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Photo by SinĂŠad Bevan

arts CONTENTS Slow Set Rebecca McAdam plumps for the return of the slow dance.......pg 30 Gallery Gazing Ciara Norton relishes Caravaggioâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s every brush stroke..............pg 38 Further Afield Your guide to music festivals beyond the Emerald Isle..................pg 42

Save the last dance

In a music world dominated by hip-hop and R&B, the slow dance passed away without a wake, Rebecca McAdam advocates a revival

ulticolour lights circle the floor. The music is loud enough for there to be no reason for awkward conversation. Eye-contact is a must. Some have honed their body language to an art; others skulk slowly back to lean against perspiring walls. It’s 1960, or maybe 1980. It could even be 1990. The only distinguishing features are the cringe-worthy fashion statements, and the oh so regrettable hairstyles. It’s that time of the night. The end of the latest chart topper is merging into some old classic. The bass begins; a recognisable hum. U2’s ‘With or Without You’ fills the floor in seconds, and by-standers scan the room in search of that stranger from earlier. At one time, the boys lined up on one side, and the girls, the other. The Prince Charmings then made their death march across to their chosen Cinderellas in the hope of one last romantic clinch, before the sobering national anthem triggered on the ugly lights. Romances were made and broken, first loves bloomed, passions flared, and soulmates found each other right there on the old carpeted floor of the community centre, the GAA club, or the village disco. Over time modern culture began to wreak havoc with what was an apparently harmless (although regularly saucy) tradition. Regardless, it was still that one excuse to get upclose and personal with the object of your affection. But then ... it died. There was no funeral, no wake, nothing. It was celebrated and remembered at weddings, and nostalgically talked about between friends, but nobody realised until recently that something is missing, something is lost. And this has lead to a possible resurrection. Potential sock drawer co-owners are found in very different ways nowadays. Shoe polish and hair gel are no longer necessary. Google the word “dating” and thousands of results appear. No dry ice, no smoke, no queuing for the toilets. You don’t even have to see each other. Old fashioned romance may have been buried alongside the slow set, but it has been lying dormant, waiting for its moment. People of all ages are now campaigning for its return. But there are reasons other than nostalgia as to why it’s now a hot topic. Kilkenny city has welcomed back the slow set with open arms as part of a new initiative to encourage people to enjoy Kilkenny responsibly. A 15 minute chilled period is to be introduced before closing-time, alongside CCTV cameras, external lighting, and more taxi ranks. Other nightclubs have also been testing the waters to see how people react. Ruby’s nightclub in Waterford City gave people the chance to vote on the slow set in a six-week text campaign as part of their ten year anniversary. Manager David Fitzpatrick says, “It gives guys the opportunity to ask a girl out for a dance – in the old fashioned way.” It seems technology and the modern way of life have taken away from what were once simple pleasures. Bringing back the slow set could mean happy endings all around. rmcadam2003@yahoo.com

Photos by John D McHugh

The Glass Warrior

Gary Fox talks to photojournalist John D McHugh about the war in Iraq, embedding and getting shot in Afghanistan

pring heralds a new season in Afghanistan, the bitter snow begins to melt and the harsh conditions of winter subside to reveal the rugged terrain of the country. It also signals the start of fighting season.

John D McHugh times his returns to Afghanistan to coincide exactly with the start of this season. Since he began in 2002, John D has shot thousands of people of all ages, nationalities and races. However, his weapon of choice is unusual, and is made by Canon. In April 2007, John D embedded with US troops in the Hindu Kush region of Afghanistan. He had just begun what he anticipated would be a period of six months with the troops. A routine day turned into a well executed ambush on US troops and along with them their Irish photojournalist. John D was shot and almost fatally injured.

Spend time talking to him and he will speak for hours about his work, the region, the politics and his experiences – but is hesitant when it comes to speaking about that day in May 2007. “I don’t want to be known as the guy who got shot,” he replies almost awkwardly when asked about the incident. He spent five days in intensive care at Bagram Airbase in Afghanistan before being flown to an American military hospital in Germany, spending time there before eventually flying back to the London where, incredibly, he was back on his feet in three months. The doctor treating him said, “It’s not a miracle he’s alive, it’s a series of miracles.” After being shot in May, he returned to Afghanistan for a time in November, just six months after almost being killed. To label John D as a war photographer would be to ignore his

extensive work pre-Afghanistan. Originally from County Laois, he spent time living in New York before moving to London in 2002, where he began working for a small London based photography agency. His rise has been nothing short of meteoric; talent coupled with a tireless work ethic has seen his work appear in publications such as the New York Times, Newsweek, and the Times (UK) where his work was shown in an extensive magazine feature. John D first went to Afghanistan as a staff photographer for Agence France-Presse and his blog was originally conceived to help his family and friends keep in touch and understand what he was doing and experiencing. He never described himself as a writer but in the course of writing his blog he began to shape and mould his style into that of a very

