by Róisín Curé in Galway
The art thing in my family goes back a few years. My great-grandmother painted watercolours of the house and grounds where she lived in the UK. My grandmother pained oils all her life. It continues with my mother, my sister, one or two of my brothers (although they under-use it) and my kids.
My mother and sister decided to spend a few days in Galway painting landscapes. We couldn't have more different styles. My mother paints very atmospheric watercolours. She goes through great big tubes of watercolour like sweeties. My sister paints semi-abstract oils, outdoors of late, and I don't know how she bears the smell of the paint in the car. We arranged to meet last week in deepest countryside near Headford, Co.Galway, stopping at a quay on the waterside at Lough Corrib. There were no signs to the pier where we were to meet - of course - and I became confused. I asked an elderly lady which of the many roads I had passed would take me to the pier.
"Sure take any of them," she said.
Despite my 24 years here, I still have to learn to relax more around these parts.
My sister and my mother spotted a tiny, twisted old tree, bent by the wind, growing at the very edge of the water, and soon the fumes of oil paint began to rise, and tubes of watercolour began to empty. Landscape is fine and dandy...but two people painting the tree were enough for its fragile ego. I turned around and saw a group of young men painting a boat bright red. I have envied the beautiful red in others' work - notably Adriana Gasparich's - and wanted to join the party, and I always love drawing people in action, so I got down to work.
One of the guys had managed to cover himself in paint (the others were spotless), and my splashes of red are my attempt to give this impression. Adriana had suggested that a good solution to making a shadowed part of an object is to use its complementary. I wanted to try this on the red, so I used a funny kind of cobalt green for the underside of the boat. I think I need to practice this method a bit. I also have to practice getting the scale of people right - the two boat painters in the foreground would look like boys except that one of them is bald.
One of the boat-painters, the man on the right in the red splashes, came over to see what we were doing. He was intrigued with my mother's work and asked pertinent questions. I showed my painting to the lads on the boat but I imagine they were heartily sick of painting the boat and couldn't fathom why anyone would want to take it further still, with an actual picture of the boat being painted - especially when I could be painting the lovely landscape. They didn't say as much but I sensed bafflement.
Anyway after a bit my mother pulled out a small camping bed and lay down. She broke her back last December and still needs to stretch out and rest during the day, so the portable bed was ideal. We ate an amazing picnic lunch and drank plastic cups of wine. A family of ducks quacked and dived for bits of weed, their little webbed feet paddling furiously to keep their bodies pointing downwards, white fluffy bottoms sticking up in the air. A very nice man came over.
"I just wanted to let you know that the gate to the quay will be closed in a few minutes," he said. "You can still come in and paint if you want, but if you wouldn't mind putting your car on the other side of the gate, that would be great. We have problems with campers sometimes."
"Like her, you mean?" I said, pointing to my mother, stretched out on her bed.
"Well, yes, but I didn't like to say," said the man. " I wasn't sure whether she was a joyrider or a camper."
Laughter ensued - my mother is a very elegant lady of 75.
"Do I have time to eat my cake?" I asked.
"Of course!" said the man. "Take your time!"
We took him at his word and soon forgot about the gate closing. I reminded my mother and my sister and we packed up.
On our way through the gate the boat-painter who was interested in the watercolour painting was leaning on a wall, looking out over the lake, and I realised he'd been standing there waiting for us to leave for at least twenty minutes.
"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," I said. "I didn't realise you were actually waiting to close the gate."
He gave a big smile. "No problem at all," he said.
Darkest Headford, Co. Galway - if you can find it, it's very peaceful.
The art thing in my family goes back a few years. My great-grandmother painted watercolours of the house and grounds where she lived in the UK. My grandmother pained oils all her life. It continues with my mother, my sister, one or two of my brothers (although they under-use it) and my kids.
My mother and sister decided to spend a few days in Galway painting landscapes. We couldn't have more different styles. My mother paints very atmospheric watercolours. She goes through great big tubes of watercolour like sweeties. My sister paints semi-abstract oils, outdoors of late, and I don't know how she bears the smell of the paint in the car. We arranged to meet last week in deepest countryside near Headford, Co.Galway, stopping at a quay on the waterside at Lough Corrib. There were no signs to the pier where we were to meet - of course - and I became confused. I asked an elderly lady which of the many roads I had passed would take me to the pier.
"Sure take any of them," she said.
Despite my 24 years here, I still have to learn to relax more around these parts.
My sister and my mother spotted a tiny, twisted old tree, bent by the wind, growing at the very edge of the water, and soon the fumes of oil paint began to rise, and tubes of watercolour began to empty. Landscape is fine and dandy...but two people painting the tree were enough for its fragile ego. I turned around and saw a group of young men painting a boat bright red. I have envied the beautiful red in others' work - notably Adriana Gasparich's - and wanted to join the party, and I always love drawing people in action, so I got down to work.
One of the guys had managed to cover himself in paint (the others were spotless), and my splashes of red are my attempt to give this impression. Adriana had suggested that a good solution to making a shadowed part of an object is to use its complementary. I wanted to try this on the red, so I used a funny kind of cobalt green for the underside of the boat. I think I need to practice this method a bit. I also have to practice getting the scale of people right - the two boat painters in the foreground would look like boys except that one of them is bald.
One of the boat-painters, the man on the right in the red splashes, came over to see what we were doing. He was intrigued with my mother's work and asked pertinent questions. I showed my painting to the lads on the boat but I imagine they were heartily sick of painting the boat and couldn't fathom why anyone would want to take it further still, with an actual picture of the boat being painted - especially when I could be painting the lovely landscape. They didn't say as much but I sensed bafflement.
Anyway after a bit my mother pulled out a small camping bed and lay down. She broke her back last December and still needs to stretch out and rest during the day, so the portable bed was ideal. We ate an amazing picnic lunch and drank plastic cups of wine. A family of ducks quacked and dived for bits of weed, their little webbed feet paddling furiously to keep their bodies pointing downwards, white fluffy bottoms sticking up in the air. A very nice man came over.
"I just wanted to let you know that the gate to the quay will be closed in a few minutes," he said. "You can still come in and paint if you want, but if you wouldn't mind putting your car on the other side of the gate, that would be great. We have problems with campers sometimes."
"Like her, you mean?" I said, pointing to my mother, stretched out on her bed.
"Well, yes, but I didn't like to say," said the man. " I wasn't sure whether she was a joyrider or a camper."
Laughter ensued - my mother is a very elegant lady of 75.
"Do I have time to eat my cake?" I asked.
"Of course!" said the man. "Take your time!"
We took him at his word and soon forgot about the gate closing. I reminded my mother and my sister and we packed up.
On our way through the gate the boat-painter who was interested in the watercolour painting was leaning on a wall, looking out over the lake, and I realised he'd been standing there waiting for us to leave for at least twenty minutes.
"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," I said. "I didn't realise you were actually waiting to close the gate."
He gave a big smile. "No problem at all," he said.
Darkest Headford, Co. Galway - if you can find it, it's very peaceful.
