ESLAM ABD EL SALAM REFLECTS ON HIS RECENT RESIDENCY AT KUNSTVEREIN AUGHRIM.

Director of Kunstverein Aughrim, Kate Strain, got in touch with me last year, through the loveliest email, asking if I was interested in a studio visit, so that she could get to know my practice more. I was filled with excitement, as I find it rare these days that curators would genuinely reach out to artists to have a conversation. It was refreshing to say the least. 

Kate mentioned that she was thinking of developing an artist residency programme in Aughrim and asked whether I’d be interested in participating in the pilot programme in summer 2025. In my head, I was already there – in Aughrim and all around County Wicklow. I have only been to the Wicklow Mountains once, back in 2019, and was warned by my friend, Michael, that there was going to be an abundance of light and beauty. 

Can you see with your heart? This question sums up my time in Aughrim and is the title of a new body of photographic research, which combines with another ongoing photographic project of mine, called ‘Little Did I Know’. It felt natural and easy to imagine these two projects in communication, almost like a phone call, informing each other about the past and the present. 

In ‘Can You See With Your Heart?’ you will find me listening to past conversations that never left me, about the different ways I’m trying to stay in touch with my heart when it comes to seeing. A verse from the Quran became an anchor: “Have they not journeyed through the land, so their hearts may understand, and their ears may listen? Indeed, it is not the eyes that are blind, but it is the hearts within the chests that grow blind.” (22:46)

Personally, that verse has always stuck in my mind, for many reasons, and the more I age, the more it all makes sense. Eyes can be cloudy, judgemental at times, and confused. That doesn’t necessarily mean that the heart won’t fall for the same tropes, but when understood, guarded and gently protected, seeing can become moral and spiritual sustenance for the soul and body. Would you agree that this is our most precious gift?

How the heart sees will lead us to moving as a spiritual process. I have been on the move since last December, not by choice. Five homes, four months; the minute your body settles or tries to recognise the way from your bedroom to the kitchen and other surroundings, it’s time for you to leave. The discomfort, both physical and emotional; the quiet uncertainty that clouds over your days. Those movements – steps in all their metaphorical and literal sense – are a blessing. I saw light I wouldn’t have otherwise had the chance to encounter. The geographical distance at play with each house was so much fun; the way my body ached from carrying bags and holding, releasing breath. The ways in which I felt held by friends. Moving is required, and the flexibility that comes with it is invaluable, mostly to your heart. It’s a long braid and a dialogue that never ends. 

At the start of the residency, Kate mentioned that one of the things she connects with most in my photographs is the depiction of the human element as a body of nature. Sitting with her comment was like an opening for me to ask questions about the ‘nature’ that we develop and acquire with time as living, breathing, mobilised bodies.

In one of these photographs, we see an adult called Marc holding a toy horse. Horses, to me, are graceful, sensitive, and utterly divine creatures; every time I encounter one up close or from a distance, my heart just skips a beat. Marc embodies their nature of immense honesty and purity, strength and fragility that you want to hold and shield. When I saw the toy horse in his cottage, and he told me it was a gift from his mother at the age of nine, I smiled at how it all made sense.

To mark the end of my residency, my exhibition, ‘Can You See With Your Heart?’ launched at Kunstverein Aughrim on 27 June, presenting a series of photographs and objects (found, gifted and collected) in a state of mirroring one another. Small echoes of an inner shift; gentle reminders of things felt but rarely seen. 

Through the years, certain themes have never left me. They grow with me, and they reform and change as I get older. Home, foreign and familiar to us all, never ceases to reveal dimensions not previously perceived. Family dynamics. The variety of questions asked and raised about synchronicity, time, and fate. Grief and the colours and stages of it. The main pillar of my practice is walking – more specifically and recently, walking as an act of remembrance and how that relates to grief. 

Eslam Abd El Salam is an Egyptian visual artist based in Belfast. Through the mediums of analogue photography, polaroid, text, and mixed media, Eslam considers notions of synchronicity, specifically in relation to friendship and serendipitous encounters with others.

@eslamabdelsalam_

Eslam undertook a month-long residency at Kunstverein Aughrim in June as part of Aughrim’s Craic in the Granite Music & Arts Festival 2025, supported by Wicklow County Council Arts Office festival awards, funded through the Arts Council. 

kunstverein.ie

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LISA FINGLETON REFLECTS ON A MONTH-LONG RESIDENCY AT NAVDANYA BIODIVERSITY AND CONSERVATION FARM IN NORTHERN INDIA.