accomplished foreign correspondent. So much so that he will now be combining his photography with print media. John D is now travelling to Afghanistan on very different terms from his last freelance expedition. He has just signed a significant deal with the Guardian to provide not only photography but audio, slideshows, articles and film. He is, undoubtedly, combining tasks in a way that might make some old-style journalists uncomfortable. “The whole idea of this deal is for me to work as a truly multimedia journalist.” The deal is part of a special project by the paper and will be one of the Guardian’s major projects for the impending year. They have shown total confidence in his experience as he has shown himself capable of operating in such fluid and difficult conditions as Afghanistan and also Iraq. John D acknowledges the unique nature of their agreement: “One of the difficulties is I don’t know what I am going to get from day to day.” It is clear John D is one of the most

pioneering photojournalists working today. While having respect and admiration for old publications and traditions, he is continually exploring new avenues for his work. He says: “The likes of Life magazine is not around anymore, it would be great if it was but it’s not. Appreciate it for what it was and move on.”

“I don’t want to be known as the guy who got shot”

Such views are in opposition with traditionalists who believe the clear divide should remain between journalists and photographers but he believes to become successful and even just survive in the modern media environment journalists must now become one-stop media centres providing photography, print, audio and video. One of the new media John D is exploring is audio slideshows. He put together a stunning and moving piece with images and the audio from the memorial service for two soldiers, Captain David A Boris and

Sergeant Adrian E Hike, who were killed by an explosive device in Paktika Province, Afghanistan. Obviously soldiers cannot attend the funerals so they arrange a memorial service to be held in their honour where their colleagues can pay their last respects. Compassion for soldiers is emerging as a theme in John D’s work. Speaking openly, he says, “the more I do it the more flak I get – it is not humanly possible to be objective, yet you must strive to keep your personal opinions in check to operate as a functioning journalist.” His honesty and candour are refreshing when taken in the context of the environment he operates in. He knows that showing a human side to US troops is often difficult for people to accept as it’s not the commonly disseminated line of the media. He is not afraid to say things that may be construed as controversial but he is giving accounts of his experience and events he knows to be true from his time there. A United States public affairs officer sent out a directive to every

officer and soldier in a combat brigade who was being sent to Afghanistan to read and look at the slideshow about the memorial service. They were struck, it seems, by the decisiveness and raw power of his photography and writing. When asked about this he says: “As a photographer you must be an artist but as a photojournalist you must be a journalist.” While speaking at the University of Limerick in April 2008, John D received stinging criticism from the audience, with certain members attacking him for his apparent US bias. However, most poignantly, at the end of the talk, a shy young girl approached him and thanked him. “I am Afghan,” she said. She appreciated the risk and danger he undertook to tell the story of her country but most importantly she agreed with how John D approached his work. To him this was the most positive feedback he could have been given. “I can only talk about what I’ve seen,” he says. John D will talk about

his eyewitness coverage of events; he knows he can guarantee the accuracy of his experiences but does not claim to know every event in the history of Afghanistan nor does he claim to have the solution to the situation there. He is in the unusual situation of having been embedded with US, Canadian and British troops during his five visits to Afghanistan. “It is a media war and they are connected to the modern world,” is how John D explains the media savvy of Al Qaeda fighters. He has also covered the conflict in Iraq where recently the coalition forces recovered documents detailing the media plan of Al Qaeda in Iraq. The level of media awareness and utilisation is shocking. The documents contain specific instructions in relation to attacking troops and follow the theme of there being no reason to carry out an attack, unless it can be recorded or photographed and disseminated online. When John D arrives in Afghanistan he does not just have to

deal with the harsh conditions and the threat of insurgents but also the suspicion of the soldiers with whom he is embedded. Each time he must earn the trust of the men with whom he will eat and sleep and upon whom he will rely in potentially deadly situations. He feels journalists who only go to a country life Afgnaistan once tend to misrepresent the story, or the people there. “A lot of these guys are only going once or twice, it’s to tick a box –‘did some war’– they don’t care whether they tick people off as they are probably never going back,” he says with more than a hint of distaste. It only further serves to alienate troops who already have healthy suspicion of the media. When asked of his plans for the future in a profession where a lot of luminaries have paid the ultimate price with their lives he is aware of the tempting of fate. “I am averse to say I am going to cover Afghanistan until it’s finished as I feel it may be a bit of a jinx.” foxgaz@gmail.com

Finding Common Ground at Studio 468 I

We’ve often heard of the lonely and tortured world of the artist. Órla Sheils learns it doesn’t have to be that way. Community arts are alive and kicking on the South Circular Road

t is late Friday afternoon, the South Circular Road is busy with cars and the sun is starting to create shadows on the pavement. Inside the entrance hall of St Andrew’s Community Centre in Rialto, the light creeps through the open door and uncovers the cracked paint usually hidden in the darkness of the former church building. Siobhán Geoghegan, artistic director of ‘the Common Ground’, goes down a narrow corridor and within seconds, there is an ambush of sunlight as she enters Studio 468. The room conforms to what you might imagine an artist’s studio to be like. The table is splattered in paint with a sweeping brush poised against it, the windows are large and modern, and there is a door leading out onto a small courtyard. The studio carries remnants of past and current projects: on the wall is a strange array of splattered tea bags, and in the corner is a stack of empty Barry’s Tea boxes. This is an airy retreat in such a confined edifice, perhaps much like the presence of community arts within the Irish

