Unpredictable blackness

Blackness. Blackness. Black. How can we define it if there no such thing? In terms of colour theory we know black as the meaning of dark, the absence of light and therefore the absence of colour.  The question is how do we know black? The answer as simple as; we know black because we know its purified opposition; lightness, whiteness, tint. Unconditionally existing, intertwining. Combined they neutralize into uncompromised forgiveness of living, breathing and unconditional affection. Living as a constructed metabolic mechanism which requires precision and correctness in order to achieve its tonal exactness which we fabricate and bring into being.

From that of Another

An experience of materialised femaleness

 A moment. A silence. An experience of vastness and feeling informing those of a body, a female body rippling beneath the waves of interchanging events. Stains, colour, masking represent the sheet which makes us all universal. We all possess it yet differ so greatly, as what happens underneath our surface can only be individually felt. Therefore, can only be made visible by that of hand. We lose control, buried under the weight of its rawness. Internal innocence delicately exposed.



Consumed, the purity of softness, remembering. The memory of touch. The softness of skin. The feather like caressing of flowing fingertips hidden beneath handwritten words. Imprinted. Secretive. Only ever existing upon porcelain delicacy and in its pureness beholding, protecting. Yet, ever so ignorant to the written word of which it is immersed within, only to fall into unconscious sleep. Heavy breathing, hairs erecting, the in breath of undoubted sensibility and longing. Finger tipped words which will be never known and never be spoken. They belong in silence, its keeper.


Vulnerability.  The act of control, how easily it is lost, grasping onto strands which will not be given acceptance to diminish and wither into nothingness, for this is a lonely place, an unforgiving place of grievance and unwanted memory. Purity, a pure soul, sensitive to each waking moment that passes by. Consumed by the touch and words of another. Another who is not who she is, yet another who can understand in unknown blindness. Material dictation, interchanging with time, moving between, in search of secure, peaceful contentment.  Finally finding tranquillity of self and inner bodily peace.

Lets get started.....

Hello fellow readers, 

I am a fine artist,currently completing a Masters in Fine Art in NCAD, Dublin. I am from the lovely hills of Donegal however my work is far beyond that of land and seascapes. I have started this blog as I want to share with you the thoughts and experiences which inform my practice. Occurrences which I find very difficult to verbalize, so will therefore be shared through a series of texts which I have written. I hope you enjoy :)