“We are all connected through food. We are all connected through soil. We are all connected through life. And those are the interconnections that we have to build consciously now.”¹  

For over 20 years, much of my life and art practice have been focused on food systems, and the increasingly radical acts of growing and eating local and organic food.

I regularly wonder how we have reached this point, where most of the food and seed in the world is controlled by a small number of global corporations. Why are we eating poisoned and ultra-processed food, even though we know it is damaging our guts and making us and our loved ones sick? Why are we, as an island, so dependent on imported food? How can we feed ourselves in increasingly precarious climactic conditions and protect biodiversity at the same time?

These questions propelled me to travel all the way from our farm in Kerry to Navdanya at the foothills of the Himalayas in India. Navdanya biodiversity and conservation farm was founded by Dr Vandana Shiva in 1987 (navdanya.org). Vandana is a prolific writer, internationally renowned food activist, and environmental thinker. She not only resists capitalist food systems at an international level, but she and her team grow 750 varieties of rice, fruit and vegetables in the living seed bank on the farm, as a way to protect and save indigenous seeds.

I travelled with my partner, photographer Rena Blake, to take part in a month-long agro-ecology residency at the Earth University in Navdanya, with 20 other diverse artists and activists from around the world. All the food for the month was vegetarian, organic and locally sourced. The programme started each day with herbal tea at 6:30am, breakfast, an opening circle and shramdaan (shared tasks in the communal area) before heading to the fields to do whatever jobs were needed: harvesting, seed saving or weeding. I was really glad to have a cold bucket shower after even a short stint of working outdoors in 35 degrees and high humidity. This was followed by lectures, practical workshops and opportunities to present our own projects until around 8:30pm each evening. It was brilliant and intense in equal measure.

I drew in journals every day as a way of processing the experience, both for myself and so that I could share it with others upon my return. I set up an outdoor studio for myself on the balcony outside our room overlooking the mango orchard. One of the absolute highlights of the trip was being in the stillness of the seedbank and drawing with the seed savers Sheela Godiyal and Kavita Negi. There was something deeply moving about being surrounded by seeds grown with such love and passion for this planet we call home.

Vandana was extremely generous with her time and energy, delivering lectures with lots of time for discussion afterwards. It was a real privilege to interview her about the interconnectedness between food, creativity and climate change for my short film, The Radical Art of Living (2025). She had strong cautionary messages for Ireland in terms of protecting small growers and food producers. “Just remembering the Irish famine, I would just say, if the current trends continue, every place will be a place for a potential famine.”

Dr Mira Shiva, Vandana’s sister, was with us for a few days, weaving stories from her lifelong experience as a medical doctor and activist. She talked about an international meeting, where a scientist was proposing to create square tomatoes to facilitate easier packaging. Those present, reminded him that everyone knew tomatoes were round, and therefore would know that this was not natural. He responded, “In one generation they will forget that tomatoes were round.” 

Mira cautioned us against this collective amnesia and shifting baseline, whereby each generation assumes that their degraded ecological environment is ‘normal’. ‘The Square Tomato’ formed in my mind as a symbol for so many things that are challenging within the current food system. I decided to use it as the title for my current exhibition at Siamsa Tíre in Tralee, which includes the film and drawings from Navdanya.

Before leaving, I asked Vandana how she sustained her energy, and she said “Living truth. Expressing truth is my oxygen.” It’s not always easy to digest hard truths but I left Navdanya with a renewed sense of urgency. People have asked me many times if it was a life changing trip, but I feel it was more life affirming. I didn’t get answers to all my questions but rather a validation for my concerns and a clearer call to action. As Vandana says in the last line of her book, The Nature of Nature, “With every seed we sow, every plant we grow, every morsel we eat, we make a choice between degeneration and regeneration.”² My choice is clear.

Lisa Fingleton is an artist, writer and organic grower based at The Barna Way, an organic farm, woodland and wildlife sanctuary in Kerry.

lisafingleton.com

Fingleton’s film, The Radical Art of Living: An Interview with Dr Vandana Shiva (2025), is being screened as part of her solo exhibition, ‘The Square Tomato’, which continues at Siamsa Tíre until 22 March.

siamsatire.com

¹ Vandana Shiva, The Nature of Nature: The Metabolic Disorder of Climate Change (New Delhi: Women Unlimited Ink, 2024).