artistic landscape. Studio 468 is the brain child of the Common Ground in association with the Rialto Development Association. This is a creative space where artists can work, but in return they are asked to choose a community group that they would like to engage with during their residency. “We say to them, you can have this space rent free but in exchange you must give something back,” Geoghegan says. Such is the mission behind the Common Ground, an arts development charity which was set up in 1998 to work in the Canal communities of Inchicore, Rialto and Bluebell in south Dublin City. The charity aims to use the arts as a means of enriching the community through the connections established between the artist and the area. Studio 468 is just one example of a variety of projects with which the charity is involved. Geoghegan is passionate about the need for the Common Ground’s work in this area: “I think we have to look at cultural rights and entitlement,” she says.

“We have to look at who really has access to the arts in this age after the tiger boom.” Since it opened in 2003, Studio 468 has offered the opportunity for local people to explore their own identity and that of the community while working with the artists. This year established artists Anne-Maree Barry and Terry Blake are resident in the studio and are working with the Rialto Twirlers, a majorette group, and the Rialto Youth Project. Geoghegan suggests that traditionally in Ireland the type of citizen that would have had access to the arts would have been from the middle or upper classes of society. She feels the Common Ground is changing this: “we look at giving a voice that gets reflected in an arts based experience or through a relationship with an artist. It seems to balance the scales, there is another cultural story going on here.” In the Canal communities, the Common Ground are dealing with art in a very urban environment and in communities that are changing

rapidly. Geoghegan says that this can result in a lot of tensions and conflicts on an individual and collective basis –“but what we try to figure out with a lot of these groups and with these artists is how do you create something together that is quite meaningful and that explores your voice so that you can be part of the cultural canon of Ireland.” Despite this claim, the organisation has yet to deal directly with the growing issue of multiculturalism in the area. Geoghegan says however that it is currently discussing the best way to approach this matter. She says that “putting people into different groups polarises them. It’s more about trying to give people opportunities to come together rather than being separate.” Recent artists have worked with the Rialto Community Drug team, the Rialto Day Care Centre for elderly people, the Fatima Homework Club and the Rialto and Ferrini Youth Clubs. “Some have said that working here influences their art on a political

level or on a creative level or that they approach their work differently, and some of those artists have been very challenged by their experiences.” Geoghegan says the Common Ground look for the type of artists who are open to the conversations “where you get to negotiate or challenge each other”. They will be issuing a new ‘call’ for artists to take up residency in September. Currently, this is a six to eight month contract, although the artists continue working with their chosen groups long after this period. The organisation are considering introducing a year long placement which would give the artist more time to work from the studio. Prospective artists should consider that there are issues which affect the community artist that do not concern those in ‘normal’ artistic circles. In fact, Geoghegan says that one of the biggest concerns is finding the balance between the artistic process and the youth or community work development process.

“An artist often ends up being a mentor, facilitator, teacher, the artist takes on these different roles, and sometimes the art gets put into these roles and sometimes it doesn’t, so it’s a constant process of negotiation.” The studio itself seems to be negotiating its own path in the community. Just a few minutes from the studio lies the Dolphins’ Barn Community Garden, a product of the studio’s former visual artist Seoidin O’Suillivan. The garden, like the studio, is surprising; they are like windows into this unknown arts landscape. It is one which we hear little about. Geoghegan says that for the Common Ground it is about “trying to find that balance between those who think they are the purveyors of cultural wisdom and those who have another cultural wisdom or another piece to add to that cultural wisdom so that they get to get heard as well.”

Anne-Maree is one of the current resident artists of Studio 468. She is currently working with the Rialto Twirlers, a majorette group. The project is an introduction into how the group source their music and also aims to help them to locate new forms of music to work with. She is also documenting their journey on film through the year as they compete in various competitions. On Studio 468 and being a community artist: “Before I was looking at empty spaces and the narratives that come from them, but now I am bringing human figures into those narratives. Studio 468 is my ‘headspace.’”

Terry Blake works alongside AnneMaree in Studio 468. He studied in Limerick before receiving a Higher Diploma in Community Arts Education from NCAD. Terry is working with young men from the Fatima area on the transition the area has made over the last six years. He is making a documentary on the changes from the old high storey flat complex to the new housing, and the social and personal issues which that brings with it. On being a community artist: “it is challenging and interesting.” Pictured above is a car door from St Michael’s ‘Skanger My Irish Banger’ project.

Seoidín was a resident artist in Studio 468 last year. “I found the studio a really good working space, but one of the most challenging things an as artist was that it is in a community centre. This is a very collective space but it’s also the artist’s space.” On working with the Rainbow Neighbourhood Group and setting up the Dolphin’s Barn Community Food Garden, she says: “The Community Gardens are places where people are able to grow food together. They provide a social space where neighbours are able to meet and plant and share in a collective activity.”

