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Thank you Berlin. You are always the most vast, strange, shadowy city. Lots to think of, learn from, digest.

This Friday I will be speaking on a panel as part of ‘Festival Makers’ Connect with artists @thelowri and Bettina Seitz around the subject of ‘The Artist Economy - How festivals value, develop and sustain artist and arts practices.’

Chaired by @paulfahyarts of the @galwayintarts , I’m sure the conversation will be broad ranging and vital.

Delighted to share my thoughts and experiences of my career thus far supported by some of the best festivals out there - @corkmidsummer, @kilkennyartsfestival , @arselectronica, @fiercefestival, @springutrecht, @corkfilmfest, @galwayintarts, @betafest_irl, @dublinfringefest, Dublin Theatre Festival, @carlow_arts_festival , @harpirl , etc etc

Credits for the event - @artscouncilireland in partnership with the @artscouncilni , Atlantic Technological University (ATU), the British Council and Create: supported by PEACEPLUS, a programme managed by the Special EU Programmes Body (SEUPB) present two conference events:Festival Makers andFestival Makers Connect over three days in Sligo.

See you there! Image by @wolfjamescreative

It’s a wild thing to trust someone to show you in your most vulnerable space. I’d mentioned to @wolfjamescreative that so much of my work occurs in and around my bed. The irony being I hate sleeping, I hate my bed, I despise the need to sleep. Just that exhaustion and the night time are my driving factions. She mentioned Tracy Emin, and I felt the stark clarity of the idea of being bare and seen. @wolfjamescreative is a rare breed of human I’d let see me there. But her photographs are permission to be seen. So, since it’s the year of the ick, There I am: awake and asleep.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

First leg of my European research tour focusing on organ and hyper-organ performance, design and construction; taking me to Dusseldorf and Cologne. Got to spend some time with the fantastic @annie.bloch with a few special organs in a few special places. What an infinite instrument. Special thank you to the @artscouncilireland and the panel of my peers that supported the idea. It means the world.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

Very hard to express the sheer impact of the Cologne Cathedral. I have never felt more ‘loomed’ over than I have by this building. It is truly gargantuan. Sheer. Intricate. Volatile. Kinetic. Alien. Captured here with two different cameras.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

When my grandmother was dying, she had, unbeknownst to me, started to listen over and over to a recording of a short violin duet I had written, one I had long forgotten about.

My mother had told me this, and asked could it be performed at my grandmother’s funeral. When she passed, Holly and her sister played it for my family, and I’m not sure in words would I find the shape of that moment.

Just that perhaps a grandson’s greatest honour is to see his grandmother safely back to where her lineage bore him from. And to have friends capable of doing that with him.

I dedicated the piece to her, and renamed it ‘Esther’, in her name sake, and for her keepsake.

I’ve not heard it though since.

That recording that Esther was listening to in those last moments, is sadly one of the last recordings I have of Holly playing my music.

On this day, the midway point between Holly’s and my grandmother’s anniversary, they sit with me.

I miss Holly, like one misses the vibrating of a halted bow string. And my grandmother, the origin of my origin, the mother of my mother.

I have always had the curse of memory, and in these last few weeks I can hear their voices so clearly. Holly’s laugh. My grandmother asking me do I want more butter on my toast. Holly’s kindness. My grandmother’s fierce pride in me.

In someways we are all a canvas. Painted by others. And made of their gestures, marked in the meaning of their brush strokes. I am all the more vivid for their hands on my life.

Such a grief to carry. And such a privilege.

Nick Cave says that we are creatures of loss. And though he’s right, I hope I never lose the weight of their memory.

Rest easy Esther, rest easy Holly.

Shoutout to the incomparable @wolfjamescreative for her work with me on a series of new photos.

It started out as me needing some new head shots, and by the time we were done planning the whole thing, it had devolved (or evolved) into multiple concept shoots of dark, wild imaginings.

So much of it was successful that we now have an embarrassment of new images. All to come for various upcoming newness for 2026.

Wolf is a generational talent. So follow the simple rule; hire brilliant people, get the f*<k out of their way. Special thanks to my pals for the help with locations and clothing x

Shoutout to the incomparable @wolfjamescreative for her work with me on a series of new photos.

It started out as me needing some new head shots, and by the time we were done planning the whole thing, it had devolved (or evolved) into multiple concept shoots of dark, wild imaginings.

So much of it was successful that we now have an embarrassment of new images. All to come for various upcoming newness for 2026.

Wolf is a generational talent. So follow the simple rule; hire brilliant people, get the f*<k out of their way. Special thanks to my pals for the help with locations and clothing x

Shoutout to the incomparable @wolfjamescreative for her work with me on a series of new photos.

It started out as me needing some new head shots, and by the time we were done planning the whole thing, it had devolved (or evolved) into multiple concept shoots of dark, wild imaginings.

So much of it was successful that we now have an embarrassment of new images. All to come for various upcoming newness for 2026.

Wolf is a generational talent. So follow the simple rule; hire brilliant people, get the f*<k out of their way. Special thanks to my pals for the help with locations and clothing x

Shoutout to the incomparable @wolfjamescreative for her work with me on a series of new photos.

It started out as me needing some new head shots, and by the time we were done planning the whole thing, it had devolved (or evolved) into multiple concept shoots of dark, wild imaginings.

So much of it was successful that we now have an embarrassment of new images. All to come for various upcoming newness for 2026.

Wolf is a generational talent. So follow the simple rule; hire brilliant people, get the f*<k out of their way. Special thanks to my pals for the help with locations and clothing x

Shoutout to the incomparable @wolfjamescreative for her work with me on a series of new photos.

It started out as me needing some new head shots, and by the time we were done planning the whole thing, it had devolved (or evolved) into multiple concept shoots of dark, wild imaginings.

So much of it was successful that we now have an embarrassment of new images. All to come for various upcoming newness for 2026.

Wolf is a generational talent. So follow the simple rule; hire brilliant people, get the f*<k out of their way. Special thanks to my pals for the help with locations and clothing x

One of the most consistent relationships I have had in my life has been with my house.

In a country where place, domesticity, security of home, and belonging have been made optional and rare through profiteering, my home has been consistent in my life for 15 years.

Through this houses doors some of my closest friends, family and loved ones have lived, stayed, visited, eaten, drank, partied, rested and celebrated in.

It remains one of the most beautiful and generous and welcoming places I’ve ever been.

Thankful again to it today. And everyone that has brought it to life.

Grateful to finish this phase of development for a new work for 2027 titled RUIN Nation.

Have had the deepest privilege to spend time with some of the most robust and multimodal thinkers and makers these last months as we try to weave a lattice of language and intention across a subject as complex as societal ruin.

Peering in through locked gates, steel plates, derelict hoarding hiding hoarding, forgotten cities within the city, and the citizens born down upon by this rot.

There is a rare privilege in the making of Art. Felt most deeply in the moments of wandering together through ideas bigger than ourselves.

Compass in hand, mapless, finding and discovering rather than being shown. Locked out from and locked in with ruination.

Bolstered too by the feeling that across so many strata of society are people that know and care. And who bring to bear that knowledge and care upon the most difficult of subjects.

Upon the derelict. And dereliction.

Of buildings. Of space. Of duty. Of the body.

Huge thanks to the growing team thus far, and for support from Cork City Council and Arts Council of Ireland.

🍉

It’s been a long winter.

Very appreciative to @cnn having me on to represent the @campaign4arts in discussing the new Basic Income initiative in Ireland. An incredible national effort, grass roots to institution, to create a start in a new format of art funding. It still feels to me like a dream that it’s happening, but there is more to do. Namely in expanding it.