² Ibid.

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MIRIAM O’CONNOR DISCUSSES HER RESEARCH ACTIVITIES AS PART OF VAI’S ‘EXPERIMENT!’ AWARD.

In early May, I was announced as recipient of Visual Artists Ireland’s Experiment! Award. Devised as part of their 40th anniversary programme, Experiment! is a pilot initiative that provides an alternative form of residency for artists, granting funding to the recipient for time to experiment, research, undertake training or project development. The programme is targeted towards artists who, due to work, family or other commitments, are unable to avail of traditional residency opportunities. Not so long ago, as VAI were developing this initiative, there was no way of knowing that a global pandemic was about to unfold, and that the need for remote residency models would soon come into sharp focus.

Earlier in the year, I had concluded a long-term body of photographic work, ‘Tomorrow is Sunday’, a project that engages with my return to the family farm, following a bereavement in 2013. At the time of writing, this work is being exhibited at Sirius Arts Centre, Cobh, and a solo presentation will take place at the Ashford Gallery in the Royal Hibernian Academy, Dublin, in Spring, 2021. Despite these key career accomplishments, producing the work had been highly challenging, often curtailed by everyday demands of working on a farm. I frequently felt like the time I could physically attribute to my art practice was compromised.

Unexpected developments, such as a recent farm inspection by the Department of Agriculture, compelled me to begin thinking about new ways in which farming and art practice might endure in a more harmonious fashion. A key directive arising from the Department of Agriculture’s inspection requested clearing back an area of marginal land on the farm, which was deemed incompatible with animal grazing. This scenario meant additional work, on top of an already demanding schedule. It was almost the straw that broke the camel’s back; yet it acted as an instrumental catalyst for this research. The Experiment! Award thus presented an ideal opportunity for me to test a hypothesis in my proposal, which aimed to position daily farm tasks as artistic endeavours and the farm itself, a site for artist residency. Through acts of farm labour, this research period would foster conditions in which new understandings and approaches to farm work might be activated. Engaging with some of the characteristics and nuances of inspections in a general sense, compulsory tasks would be approached through a different prism, but nonetheless, with a genuine sense of purpose that the job should be accomplished. With such fixations in mind, I was, it seemed, on course to become my own inspector of cattle, fences, fields, ditches and drains.

Over the last number of months, various inspections have been conducted which blurred the boundaries between functionality and absurdity. I began my attempts to reclaim marginal land by using a strimmer, hedge clippers and loppers as tools for art making. Although this arduous task continues, modest progress has been achieved. So far, I have revealed a large rock at risk of being devoured by furze bushes and discovered a riotous looking rose bush, which I intend to propagate by taking stem cuttings later in the year. The idea that this rose bush could take root in other parts of the farm, or in alternative places is particularly appealing. In another study, the purchase of a new lawnmower – a novel tool for mark-making – has unearthed eclectic possibilities. Throughout this research period, I have become interested in animal actions and consequences, and their capacity to work with me in a collaborative sense by using their subtle – and rather useful – interventions of grazing, digging and path-making. With this in mind, another experiment focused on a buttercup, which caught my attention one day in a field of grass about to be grazed. To prevent this flower from being eaten (who ate the art?), I constructed an artificial fence, to see if their relationship to fencing, in a general sense, would act as a deterrent. I spent a number of days inspecting their behaviour – often making unannounced visits to their field. Eventually, they broke through this placebo fencing system, as one afternoon, on a surprise inspection, the flower had gone. This whole process provoked me to reflect on the rotational sensibilities between grass growth and grazing and the idea that this routine activity might be considered as both performative and ephemeral land art.