Photos courtesy of the Common Ground

osheils@hotmail.com

Paperback writer

SK: Did you always want to be a writer? SRB: I wanted to be a writer from the time I was five, but I have to admit that my commitment has not been lifelong: before that I passionately longed to be a ballerina. SK: How long did you work on The Demon’s Lexicon? SRB: I came up with the idea for The Demon’s Lexicon in summer 2006, and I finished the book in January 2007. Of course that wasn't the end – in March I signed with my agent, who I found – from her blog on the internet (www.pubrants.blogspot.com) and queried in a late-night fit of impulsiveness which I bitterly regretted the next morning but have not regretted since! We revised the book for a few months and then it was submitted one Tuesday in July. I was all prepared to wait for ages (publishing is a slooow business) so of course, life being what it is, I got an offer on the Thursday. That turned into a bidding war between four publishing houses though, so I did end up waiting a month. But for a very nice reason! SK: What kind of research did you do for the book? SRB: I made Wikipedia my slave! Ahem. No, I did find out Sumerian beliefs about demons (that demons

A 23 angded BrennKailliney, Sarfarom h R es n is pa of y of a neew into tohueng writersrtm w novel, Tworld of fic aking inroaave recen tion. ds he D e r de b deal wtliy snapped eumon’s LexiH ut hittingth Simon anp in a majocron, was trilogy the shelve d Schuster six–figure througabout two yos in 2009. Thand will be becaus h England ung broth e fantasy charm, e their moth by a magic ers, pursue name h looks set t er has sto ian’s circl d e le n a p o o be a h as alrea and som d i w t y . e R r m fu e a e EmeraelIrish paperdse The Washs Brennan’sl slap’s d Isle’s an are hailin ington Pos up withSinéad Keswer to JK Rg her as the t Sarah a ogh rece owling. EasterC on Lites she preparntly caught e d fo rary Lon inspirdaon and discCuonventionrinthe tion, pu s s e d he b l i c a e tion anr xhilara were made from d tion

fire and humans from earth, for instance) from the internet, but I also clawed through lots of dusty books. And I try to take a trip to the places where I set my book. I had to do a pub crawl through Salisbury (for purely literary purposes I assure you) and I was mistaken for a health inspector. SK: Do you write every day? SRB: Some days I must confess that when it's raining, I spend most of my morning writing in bed. It's totally work – albeit comfy work in my pyjamas. I am always dressed with errands done and word counts to show my flatmates when they come home, because otherwise how ashamed I would be. SK: Do you usually base your characters on real people, at least initially? SRB: No, I’d be freaked out people would find out and never speak to me again! No, I make them up so I can get properly fond of them. Plus, I add far more attractive gentlemen than currently exist in my life – and attractive ladies too, just to be fair. I do give characters real people’s names sometimes.

I have a character named after a friend in The Demon’s Lexicon who died in the first draft, and who got a reprieve in the revisions. I think she was a bit relieved about that... SK: The Demon’s Lexicon was sold as a trilogy. Do you prefer to work with recurring characters or are you interested in single narratives? SRB: Well, my characters are like my children – I want them to go away and shut up, but sometimes they don't. No– I’m kidding. Working with recurring characters is great because you can get fond of them and the readers can too, but recurring characters only work if you have other stories to tell about them. We’ve all seen books where the writer goes on because the series is popular but obviously has no more new stories to tell, and in that case definitely best to go for new characters in a new story. I’m certainly interested in single narratives as well.

SK: Fantasy is often overlooked as a genre. How do you feel about that? SRB: I don't know how overlooked JK Rowling feels, for instance... Lots of genre fiction is looked down on, though, it’s true – and it’s an enormous shame, especially since Dickens and Shakespeare were not at all literary and highbrow in their day. (And Shakespeare for one often wrote fantasy.) The most important thing is what the readers enjoy and not what the critics say, but sure, it’d be nice to see genre fiction get the recognition I think it deserves. SK: What would you consider to be the most rewarding part of an author’s life? SRB: That would definitely be the mornings in bed. I am avoiding the sappy answer, which is the true one. I love writing more than anything else in the world, and getting to do it for a living (at least for a little while) is the most fantastic thing I can imagine. Plus, it leaves you flexible enough to travel – you can write anywhere. The most rewarding part of my author life is simply getting to be an author. SK: How much do you think the author should be involved in the road to publication? SRB: The author definitely has a role to play and should get a say, I think – if their cover induces seizures, this should be prevented! Still, the publisher is not only the one paying but the one with the expertise and experience selling books. So while it’s nice for them to listen to the author a bit (and I might get a chance to help choose my cover model for the UK and Irish edition at least) I do think the final decision should rest with them. SK: Do you think there are ever reasons why good books don’t get published? SRB: Well, what’s good is

