Ireland and the Galway Arts Festival 2014

Arriving in Ireland on a sunny afternoon is the perfect introduction to the Emerald Isle, and where better to celebrate the start of a holiday than a traditional pub.

Mr B and I came over with friends for the Galway Arts Festival, staying down in Salthill which is the seaside area of Galway City - we were so lucky with our apartment view . . .

. . . and next day just along the prom, a hardy bunch at the diving boards.

Approaching the city from Claddagh and looking at the houses on the Long Walk

Plaques are placed (seemingly) randomly around the town, much to my delight . . .

brilliantly decorated building next to Spanish Arch,

and skilfully laid cobbles creating fan shaped patterns.

Sitting down for a welcome coffee and . . . well . . . usually I photograph flowers, landscape, exhibitions, almost anything without a human being in sight, but as you can see this fellow is way, way too gorgeous to miss.

An excellent sentiment  . . .

Like any arts festival there is a lot going on in the street . . .

And this street includes the RedBall Project, artist Kurt Perschke's sculptural installation. I was immediately drawn to it when spied down an alleyway. It soon drew itself a little crowd, all of us of politely allowing each other a photo opportunity without anyone else in view!

If I find myself in Galway City again (and that would be a good thing) looking for a bite to eat, I'll definitely pop back to Cava Bodega, for the best tapas in town.

Taking a day out of town in our search for The Burren we took a little detour to Yeats Tower. Sadly it was closed, 

with no information other than the plaque on the wall and a pretty rose climbing the cottage wall.

Skirting The Burren along the R460 we spotted Kilmacduagh tower. 

The round tower was built as a refuge for the monks who lived here in the 12th century, to keep them safe from marauding Norsemen. It's the most conspicuous building on the site, and lacking any deep foundations it leans two feet out of perpendicular

The impermanence of things . . .

A long morning driving,

and this is as close as we came to The Burren's rocky landscape!

So, suitably refreshed we headed back to the festival and Star of the Sea, playing at the Moonfish Theatre. 

We'd bought tickets with a little trepidation, but it turned out to be a totally enthralling performance. A clever adaptation of Joseph O'Connor's novel, both in the Irish and English language and completely accessible to a non Irish speaker (like me). 

We also saw Ballyturk (apparently the hottest tickets in the festival) combining physical comedy, whilst repeatedly ruminating upon the brevity of our earthly existence. 

Two unnamed men in a room, Cillian Murphy and Mikel Murfi (excellent both) speculating about, and going through the motions of, their lives was mildly interesting. 

However, the work comes alive about 40 minutes in with the arrival of Stephen Rea as a rakish, cigarette-smoking god/death like figure (again unnamed) He speaks movingly and poetically, the work acquiring a fresh lyrical richness and from then on I was hooked. Poignant and beautiful, see it if you can when it come to the UK.

The big surprise of the festival (for me) was the Mute Quire, played as part of the fringe at the Columbian Hall. We only found it by chance, being handed a flier at our favourite coffee place, The Secret Garden.

The Mute Quire, the clue is in the name (Quire - four sheets of paper or parchment folded to form eight leaves, as in medieval manuscripts) is a fictionalised telling of the printing of Shakespeare’s first folio. Kinetic and highly entertaining. 

Uproot Hootenanny at the Roisin Dubh playing the most entertaining and distinctive brand of folk, rock, roots, and bluegrass - and - the fastest fiddle player ever!

When packing in plays, exhibitions and bands it's good to take little time away from the bright lights of the city . . . picnicking in the mist and looking out over beautiful Loch Corrib recharges our batteries.

Tucked around the headland we found this fantastic place . . . no one around to ask about it.

Back up from the loch we found some off-road paths

with masses of orchids . . .

and umbellifers for insect dating.

Patrick O'Reilly's exhibition, Prelude, at the middle pier was intriguing. 

Best known in Ireland for his large bear sculptures, this exhibition didn't appear to have a focus as such, and I wish I'd been at the gallery for the artist's talk to get his view of what the work was about. I felt it was playful and original, but would really have liked a bit more.

The energetic and bubbly Imelda May

John Kindness's exhibition, Odysseus, Absolut Festival Gallery. Sailor torso.

Page from one of the sketchbooks on view - precise expression of detail . . .

Friends and acquaintances all said, "You can't go to Galway without visiting Moran's"

a very happy bunny, having tried out the garlic butter crabs claws and Guinness!

After such a rich lunch a walk is a must. 

The hedgerows and verges are overrun with wild flowers, unfortunately more than I see at home in Wiltshire's road sides.

Cheerful bright yellow flower heads of Cat's-ear,

I'm guessing that gardeners would rather have these scabious . . . a member of the teasel family no less.

Paths lined with Greater knapweed . . .

and pretty pink yarrow, probably an escapee from someones garden 

Tufted vetch

. . . I don't know what this is, (a member of the mignonette family perhaps) but there was a lot of it about.

Another spot for a picnic, this time Mullaghmore.

