by John Payne. I think they fit the mood well – the setting is an empty stage and there’s more than a hint of darkness in the shadowy figure of Winter, laying in wait.
The tale of wake is told; the stage is bare,
The curtain falls upon the ended play;
November’s fogs arise, to hide away
The withered wrack of that which was so fair.
Summer is gone to be with things that were.
The sun is fallen from his ancient sway;
The night primaeval trenches on the day:
Without, the Winter waits upon the stair.
taken from ‘November‘ by John Payne ( 1842 – 1916 )
I took a trip out to Roundstone village at the week end and took some photos on the way. I travelled on the bog road which is a ribbon of tarmac that twists and bumps across the landscape. It’s spectacular at any time of the year because of the vast expanse of bog and lakes and the backdrop of the Twelve Bens mountains but it is really special in Autumn. The burnt orange colours of the grasses give off a deceptive feeling of heat and all the more striking against the blue of the mountains behind. It’s a combination that makes me think of the outback of Australia, wild and vast and hot.
There are few trees in this place which is something I miss but this carpet of orange heathers and grasses makes up for it. Shimmering colours against the low sun; yellows, browns, ochres, coppery reds – it’s a fiery mix and a golden time, a pause before the long Winter ahead. When the days are warm like they have been, it’s an extra gift, making long sunbeams indoors and tall shadows outside and unexpected warmth, reminding us to hold on to every balmy moment while we can and to savour it.
These grasses below are on the outskirts of the village.
It’s an impressive sight and the land feels alive with movement, like hair or water, the gentle sound of it making a whisper, moving back and forward and around me where I stand. Now I have the notion that I could be in some wild prairie in America, not here in Connemara where it’s green and wet.
I liked the contrast between the fence and the grasses in this next photo.
It looks bleached by the sun, not weathered by rain and wind as it has been here on the edges of the Atlantic. I want to go home now and find a sunbeam to sit in with a cup of hot tea and read about landscapes far away and bask in the last of the day.
The picture below is the view from my top window where beyond the back garden, the gorse and the telegraph poles you can see Buttermilk hill. (You can also see the new hen run – almost finished, the girls playhouse – I leave the bunting out all Winter because it adds some cheer and Jellybean our ginger cat!
Here’s a better view of the hill (below) from Clifden’s National School. I’ve looked at it from this vantage point many times in the last eight years.. it always makes me think of a sleeping giant, the curves and hollows of a turned away face, it’s nose the highest point.
In all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never climbed to the top of the Buttermilk so I made it a project this week and I brought my camera with me. This next photo is taken about half way up. I had to watch my footing as the ground was thick with tufty grasses, gorse and heather.
Such a great view already. This northern side of town has shrunk and seems to nestle cosily in the hills and mountains beyond. There’s colour among the russet grasses too and when I look closely, I spot some purple flowers and a brilliant red leafed plant.
At last the ‘nose’ of the hill was within reach..
When I got to the top, a plain of land was unveiled ahead and the lakes that provide our house with water.
The view along the Wesport Road and beyond was wonderful – St. Catherine’s nursing home with its long narrow avenue to the left and the Spire of St.Joseph’s church off to the right. I could pick out my own house and the bright green GAA pitch beyond it. The mountains looked magnificent, their peaks covered in mist and I had the feeling that they were closer at this vantage point even though this is a relatively small hill.
One last picture looking further north – more clouds in this one and the curling line of Streamstown bay in the far distance.
I was tempted to keep walking but my time was limited so I made a promise to myself to return in the near future.