subjective. In the end it’s just one editor's view of a book, and nobody knows what will hit big next. I do think that if people had realised the potential of fantasy earlier Harry Potter would’ve been snapped up, but it worked out pretty well for JK Rowling this way. SK: How do you feel about movie adaptations? SRB: I love some movie adaptations, and of course things have to be changed when a book is made into a movie – it’s simply a different medium. That said, sometimes movies go too far. Susan Cooper’s excellent series The Dark Is Rising was made into a truly horrible movie last year, which mysteriously featured an evil twin in a snow globe. SK: Are there particular books and authors who have influenced you? SRB: I love Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope, though perhaps their influence may not be immediately apparent in a fantasy novel. The thing they have in common with fantasy authors that I love, like Diana Wynne Jones, is that their characters are very real, that they can make everything believable and that they are funny and seem to have a clear-sighted but ultimately positive view of people. SK: How do you feel about writers becoming celebrities in their own right? SRB: Weren’t writers the first celebrities, really? Byron was a rock star before they were rock stars, and he got all the fame, luxuries and women that actors and rock stars get today. I think that’s wonderful, and if someone decides to ply me with fame, luxuries and women, I will have no objection at all. On second thought, I might let someone else have my share of the women. sineadkeogh87@gmail.com

Photo by Roy Esmond

The Caravaggio-ists Ciara Norton whiles away the hours in front of the National Gallery of Ireland’s most famous resident

e’s in my seat. Again. I walk slowly around, feigning an interest in other exhibits. Then I come back. This time eye contact is made. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes but no movement. A stand-off. I sit beside him on the bench and turn so that our bodies face the same way, inches from each other. I look around his head, resting my elbow on the varnished wood and there it is. The reason for being here, always the reason. Calm washes over me. Now it is manageable. His head obscures part of the view, but that can be borne. Tourists chatter in the corner but don’t break the spell. Minutes, perhaps hours, pass and he leaves. I

created, what humanity has presented to him as real life. To loiter in front of this painting more often than is considered normal is not so much a mystery as it is an inexplicable hobby. My childhood was not spent in hushed silence as my parents

“It is violent and cruel; the

painting looks like it may, at any time, hurtle from the canvas and into another world”

dragged me from gallery to gallery. What little knowledge and love I have for Art was learned on my own terms through occasional encounters with the classics. I stood before Michelangelo’s David with a seminar’s worth of ‘Renaissance Art History’ behind me and could do nothing but stare. My critical faculties fail me when genius crosses my path, there is no relationship between Art and me, rather I let Art do what it must with my emotions while I, sponge-like, absorb everything and anything it throws my way. The love affair with Caravaggio began in Rome. Thirsty, irritable and numbed by fatigue I stood, a wrong turn from the Pantheon, outside the S. Luigi dei Francesi church. I checked my guidebook to see what this small church had to offer and read that it housed three Caravaggios. Three. Inside they hung in the far corner of the church, easily identifiable behind the baseball caps and day-glo colours

of tourism. The crowd, an object lesson in heedless disregard of the sternest edicts, took pictures with flash to their hearts content. I stood, enthralled. “Spiritual” isn’t the best word to use but it’s the only one that comes to mind. Since then, like an occasional junkie – a weekend user – I have days when I need a fix. Recently a friend joined the club. She felt she needed time on the Caravaggio bench. She was alone and happy to be so. She didn’t hear him approaching. “You’re one of them,” a voice whispered. “Huh?” “One of them, you just come down to see this painting, ignore all of the others, you’re just here for him.” “You mean there’s a group of us?” “Oh yeah, you’re all the same, come straight through to here, relax in front of it.” “Oh.” His words were not a great surprise. She had noticed the same faces in that same area before, but she placed faith in coincidence. Knowing she wasn’t alone was eerily comforting and weird at the same time. Looking around, there they are: the student with his iPod earphones dripping from his collar, battered satchel at his side, his pocket vibrating from the phone he seldom turns off and the older woman on a break from her home, her children, and the concerns of everyday life. In the reserved silence of the gallery people can be alone with their thoughts. You can stare at that painting, looking beyond it until the only place your eyes are focusing is inside yourself. Nobody will bother you in a gallery. Nobody will try to sell you coffee, your phone is off and the constant hum of city noises is a different world. For a moment you’re standing against that current, your hands are clasped and everything makes sense. “Club” isn’t the best word to use but it’s the only one that comes to mind. ciaralnorton@gmail.com

Photos by Gary Fox

slide to his spot – still warm – and now it’s all mine. Caravaggio’s The Taking of Christ has one of the most famous stories in the art world behind it. It hung in the sitting room of a Jesuit residence in Dublin collecting layers of varnish and decades of dust. Everyone, including the National Gallery’s donor, understood it to be a copy. The original painting was considered lost until someone noticed this incredible “copy” and after much speculation and consternation from groups that still consider it an excellent forgery, it was declared the original The Taking of Christ. The painting is on indefinite loan to the National Gallery of Ireland where it hangs today, free of charge for the public to view. Though religious in its subject matter there is something unorthodox about this painting. Caravaggio broke rules when he began his career, and nowhere is this more apparent than in The Taking of Christ. Instead of the models used by other painters of his era, Caravaggio took to the streets and placed ordinary people into extraordinary situations, immortalising them. Little that was ugly or unpleasant about the human condition bothered him. For Caravaggio, rebellious in both art and lifestyle, to pretend an “ideal” beauty existed was contemptible, at odds with his determination to paint what was true about life for the average Italian of his time. The painting itself is a study in human emotion: a wan, almost skeletal Christ faces a current of people pushing and shoving against him. It is violent and cruel; the painting looks like it may, at any time, hurtle from the canvas and into another world. Near the base are two clasped hands, those of Christ. Though the world of the painting pushes him savagely, he has resigned himself to his pain and uses no force against them. His life is what it is; there is little one can do to prevent fate taking control. In the corner what is believed to be a selfportrait of the artist himself holds a lamp and watches what he has