The tradition and approaches of land art, the vocabulary of agricultural inspections, and having that sense of purpose, remain central themes in this ongoing research. I’m still rather curious about how photography might assume agency of its own, beyond documentary approaches. If the intention is to tease out common ground between farming and art practice, then, what can photography do? Adopting an inspectoral eye in approaching everyday tasks is a one thing. But what should inspectors point their camera at? Is there a visual language best suited to this role? Are there tried and tested ways to distract an inspector who is just trying to get the job done. And so, this research continues…

Over the last number of months, VAI’s Experiment! Award has functioned to support this research period and naturally there are many stones still left unturned. By its nature, the concept of experimenting is as much about trial and error, as it is about yielding definitive results. Although conceived in pre-COVID-19 times, this timely initiative communicates that VAI are on the pulse in recognising the challenges faced by many artists in accessing ‘off-site’ residency opportunities. Correspondingly, the programme questions preconceived ideas of what a residency can be, making way for something more fluid to be imagined. While the vexing conundrum of what to do while on residency might still persist, what we become as artists, or what happens to us while on residency, remains on my mind. Is it possible to replicate those feelings and responses in a setting that is already overfamiliar?

In recent weeks, I have been invited to take part in the Cow House Studios’ ‘Supported Summer Residency’ programme, an initiative which, in the normal run of events, would see me spend a week, along with a number of other artists, at their studios in County Wexford. Rather than turn down this invitation, due to my individual circumstances, I asked Co-Directors, Frank Abruzzese and Rosie O’Gorman, if my residency could be approached in other ways. After some considered exchanges, Frank and Rosie have generously agreed for my residency to take place remotely (inspector in residence!) and that they will visit me on the farm in County Cork in early August. Although still fine-tuning plans for this event, I am currently taking inspiration from Nancy Holt’s, Stone Ruin Tours, a performative artwork where small groups of people were taken on a tour of a crumbling garden with stone walls (see holtsmithsonfoundation.org). Presently, it is anticipated that Frank and Rosie’s visit will too adopt an inspectoral role. We hope for good weather, robust conversations and exchanges, while welcoming all and any chance encounters or collaborations that might emerge. Following on from their tour, refreshments will be served afterwards against the backdrop of that newly salvaged rock, located on the marginal piece of land deemed unfit for animal grazing.

Miriam O’ Connor is an artist, educator and farmer based in Cork.
miriamoconnor.com

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CHRISTOPHER STEENSON INTERVIEWS DANNY MCCARTHY AND MICK O’SHEA ABOUT THEIR SERIES OF NEW RELEASES, WHICH EMERGED OUT OF THEIR PARTICIPATION IN THE ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG RESIDENCY.

Christopher Steenson: How did you both come to be invited to participate in the Robert Rauschenberg Residency on Captiva Island in Florida?

Danny McCarthy: An American artist, who was sitting on the selection panel for the Rauschenberg Residency, recommended us. You cannot apply to go on the residency, as it’s by invitation only. I knew we were to be invited on an American residency, but when this arrived in my inbox it was like winning the Lotto – the terms were so generous. In fact, they were so good that Mick thought it was spam and binned it until I rang him!

Mick O’Shea: Yes indeed, I thought it was like being invited to share in the inheritance of an African princess.

CS: Working together as The Quiet Club, you have recorded a new album, ‘No Meat No Bone’. Several tracks on the album (Jungle Road, Waldo Cottage, Laika Lane) refer to locations on Captiva Island. How important was the residency – its location and the people you met – in influencing this new release?

DMc: The studios came about when Rauschenberg moved to Captiva Island in the ‘60s. A developer in the area was starting to buy up properties on the island. So, Rauschenberg went to many of his neighbours and said, “I will give you one million dollars for your house and you can live there as long as you want, or until you die”. That way, he ended up owning a huge block of properties in the middle of the island and stopped it from being overrun by developers. When he passed away, his son [Christopher Rauschenberg] set up the Rauschenberg Foundation, which now administrates the residencies. The album title comes from something we saw in the kitchen the first night we arrived. So, before we did anything, we had the title. 

MO’S: The studio was an empty double garage on Jungle Road, where we could pull the double doors wide open and find ourselves fully immersed in the wildness. We arranged to meet there at 2pm every day to work together. The names of the tracks come from places on the residency. We would have done field recordings in some of these places. The whole atmosphere of the studios was that of intense creativity.

DMc: Outside of that time, we worked on our own practices. As the days progressed, other artists came to listen to what we were doing, and we encouraged them to join in. These included American hip-hop artist Jasari X, poet Jane Hirshfield, dancer Victoria Marks, painter Bob Tanner and British filmmaker Margaret Williams. So, we have a whole lot of separate recordings made from these sessions. 

CS: What differentiates this release conceptually, from the other works created under The Quiet Club moniker? 

