Hey Guys, If you missed my latest exhibition, Pride -V- Prejudice, you can check out a sample of the work that was displayed on the night below.
You can check out the rest of my work on the GALLERY PAGE.
If you have any queries in relation to my art or would like to request a painting to purchase, you can get in touch via the CONTACT PAGE.
When I travel I carry a sketchbook. In this sketchbook I keep drawings, clippings and such to remind me of the things a photo cant. A joke, a laugh, a dodgy dinner, a lost emotion, even a burst boil and some pink granny knickers…you know who you are. These are the memories that sometimes get lost in all the big stuff, the galleries, the tours and the nights out. I try to focus on things I don’t want to forget, because I laughed so hard or cried so bad but know I won’t remember in the years following. Every so often the diary will come out at a dinner party or visits from friends and the laughter starts again. Keeping that one little memory alive.
I recently started posting images I have drawn on a recent trip to New York on facebook and am getting all kinds of questions about them. Some are a five minute drawing, some could be fourty but for whatever reason these are memories I want to remember. People ask me where I came up with the idea. So here it is.
When I was in college, many a year ago, my class friends and I were encouraged to keep a visual diary. These diaries were supposed to contain images that inspired us. Colour, drawings and textures that interested us and anything that we found appealing or unappealing to the eye. At first, myself and my pal had great fun sticking in leaves and berry juice and inappropriate doodles into our diaries in order to start filling them up.
Pretty soon, I started to realise the importance of the diary and started taking it everywhere, finding beauty in everything, from rusty drains to slimy seaweed. Colour was everywhere and I started to enjoy drawing, doodling and wedging as much as I could into it. I found that the ‘stuff’ I had in the diary inspired my work and to this day I keep them all.
So I am blogging about my New York trip.. little stories so you guys know why I do it..
I have a traffic drawing – reminds me of the four hours I sat in traffic on the 95 from the Catskills to Long Island while my 70 year old father continually informed me of the driving habits of every car that passed me. Cars that were coming up my left or right, cars that was about to break or cut in, cars that were driving too fast or too slow, or not driving at all. After threatening to stop on the highway and throw him out he proceeded to then repeatedly talk about he was only trying to assist me at which point I was riddled with guilt and apologised.. He then started all over again… “oh watch this lunatic here on your right”
The New York Flight & Hen Night – To keep it short, Dad got upgraded then changed his seat so he could sit next to us but got put in the middle isle wedged in between some woman who wouldn’t let him or his Mrs out to the toilet. I spent the flight hyperventilating about the non existent turbulence that may or may not start at any moment while my partner spent the flight in a nice calm and relaxing state enjoying a glass of wine. Then onto the hen’s, which isn’t called a hen in the states where my sister in law got sick in the limo, my pal lost her phone on a rooftop café and a drag queen stole my sisters knicker stuffing money then tried to humiliate us but lost while the gang danced to the spice girls and used umbrellas as microphones.
Ballybowl – Two families, three teams, carnage everywhere..sports that the Irish don’t get and the men totally love. Families were at war, sons beat mothers, fathers beat sons and lovers weren’t so in love after this day of exertions.
Hillbillys – while up in the Catskills, high in the mountains, far from everything…even a bar we had to venture to the nearest Walmart.. this was a fourty minute drive away and was in the middle of nowhere. I got up and threw on a beautiful black Maxi dress that I had purchased in Tesco’s the year before but was ok to wear ‘cause I was in America. Flung on a little makeup and sprayed my hair as I had no hairdryer up there. I wasn’t feeling my most beautiful so was totally surprised when I was stopped by an elderly gentleman who informed me that it was “wonderful to see a beautiful woman all dressed up to do her groceries”. After blushing and throwing back the usual awkward Irish reply…”Ah go way outa that, this, I threw on from Tescos”. He clearly had no way of understanding what I had said and politely wandered off on his electric wheelchair. So two isles up these two males, both wearing check trucker shirts and baseball caps, one was seriously wearing dungarees and the other in ripped jeans, not the fashionable kind and both had very questionable dental hygiene decided to frighten the living daylights out of me by snearing and spouting out something about dressing up in the day to have a good time… Needless to say, very little makeup was worn following this incident.
Anyway..for those wondering why I do it or where I get the idea…this is why..It’s my visual journal of memories I don’t want to forget.