“In 1996, I made the decision to flee Northern Ireland in the hope that it would be better to light a candle, than stay and curse the dark. Journeying beyond the ninth wave, traditionally a distance of self-imposed exile, I resolved to leave any emotional baggage to the whims of the black hole that is the YVR luggage carousel......”
There is immense human value in Yeats's dictum that, ‘We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry,’ but I know too much about the dangers of tribalism and the foolishness of slogans to ever want to be a spokesman for the collective. Haunted by images of murderous sectarian attacks; ‘all blood and roadside muck in the hair and eyes...’ I've been racked by a sense that the images and symbols used in my art were inadequate to the guilty predicament of being alive in my own time. That I lacked the arrogance to tell my own people exactly where they'd gone wrong. That I had succumbed to Ireland's other great social lubricant, avoidance.
Agus fagaimid siud mar ata se.
I don't believe that we are responsible for life's meaningfulness or meaninglessness, but giving order, beauty, dignity, and substance to the ugly and the tawdry is propaganda for what really matters: something so beautiful and so pure that on some other abstract level it becomes a realisation of true worth...
The creative Arête is a magical dialectic momentum existing in the Turas of life itself. Don't paint yourself into a corner of comfort, or collect tears in mason jars to fuel your pathos. Excavate. Reclaim. Hustle. Stay relevant. Build. Commit. Rebalance.
“Should you be willing, take a moment of your time and let those things you truly believe in, choose you.”