DMc: The work came about by being in that space at a given time. One of our precepts as The Quiet Club is that we don’t talk about what we will do, and we do not talk about it after we have done it.

CS: What conversations were had during the recording sessions?

MO’S: All good conversations are made up of balanced times of speaking, listening, reacting, agreeing and disagreeing. We try to bring this to our playing. Before we play, we are in normal conversation mode – not discussing what we are going to play, which instruments, or for how long, but checking in with each other. When we are playing, we continue the conversation non-verbally.

CS: Danny – What led you to make The Rauschenberg Scores during the residency?

DMc: When being shown around the vast studios, Matt Hall – Rauschenberg’s Chief Technician and Assistant – pointed out several large tables that he had made specifically for Rauschenberg. The tables were scored with Stanley knives, and stained by paints and inks. Some sections of the tables were very beautiful. I took photographs of the parts that inspired me and developed them into large-format prints on some thirty-year-old handmade paper that Rauschenberg had left behind. The title, The Rauschenberg Scores, both refers to the marks on the table made by Rauschenberg and the graphical score that I developed these marks into.

CS: A score is also used by composers to order sound, serving as a set of directions for performers, with ambiguities in the score leading to degrees of interpretation. How do The Rauschenberg Scores fit with the conceptual premise of  a composer?

DMc: The scores are open to interpretation, as both visual objects and scores to be used by musicians or sound artists. I have made other works like this for The Quiet Music Ensemble, including: The Dead (flat) C Scrolls; Listen, Listen Again, Listen Better; and The Great Listenin(g). Interestingly, when I first made these prints, I pinned them onto the studio wall in a horizontal formation. But when I came back the following morning, one of the pins had been removed from each of the prints, so that they now hung at an angle and really looked much better. Matt Hall said that this was Rauschenberg’s doing and I am inclined to believe him. I choose to perform the scores on a grand piano in the main studio building. This was a piano that had been played by John Cage, Morton Feldman and John Tudor, amongst many others, so it carried a lot of history. Whilst doing the recordings alone in the studio late at night, sounds appeared as if from nowhere and were incorporated into the recordings. I really believe that Rauschenberg played an active part in creating the work. The place was infused with his spirit.

CS: In an era dominated by online streaming platforms, how important is it that these releases are experienced as both physical and sonic objects? 

DMc: Our releases come in limited editions and are very specifically designed and packaged, mostly by Mick, with accompanying notes, insert cards, texts and so on, intended to enhance the experience of listening.

MO’S: The visual and tactile nature of a LP/CD cover reminds me of when I used to buy LP’s based on the cover alone, wondering if the sound would live up to the artwork. The physical package of ‘No Meat No Bone’ has the look of a 7” sleeve, which is bigger than conventional CD covers; this gives me more space to be creative. The images on four inserts show our time in Captiva. On the back cover is an image of the Fish House, an iconic building on the property. The red geometric pattern, which covers the front and part of the back, relates to the drawings I was doing while on residency. 

CS: After your time at the Rauschenberg Foundation, you made your way to the Black Iris Gallery in Richmond, Virginia, where you recorded an improvised performance in collaboration with Stephen Vitiello. What is your relationship to Vitiello?

DMc: Stephen had invited us to lecture and exhibit our work in the University Of Virginia, so we wound up doing a gig in the Black Iris Gallery as well. I have known Stephen for a very long time now. I first met him in 2006 when I curated the ‘Bend It Like Beckett’ CD for Art Trail. I spelt his name wrong on the album credits and we have been friends ever since, as has Mick.

MO’S: In 2010, Stephen was one of our guests when we were on residency in the Crawford Gallery, Cork, as Strange Attractor Ireland (with Anthony Kelly, Irene Murphy and David Stalling). We have played numerous times since then. It’s always a pleasure.

CS: What is your approach to collaboration and improvisation with other artists like Vitiello? 

DMc: The main approach we have to collaboration and improvisation with others is the ability to listen. Listening is the core of our practice.

CS: Are there any new projects on the horizon for both of you? 

MO’S: We do not talk about it.