A  Sunday in July and hardly anyone in sight, it is said that Mullaghmore is one of the best big wave surfing locations in the world. With waves up to 15 metres (49 ft) high off Mullaghmore Head on 8 March 2012. 

Can you imagine how popular Mullaghmore would be with sunshine . . .

A cat of independent mind chose to follow us out, and back, to Doorin Point. 

Walking out to the plane for home and yet again we have the more typical Irish sky . . . I know it's hard to believe, but the sun did shine and we did get sunburnt in Galway!

Camping . . . in the Wye Valley

Camping! I haven't been camping in years . . . but it seemed like a good idea when it was suggested that Mr B and I join my brother and his missus on a short trip to the Wye Valley. I have long wanted to visit Symonds Yat Rock, up for adventure, Mr B agreed the dates and bags were duly packed.

Dinner was booked on our first evening at the Saracens Head - what we hadn't realised though, was that it requires a hand pulled ferry to get us to our table!  

Morning, walking down through the woods to the Wye.

There is a small suspension footbridge over the Wye near Symonds Yat East, narrow and very bouncy - first built by the forestry commission in 1957. 

Naturally, you feel the urge to walk with a bit of a bounce in your step, but it does feel a little flimsy and with a weathered sign requesting no more than 6 people cross at one time we behaved ourselves!

A steep footpath leads from the village (where the Saracens Head is) up to Symonds Yat Rock.

Our campsite is on top of the hill in the middle of this scene.

The views are well worth the walk up . . .

Enjoying a little rest before we trot back down the hillside.

It is possible to trace human habitation in the area back to about 12,000 years ago. King Arthurs cave on the Great Doward (very close to the campsite) is a site of archaeological interest, both hyena and Sabre-toothed tiger bones have been uncovered here.

The footpaths are quirky . . . from steep passageways between buildings,

to impressive cliff faces.

A patient Rufus waits in't pub.

Returning over the Wye after supper for a moonlit stroll back up to our campsite . . . magic.

A post breakfast relax prior to packing up, and both puppy dogs wait patiently to be taken for a walk before getting back in the car for the long journey home.

The Power of Plants

We've been away for an awful lot of this year, and the garden has been left mostly to it's own devices. 

But, even with such benign neglect I am rewarded with a harvest for the grey, wet months that will come. I sit picking black currants, which are hidden among the borage and late forget-me-nots, and contemplate the marjoram that is romping about the vegetable beds, and the emergent rosebay willowherb and feel happy because I can hear so many bees working the flowers.

I know that nothing will be cleared as today I'm off again, this time to go camping near Symonds Yat and I can't wait as I love that part of the country.

I can allow myself these jaunts because plants will get on with it whether I'm around to weed and water or not . . . being away for part of April and May I thought I had a bit of a disaster on my hands, in as much as I hadn't planted the spuds until 6th June, by the 25th June they looked promising . . .

and now in early July they look much as I would have expected had I planted them in mid April. The power of plants eh!

Matisse, the Cut-Outs and sunny London Town

Friday morning and just time to plant some potatoes before we shoot up to Town to see the Matisse exhibition at Tate Modern 

Getting down to ground level and the plants that I miss on my trot up the garden path to the Shed are revealed - I had no idea that the wild strawberries had ripened . . . 

Feeling slightly pleased with myself . . . even though a touch late, but I noticed last year after our cold spell and very late start in the garden, that almost everything 'caught up' and nothing was wasted . . . so why not plant now?

I do have a control plant, this bed obviously (now) wasn't totally cleared and shows how far the potatoes would probably be if I'd planted at the recommended time.

Looking back over the millennium bridge, doesn't it look fab? and the graffitied chewing gum I saw in March is still in situ.

The anticipation grows as we approach Tate. One thing though, the queue inside for the Matisse is long, so if you don't have a membership card do book a timed ticket in advance.

The colours in the exhibition are astonishingly uplifting. 

Amphitrite 1947, is a series of small, gouache painted, sheets of paper with cut-outs layered over. Pin holes showing how each shape has been positioned and re-positioned. (Apologies for my poor photo from the book that accompanies the exhibition) 

The fact Matisse made combinations and re-combinations suggests to me an intuitive approach, coupled with a painstaking and arduous process.

But it gives rise to such a sense of vitality in his work . . . which is difficult to translate through these photos, so if you think you may be interested at all, do not miss it!

And the scale of so much is huge.

Women and Monkeys, 1952,

A particular favourite of mine, The Dragon, 1943-4, the colours sing. 

It doesn't translate into a different medium though. On the wall in the gallery it has 'life' the paper cut-outs convey a precarious, fragile existence . . . which drains away in the photograph.

The Heart, 1943, from the illustrated book, Jazz 

The Knife Thrower, 1943-4, from the illustrated book, Jazz

Christmas Eve, 1952, maquette for a stained glass window.

A visit to London is a great excuse to catch up with our youngest, so we stroll across to meet in Leicester Square. And while waiting, I take time to notice buildings I would usually just rush by in a hurry to be 'somewhere'.

Finishing off a fabulous afternoon with jasmine tea at the Cay Tre in Soho.