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Watch your step by Lauren Crothers

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I t ’ s t ha t t i m e o f y e a r a g a i n. P ut o n y o u r w e l l i e s and your over sized sunglasses and embrace the festival season. slap contributors give their taste of a few of the best festivals to check out if you want to follow the music fur ther afield… I got h Tuesday ome from G la afternoo the com n and sw stonbury on forts of a ore to n ind ev From th e vanta oor plumbing e er leave ge poin ver again see that to G . experien lastonbury 200 f time I can no w ce. Arriv 7 was an the heav ing on T amazing h y over th clouds should h ursday afternoo e n a didn’t; t days and nigh ve cast a shado ts ahea w he lineu d b pw Iggy and the Stoo as just too go ut they od. Bjor Lashes, ges, Mo de k, P Who. Th atrick Wolf an st Mouse, Bat fo d, of co r e su n w a u perfect festival s not altogethe rse, The r absent momen shin-de ,a ep t Detectiv mud, sun shin was standing in ing, as T es found h Leaving a on Mon n army of new e Pigeon day mor follower mess, w nin ea s. were los ring a blanket b g I was a broke t in the n e c a u se m m in the c omfort ilieu and when y clothes ensconc of Brist back wit ol ed h have be a rose tinted fo airport I looke en that n d d n e ss. It co bad; it w uldn’t asn’t.

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On entering the Vuuv festival, you get a condom, a packet of extra large Rizla and a large plastic bag. If it’s returned filled with rubbish at the end, you get back €5 of your entrance fee. And with this the tone is set. The fields of the Vuuv, situated between Berlin and Hamburg, are full of festival-goers being nice to one another. Everyone is wonderfully respectful of everybody else’s good time.

The many stall-owners repeat one mantra – they’re not in it for profit. They’re simply trying to get enough to make it to the next festival on the circuit. If trance is not your bag, the Vuuv still offers the disillusioned Irish festival-goer a fresh breath of festival air. There is no perimeter fencing. And before you start thinking, ‘wow I can break in for free’, this is not Oxygen. Also there’s no problem in arriving a couple of days early and setting up camp.

Vuuv Festival Putlitz Germany

While my friends built up their leg muscles pulling their wellies from the mud of Punchestown racecourse, I basked in the 100 degree heat on the banks of Lake Michigan, thanking my lucky stars that my boyfriend had decided to do his J1 in Chicago that summer. Lollapalooza, curated by Jane’s Addiction guitarist Perry Farrell, is that rare festival beast – commercial yet cool. Taking place in downtown Chicago’s Grant Park, this clean friendly, tent-free festival hosts over 200 acts and forty decently priced food stalls. And even though the Chili Peppers were headlining the year I went (yawn), I was safe in the knowledge there would be enough musical gems to keep an indie nerd like myself happy. Highlights included an 11am bounce around to The Go! Team, and an epic Death Cab for Cutie set at sunset, as Chicago’s skyline lit up the night behind.

Every year a mass exodus of approximately 30,000 people – or ‘burners’ – head out into the most unforgiving heart of the Nevada desert. The Burning Man Project is a celebration of art, music and, ultimately, people. Over the course of the week, burners effectively ‘build’ an arc-shaped city comprised of camps ranging in sizes, shade structures, art installations and clubs. Out in the desert, in the centre of the arc, stands a 60 foot structure of metal and neon cables – the Man. The week-long festival comes to a close when the Man is burned. The most important element of Burning Man is that it is a strictly ‘Leave No Trace’ festival. Nothing except ice and coffee can be bought, so bringing a week’s worth of food, water and other necessities is essential. The festival offers people an opportunity to try things they otherwise wouldn’t – I highly recommend stripping off and running after the water truck for a shower.

Lollapalooza Grant Park Chicago Burning Man, Nevada Desert, USA

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MATT LAMB: UNDERTAKER, ARTIST, ACTIVIST

Seamus O’Neill’s portrait of the artist

ppearances can be deceiving, or so they say. Matt Lamb by appearance looks like a warm loving father figure. He could also easily pass as Santa Claus if he had a red suit. Talking to him you begin to uncover the artist. A man who is not afraid to speak his mind and say what he believes in, all in the hope of creating a better world – his outspoken side often resembling that of a rebellious teenager. There are certainly many layers to Matt Lamb, rather like his artwork. To understand Lamb you have to understand where he has come from. Born in Chicago in 1932, he grew up in downtown Chicago in a place called Bridgeport. He describes it as a wonderful place to come from despite the evident segregation among the mostly immigrant communities. “You could stand and look around and see six or seven steeples and each one would be a Roman Catholic church. One would be Polish, one would be Irish, one would be Bohemian, Italian, and Czechoslovakian. Everybody had their own church,” he says.