Mick O’Shea works with sound, food, drawing, and anything else he can get his hands on. Danny McCarthy is a pioneer of performance art and sound art in Ireland. Christopher Steenson is a sound artist based in Dublin. ‘No Meat No Bone’, ‘The Rauschenberg Scores’ and ‘Black Iris’ are released by Farpoint Recordings. farpointrecordings.com

Image Credits
Danny McCarthy, Picture to be Listened to Wearing a Blindfold, 2016 – 2017; courtesy of the artist.
The Quiet Club recording with Jasari X while on residency at The Robert Rauschenberg Foundation, Captva Island, Florida; image courtesy of the artists.
Danny McCarthy, one of The Rauschenberg Scores, photographic print on antique paper; courtesy of the artist

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TINKA BECHERT REFLECTS ON HER EXPERIENCE OF ART AND SCIENCE RESIDENCIES, INCLUDING THE SPARK RESIDENCY IN LEITRIM.

My father dedicated his life to aerodynamics, turbulence research and the then emerging fields of bionics and biomimicry, so I have been around the sciences most of my life. When I was five, we visited the NASA facilities in Houston. Physics had a tangible aura of excitement and adventure for me, but it was only much later that I began to understand how challenging this highly creative discipline really is. My upbringing instilled a firm belief that human curiosity, wonder and a need for reason are shared driving forces across both the arts and the sciences.

There has been a growing interest in art-science collaborations in recent years, both in Ireland and internationally. A number of residencies and awards currently support various opportunities for inter-disciplinary collaboration – a proposition that seems to merge the apparent objectivity of scientific research with the more subjective individual experience of artistic endeavor. As a visual artist, I have been invited to participate in a number of residencies across a range of settings – from museums and academic institutions to laboratories and factories – and have developed several bodies of work at the intersections of art and science. Working in scientific contexts has been hugely enriching for my practice and has led on to many other opportunities.

In 2010 I took part in a residency in Giza, Egypt, where I initiated my ‘Triangulations’ project retracing the expedition made in the 1840s by the Egyptologist Richard Lepsius. The bulk of the project was realised during another residency the following year at the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of Sciences and Humanities (BBAW), one of Germany’s most distinguished and historic institutions. The work was well received and I was particularly pleased with the positive reactions from the in-house scientists who showed great interest in the complex project. I was subsequently invited by the Neues Museum, Berlin, to outline my project in a book about Lepsius that was published in 2012. It was particularly gratifying to feel that Egyptologists within the specialist field of archaeology perceived my contribution as valuable.

In 2013, I was invited to showcase a 10-year retrospective of my work in a large Kunsthalle outside Berlin. A comprehensive monograph, Of Painting and other Adventures, was published to coincide with the exhibition, which offered useful ways to contextualise the work and helped me recognise my recurring interests. I had initially been concerned that developing research-based projects in science settings might somehow negatively impact on my established painting practice; however, my use of different materials across a range of media has in fact reaffirmed painting as the backbone of my practice, particularly regarding my approaches to composition and installation.

The following year I undertook a fellowship at the Hanse-Wissenschaftskolleg, Institute for Advanced Study, Delmenhorst, Germany, where I worked alongside neuroscientists to observe cutting edge research on neuroplasticity. It has been important for me to consolidate my experiences in science contexts with gallery exhibitions. Having been out on a ‘pioneering limb’ with scientists for a long time, I found my gallery exhibition in April 2016 very refreshing, not least because I was reminded of the wide-ranging knowledge existing within the art world that sits in contrast to the extreme specialisms that tend to occur in the sciences. Overall, it has been an enriching experience for me to explore the symbiotic relationships between art and science and it is always beneficial to connect with people outside the echo chamber of one’s own peer group.

2016 SPARK ARTISTS’ RESIDENCY PROGRAMME

Last summer I was awarded a six-month supported residency as part of the SPARK Artists’ Residency Programme, a partnership project of Leitrim County Council Arts Office and the Leitrim Local Enterprise Office. The SPARK Residency was initiated in 2012 and is aimed at artists who are interested in working in new environments and companies interested in collaborating with artists and promoting creativity within their organisations. Leitrim County Council Arts Office has been remarkable in developing this residency over the years and has built strong partnerships within the county. Because of the support structures offered, the proximity to my home, and the relatively long duration, SPARK enabled me to develop more in-depth dialogues than are usually possible in residency situations.

