"Benbulbin Donegal" Print

Living the dreams, (the dark side of creativity). Midway through another restless night of little-to-no sleep, I get up, feel my way to the garage in the darkness, rip open a canvass; if I have one, if not it’s a board or even the wall... and go paint. It’s as if my tired eyes are a block to the obvious, the formulaic or even beautiful things. It’s like a high speed - slow motion frenzy. An impulsive brain; half asleep with a billion captured images to work from. There’s no line to restrict my hands - often not even brushes, just the overwhelming desire to capture something that’s 100% emotionally driven Sometimes, living a creative life can be heartbreaking. Not because of the lack of security, not because of rejection but because there is a perpetual compromise that is being made. Living creatively is like a temperamental lover. You don’t know what it wants or when it wants it but you do know you have to do it. It feels feverish, uncontrolled and often unforgiving. The never-ending nightmares range from mildly unsettling to absolutely terrible. I get very affected by the things I see and hear. Especially recurring dreams of growing up in Lenadoon... Lenadoom! Every single day was a struggle for survival. I’m sure you’ve watched the newsreels, and yes, it was that bad. I never watch the news now. I don’t have a clue about politics or care for that matter. It’s strange things like my friend had just had a baby and as she was breast feeding the child she felt a painful lump... Yes! Breast Cancer. Like shit!! “Shit tit” excuse the unPC term but I just couldn’t get the image out of my head until I painted it in an absolute frenzy. Of course many creative ideas come from dreams, it’s true, but nightmares are not far behind — lurking in the corners. That nagging feeling of guilt or spiralling anxiety that comes creeping into every level of subconscious. Perhaps that may have something to do with my Christian Brothers education? Maybe violent paint is the release from that old chestnut? That’s the darker side but sometimes I remember walking in Donegal at 6 in the morning in awe of the light. This could pop up 6 months later like some kind of aftershock. Those landscapes tend to be quite serene. They are relatively calming to paint and to look at I suppose. But even behind what may seem calm to the viewer there is very often a deep sense of fleeting loss.