He acknowledges that it was an exciting and diverse area where

many politicians, church leaders and mafia leaders came from.

Dirty

School was not for Lamb who much preferred to be out with the

Dozen, a gang of 12 kids from the neighbourhood. Living above his father’s funeral home it was not long before Lamb became involved in the Blake-Lamb funeral home business. Starting out driving for the company, he eventually took over running the business with his brother Dick. Together they built on the work their father had done and expanded the business successfully. Lamb also dipped into other projects and at the height of his business expansion, Lamb owned or coowned 36 different companies, with holdings around the country but

concentrated in the Chicago area. As a funeral director Lamb buried people of all religions, creeds, races and nationalities, but he always noticed the same principles appear when it comes to people and death. According to him there were always “unfulfilled dreams, unfulfilled spoken love and signs of love. It was always the same whether it was a mafia chief or a bishop’s family, a prostitute or a nun. This is not a dress rehearsal, this is all we have. There is no tomorrow. Tomorrow is today”. At the age of 48 he was diagnosed with chronic active hepatitis, acute infectious mononucleosis and sarcoidosis of the liver. Doctors told him to put his affairs in order. Suddenly the undertaker was preparing his own funeral. Matt vowed not to go without a fight and told his wife Rose that if he survived he wanted to become a painter. Five days of tests in December 1983 and a panel of doctors uncovered no traces of hepatitis, mononucleosis or sarcoidosis in his body. Was it a miracle or misdiagnoses in the first place? “I happen to think it was a miracle. I have no idea and I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I turned my life over to the Holy Spirit and now my doctors are all dead and I’m 76,” he says. Lamb started painting in the spring of 1984. Having never taken an art lesson his art evolved from trial and error. At his first public gallery exhibition, art critic Harry Bouras pronounced the show “horrible” and the work of an undertaker who

Museum, the German Bundestag and the Moscow Museum of Modern Art. In Ireland he has exhibited work in Cork and Dublin, where he also brought his Umbrellas for Peace movement. Charity work has always been close to his heart. In 1968 he co-founded the Chulucanas Fellows, which was a group dedicated to improving the living conditions of people in Peru. In recognition of his humanitarian work Pope John Paul II knighted Lamb twice in the 1980s. His admiration for the late Pope is

One of his biggest regrets in life sprang from his meeting with Mother Teresa. As he approached to shake her hand he felt the spirit tell him to take off the gold bracelet he was wearing and give it to her, he says. Although he failed to fulfil the spirit’s request on that occasion he has gone on to do huge work himself with the Umbrellas for Peace project, which was set up after September 11th terror attacks in America. The project started off helping children who had lost their parents in the attacks and has since gone global. Through the painting and procession of umbrellas Lamb wants to spread the message of peace, tolerance, understanding, hope and love. In March of this year he received the Agrupación Española de Fomento Europeo European Gold Cross award. He received the award on behalf of the work he undertakes with the Umbrellas for Peace project. He believes this life is a prelude to an afterlife where we will be in the presence of God and of course it will be another adventure. As he talks about his eventual death he states: “I came in crying, I am going to go out laughing”. And then with a giggle he says he wants his last words to be, “Hurrah, what’s next?”

Photo courtesyof Matt Lamb

thinks he is an artist. Those in the art circles did not like the fact he was not your usual poor penniless artist but a high-profile business tycoon decades before he ever held a paintbrush. However Lamb has turned heads and critics with his artwork. The man who was once described as JR Ewing with a paintbrush has come to be proclaimed as an heir to Picasso, who Lamb believes is the greatest artist ever. He describes his paintings as “a passionate expression of my own inner feelings and self, to be looked at, to be applauded, to be thrown up, to be kicked, to be revered, to be discussed, to be hated, to be loved.” His paintings are famous for their vibrant colours and layers of paint or “generations”, which often mean the paintings take years to dry. Lamb paints in three styles: figurative, semiabstract and abstract. He says: “Art is about my expression. Not yours, not some professor’s or some book or movie or class. It’s me, unadulterated me”. With a great grandfather who came from Kerry and a great grandmother from Limerick, Lamb has a house and studio in West Cork as well as others in Europe and America. His first exhibition in Europe came about thanks to couturier Pierre Cardin, who was struck by Lamb’s “core of pure emotion”. His artwork has been exhibited all over America as well as in Westminster Cathedral England, Centre Picasso in Spain, the Vatican

evident as he describes him as a “great role model and an incredible hero of Christianity”.