The 2016 SPARK Residency was hosted by Prior PLM Medical – a medical device company situated in Carrick-on-Shannon. My recent residency in the neuroscience research centre in Germany, coupled with my previous experience in science settings, meant that I was quite familiar with the medical sector. Prior’s is a family-run business employing about 30 staff members who research, invent and manufacture medical devices in collaboration with firms across Ireland, Europe and the US. Their work is highly ambitious, involving physics-driven research, product design, engineering and precision mold making: a dizzying array of activities and a new world of material investigations for me to learn about.

During the site visit in May 2016, I was pleased to encounter an unexpected open-mindedness towards art and design among the staff. I subsequently found them to be very patient during my observations and questions about their fields of expertise. I hope that my interactions were somewhat mutually beneficial, even if the employees just got to view what they do every day in a new light. I quickly began to understand that one of the major strengths of the company is the way in which scientific theory and material knowledge of tool-making and engineering are successfully interlinked.

During my residency at the company, I learned a lot about their intriguing inventions. I witnessed the highly unusual application of the historic Schlieren imaging technique, which was used in conjunction with innovative medical devices. I encountered engineering processes in which ‘shadows’ facilitate highly precise measurements. The shadowgraph technique dates back to the seventeenth century and has origins in optics and the development of telescopic lenses. The use of shadowgraph processes in the factory makes visible microscopic details, such as thermal differences, that are generally invisible to the human eye.

Making something visible through the use of shadow is an intriguing concept. I began to direct my artistic thinking towards mapping and measuring the ‘immeasurable’. The use of shadow in early cinema and popular culture was also a point of reference, in its capacity to create mysterious, threatening or foreboding atmospheres. Metaphorical notions of shadow also poignantly convey the physical, emotional and psychological aspects of illness that the medical device sector is ultimately trying to assist.

The artworks I developed explore the effects of light and shadow and are punctuated with the inhalations and exhalations of human breath: the literal inspiration and expiration of corporeality. The use of transparent materials in an installation made from industrial packaging offers behind-the-scenes glimpses into the production process. Machines used to manufacture medical devices are theatrically lit to cast sharp shadows. Not only do these machines support man in his frail existence, but they merge and interact to form new entities.

The interactions of organic and mechanical systems take centre stage in a new site-specific artwork, which offers a fitting way to conclude my residency in this remarkable environment. The reception and opening of the exhibition ‘Shadow of Ourselves’ takes place at 6pm on 31 March 2017 in the industrial complex (behind Kennedy’s petrol station), Dublin Road, Carrick-on-Shannon.

Tinka Bechert is an artist, originally from Berlin, who lives and works in Sligo.

Images: Tinka Bechert, Shadowgraph close-up; still from Illuminate.

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LOUIS HAUGH DESCRIBES HIS TIME AT ARTFARM (11–27 SEPTEMBER 2015), A RURAL ARTISTS’ RESIDENCY IN COUNTY GALWAY.

For the past year, I have been researching the history and practice of commercial forestry in Ireland. I’ve always been perplexed by the wealth of non-native coniferous trees across Ireland’s landscape and by the dwindling number of our native broad-leaf trees, such as oak, ash and beech. So I traced the roots of this matter (quite literally) back to the National Herbarium in Glasnevin. It is here that the Augustine Henry Collection is housed: an archive of thousands upon thousands of tree samples, including leaves, twigs, seeds, cones and roots, all meticulously boxed, labelled and archived.

Over the course of eight site visitsin early 2015, which were kindly facilitated by the director, Dr. Matthew Jebb, and the brilliant research botanist Dr. Noeleen Smyth, I began to discover that these samples serve as a blueprint both for Ireland’s landscape and for the forestry industry as we know it today. I rummaged through the archive, row after row, stack upon stack, not knowing what in particular I was looking for, until at last it was staring me in the face. A manila folder with some crushed twigs and cones inside. Sent to Ireland from Alaska in 1919 and labelled “On His Majesty’s Service”, it contained Picea sitchensis, more commonly known as the Sitka spruce, the conifer tree most predominant in Ireland. I found these samples fascinating and spent a lot of time photographing this entry and many others like it.

I then shifted my focus from the archive to the landscape and began recognising these trees in every county in the country: Wicklow, Dublin, Kildare, Meath, Laois, Kerry, Donegal, Galway. I became almost obsessed and photographed them at every opportunity. It was through this creative engagement with the forests that I started to understand them as a type of architecture. I noticed that they have boundaries and borders, corridors and footpaths, elements that I would normally associate with a city or a built environment. I knew that I had to spend as much time in these forests as possible.

