Suddenly it's winter. A time I savour. The inclination is to hibernate, pause, mull over stuff. It's a time for saying no. A time to rest. A time to enjoy early frosty mornings. Although in truth we get very few of them here in the South East of Ireland. The changing seasons are a . . .
It's all still sinking in. The hard work, the experience of exhibiting, the aftermath. Because I work in an alone space it shocked me on the night of the opening that people would actually arrive. When they came I was somehow still in the middle of the making. I had fallen out of bed . . .
It's been a while, my friends. To be honest I have been quite overwhelmed by the preparation, building and opening of the exhibition. When people ask me if I'm delighted by how successful it has been? Honest to my dying breath, I have to partially disappoint by whinging about how damn hard . . .
"Firstly to cook for the Baba Yaga, (the forest witch) one lays a fire- a woman must be willing to burn hot, burn with passion, burn with words, with ideas, with desire for whatever it is she truly loves. It is actually this passion that causes the cooking, and a woman's original ideas of . . .
I don't necessarily think of myself as an older person. But there you are, I am an older person. So when I was asked by Garter Lane Arts Centre to facilitate a photography workshop for older people as part of the Bealtaine Festival, I was curious. (The Bealtaine Festival is . . .
Early morning light at it's best with sprinklings of frosty dew drops. From my window I won't miss a thing that moves or changes. Small birds hang around on the willows, waiting for the breakfast I will serve them shortly. I've noticed the February sunrise is at the perfect angle. The . . .
There's something about photographing evening skies that never fails to raise my spirits. Tonight, driving home into the western sunset, I had to stop to capture the ever changing canvas, so many times along the way. As the sun dropped towards the horizon the colours . . .