“This is not a dress rehearsal, this is all we have. There is no tomorrow. Tomorrow is today”

seamusoneillpr13@yahoo.com

War of Words F

After returning from the war in Iraq, American soldier Brian Turner became an award-winning poet. JP O’Malley talks to him about the Middle East, the media and life on the front line

orget the millions spent on weapons. Forget the winning or losing. Forget the moral high ground and weapons of mass destruction. Forget body counts. Forget Democrats, Republicans, the UN, Tony Blair, Hans Blix and Sky News. Forget all that nonsense for just one second and read the following verse from the poem ‘AB Negative’:

Thalia Fields is gone, long gone, about as far from Mississippi as she can get, ten thousand feet above Iraq with a blanket draped over her body and an exhausted surgeon in tears, his bloodied hands on her chest, his head sunk down, the nurse guiding him to a nearby seat and holding him as he cries, though no one hears it, because nothing can be heard where pilots fly in blackout, the plane like a shadow guiding the rain, here in the droning engines of midnight.

In the media’s ongoing moral discourse about the rights and wrongs of the Iraq war, it is becoming increasingly hard to find any truthful accounts of the actual reality of what is happening on the front lines. In Brian Turner’s Here Bullet, you find very few political leanings or opinions, just a man trying to make sense of the madness of warfare. Turner doesn’t fit the normal stereotype of a poet. There is no tweed jacket or Wildean dark hair. He looks more like a college quarterback than the intellectual

storm, he clearly is. At five foot eight he is stocky in build and his eyes have the look of a pragmatist, rather than a dreamy poet. But then again his story also differs from that of most poets. He started off on the conventional route, studying poetry in university, trying to get published and doing a little bit of teaching on the side to put bread on the table. But at 30 he “took the road less travelled by” and joined the army. So what made an aspiring poet become

“He talks of how hard it

is for soldiers to return home from the war, realising that they may have fought and indeed killed for nothing”

a sergeant in the US army? “I came from a long military background. There is a long tradition of service in my family. I was often told stories about the military growing up in Fresno, California. The travel and experience appealed to me and always seemed kind of exotic.” For five and half years Turner rode an easy wave of peace keeping and similar duties and it wasn’t until 2003 when the Bush Administration decided it was going to invade Iraq that he would learn the harsh realities of warfare. This reality is clear cut in the poem ‘Body Bags’, where he talks of two young soldiers no older than 20 kicking a dead Iraqi on the ground. A murder of crows looks on in silence

from the eucalyptus trees above as we stand over the bodies— who look as if they might roll over to wake from a dream and question us and rise, wondering who these strangers are who would kick their hard feet, saying Last call, motherfucker. Last call

So at what point in a war, do soldiers become embedded with this deep hatred of the enemy? “I think a lot of it has to do with the nature of warfare in general. Mark Twain once said that ‘war does not repeat itself but it rhymes’. This is interesting because there might be different situations that soldiers are under. Someone is hunting you constantly. Some one is trying to kill you – to take your soul.” It drains him to hear talk about the specifics of the war and to be a figure of sympathy. When he talks, he sighs, his forehead produces deep wrinkles and his eyes brood to a darker place, one that none of us can even bear to imagine. He becomes uncomfortable when you probe certain issues. He says that it’s almost surreal, you’re fighting people you have never met, in a war waged by people you have never met. Asked if he ever had positive experiences with Iraqi people, he says “it’s hard. You go around in a US uniform holding a machine gun; inevitably you do not make many friends”. He talks of how hard it is for soldiers to return home from the war, realising that they may have fought and indeed killed for nothing. His eyes turn away again as the

Photo by JP O’Malley

memories of returning home haunt him. “It’s a very difficult thing to do. Because if you come home and suddenly think the war was something ultimately wrong, where does your life fall into in the greater scheme of things? It’s a very treacherous sort of tightrope. When you kill someone and take their soul, their last breath, that is something that you cannot take back.” This veteran’s tale is so grounded in sensibility that he convinces you that we all have the animalistic instinct to kill our fellow man. The difference is most of us are usually spared the choice. When Turner speaks he chooses his words carefully with chilling sobriety. His pragmatic characteristics make his words all the more believable. But somewhere in them, you feel lies an innate sense of guilt. He quotes Saadi, the Persian poet, who says, “It is a condition of wisdom in the archer to be patient. Because when the arrow leaves the bow it leaves no more.” Does he see the situation getting any better in Iraq? And how does the American government even begin to control this insurgency and civil war it has created out there? He says he does not know but he thinks the troops have to come home. American soldiers, he believes, are only making things worse. He is slow to ever lean to a political ideology or a religious belief and when you pry he doesn’t answer. It makes sense though. He discusses exactly what causes the hatred and bigotry of war. The message from Turner is that if we can just accept that everyone has a different point of view and not try to stereotype between left and right or Christian and Muslim, than maybe we would be in a better situation. “You go to any religion the tenets are always the same. People who are not tolerant need to question where they are coming from. If you understand where they are coming from then we might be able to learn from each other. I just can’t wait until the word Muslim stops being associated with the word terrorism because they are completely different concepts.” It’s moments like these that you start to become enthralled by the world of Brian Turner. He fixes his eyes on you and stresses points with conviction that flow endlessly in imagery. He ends the interview with poignant words reminding us that apathy as well as action makes us all responsible for the horrors of war. “It seems to me we live in a decent society where we continually bury people in the earth when we know nothing about them. Maybe if we knew more about them, just maybe we would be less apt to do it so often.” johnpaulomalleyz@gmail.com