While I was researching, I heard about the call for applications to ARTfarm, a rural residency programme in County Galway funded by Galway County Council Arts Office. Nestled away behind a town called Newbridge (not the one that’s famous for silver cutlery), ARTfarm comprises a beautiful stone cottage, a separate open-plan studio and a few acres of land. The location itself is heavily forested for commercial use and serves as a perfect example of how Picea sitchensis has taken over the landscape of Ireland.

The application process itself was quite swift. I saw a call for proposals on the VAI website and rang the arts office for some more information. I felt as though my current research was very much in sync with what was being offered, and I hoped that they would see this. Within a week, I received a call from Galway congratulating me on my successful application and putting me in contact with Sheila, who runs the residency.

As I approached ARTfarm, the many road signs pointing in different directions towards a town called Creggs disorientated me. I later discovered that all roads lead to Creggs. Even later, I found out that there are no road signs pointing out of Creggs. I pulled over and rang Sheila to ask for directions. Within five minutes she had come to get me from the side of the road, and my residency had begun.

Pulling into the driveway of ARTfarm is something I will never forget. I was presented with a brilliant confusion of plants, flowers and sculptures. I even caught sight of a giant Chinese dragon tucked away in an open shed, waiting for a parade worthy of its presence. The next few hours were spent conversing with Sheila over pots of tea and coffee. She told me that her dream for ARTfarm is that it would give artists the opportunity for creative exploration in a peaceful and quiet environment. If in some way ARTfarm could help towards furthering their work, then all the better.

Later that afternoon, we took a drive around the neighbourhood and seldom passed a house. I took in forest after forest. My trees were everywhere, and I was right where I needed to be. Over the next couple of weeks, the forests that were so new to me would become familiar. Each one developed its own significance and relevance to my work. Every morning I set out with my camera and tripod, photographing new forests and revisiting others. I spent hours walking though the densely populated coniferous forests, which were so dense that each tree had but a few needles at the top of its trunk, as the light could not penetrate deeply enough to sustain the lower branches.

About a week into my residency at ARTfarm, Sheila took me to a different forest, one that I would never have discovered on my own: the ‘forest of many names’, as I jokingly call it; or Castlekelly, Aghrane or Old Forest, as the locals call it. Here, amongst the various firs, pines and spruce trees, lay the remains of ancient oaks: stumps of trees that were felled by people long gone. Most of the oaks were dead, though some were miraculously still growing a branch or two.

It is difficult for me to describe the reaction that I had to this place, but after multiple visits I began to realise that, as a non-religious person, it was the closest thing to a religious experience that I’ve ever had. These relics stood as monuments or even sentries. My work slowly took a tangential path, and I began documenting these stumps each day, returning to see how the light fell on them at different times. Mid-afternoon was my favourite time to photograph them, as the sun was high enough to briefly penetrate through the surrounding conifers and illuminate the clearing in which the stumps remain. I have not been back to this forest since completing the residency, but a return visit is high on my list of priorities.

Through my involvement with the various trees and forests, I built up a sense of the rural environment in which I was living. The community and local towns that at first seemed so sparse and spread out started to seem more tightly knit and connected. Although we were technically in County Galway, I came to learn that the locals read the Roscommon newspapers and tune their radios to Roscommon stations. There is a fine line between Galway and Roscommon, and it lies 11.7km away from the border in Ballygar.

Through Sheila’s feverous work within the community, I began to see the importance of art and of creative hubs in rural contexts. Sheila has fostered a sense of creative opportunity within the town of Ballygar, where the local residents have recently restored a beautiful old courthouse. It is now used for recitals, exhibitions and events. On Culture Night, the place was truly buzzing with people who had come from miles around to participate or to spectate in the events. Afterwards, we went to the local pub, The Thatch. It served the best Guinness I’ve ever had, and I was amused when I got a euro change from a fiver.

My time at ARTfarm came to an all-too-sudden end. It felt as though I was still unpacking my things when the day came to pack them all up again. My last weekend was spent paying final visits to familiar forests, having one last cup of tea with Sheila and saying farewells. On my way back to Dublin, I passed three more signs for Creggs and finally decided to turn on my satnav.

Images left to right: Picea Sitchensis, National Herbarium, 2014; Louis Haugh, Aghane Woods, 2015; Louis Haugh.

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