Conceptually Engaging

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After a discussion about a modern art exhibit in class last week, I was immediately intrigued by a particular concept that coordinated the skills of tennis and dance into a single art form. As a trained tennis player and dancer you could understand my initial interest in this piece of art. A 1978 film entitled Untitled, displayed on a 15” black and white television from the 1980s, starred the creator and famous Danish tennis player Torben Ulrich. This piece is part of the I Know You exhibit showing at the National Concert Hall.

Although the concept of the film was a beautiful display of athletic and artistic expression, the exhibit surrounding this particular piece of art in the Irish Museum of Modern Art had me distracted and initially confused. A Simon Dybbroe-Moller creation entitled Cabbage Heads & Support, not only surrounded but interacted with Ulrich’s tennis-dance creation, thus diverting my attention from Ulrich’s piece to the other objects in the room. As you can gather from the title, the artwork was an interesting display. At first its proximity to Untitled was confusing for someone like me who rarely experiences conceptual art. However, after days of contemplation I finally began to see a connection develop among these works of art.

Ulrich’s exhibition was incredibly engaging. Never in all my years as a dancer and tennis player have I considered putting these two activities in the same category, but as Untitled proved, the skills and grace acquired from one form of training can be incorporated into another. Filmed in a dark, grassy field, with a single overhead lamp for illumination, Ulrich swings his old wooden racket, as though he is playing an imaginary match. But as you watch him perform on the small screen, you become entranced by the rhythm of the music, movement, and staggered breathing. He is so in-sync with every element of this production that when he spontaneously erupts into a dance, chills ran up my spine. His ability to incorporate both his athletic and artistic talents spoke to me as though he was exhaustingly chipping away the barriers that had been restraining him for years. It was incredible to see the graceful, coordinated, and meaningful link between two of my great loves.

Yet, in the midst of this performance, the other art works in the room pushed their way into the performance. From the Chef on the mantle, the servant on the floor, and the welder with the television for a head, this piece claimed to represent a range of stereotypical roles present in society. For a while I felt subservient to these strange pieces of art. But after several days of questioning these pieces the theme that appeared to be most pronounced to me was the concept of exhaustion. For the player on the screen and the “real” world players on the floor, everything around me appeared beaten down by the labels that limit them, and although Ulrich’s piece aims to fight back, Dybbroe-Moller’s appeared to have succumbed to the exhaustion. Untitled is a conceptual piece of art, more idea than product. But, despite the piece, the room and the accompanying artworks, I found myself truly enjoying this strange sight.

-Tara McNulty

Photo Image: Conceptual Art Image

We’re Not So Different, You and I

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There are a lot of things that make up a person’s identity. Much of who an individual is comes from where they call home and what their childhood was like. To my surprise, I have a lot more in common with Irish women than I thought. We all have very strong connections to our past. Where we come from makes us all who we are as individuals and strangely very similar.

After seeing an Irish step dancing show in the Fitzsimons Hotel and Restaurant, I noticed that the dancers were having a lot of fun while doing their performance. I was really intrigued as to why Irish dancers still practice such an old tradition so I decided to ask Louise, the young, female dancer about her experiences with the dancing culture in Ireland.

Louise talked to me about the enormous amount of pressure that is put on young girls in Ireland to learn Irish step dancing. Louise enjoyed her childhood dancing activity until she was a teenager and Irish step dancing wasn’t the “cool” thing to do anymore. She stopped dancing for a few years but then she found herself wanting to go back to dancing. Tradition was a word that came up a lot when I talked with her. A lot of why she and her other dancing colleagues still dance and find it enjoyable is because there are strong roots that go along with it. She feels a connection to her childhood and traditional Ireland when she dances. Louise believes that because she’s Irish, it’s important to keep alive what might eventually die.

Louise’s experience being an Irish dancer is something I can definitely relate to. Although I couldn’t dance to save my life, I was pressured to do something similar as a child. As a young girl I was told I needed to pick a sport or an activity to be involved in. I chose to play basketball because I come from long line of basketball stars and being the tallest kid in my class I figured I would be good at it. Before high school began I decided to stop playing because I didn’t feel that I was good enough to continue at the next level. Like the rest of my family, I have a special place in my heart for the game of basketball. I grew up going to basketball games, playing HORSE in the driveway, and watching March Madness during dinnertime. I feel a connection with the tradition of basketball not only as an American sport but also as my family’s sport.

Although I may not have stayed with basketball at a higher level, it’s still a part of who I am as a person. Louise’s love for Irish dancing is a piece of her identity as well.
Louise, from Dublin and Shannon, from Philadelphia may be two different stories and two very different lifestyles but we’re not so different, she and I.

Shannon Haugh

How They Rise Up, Rise Up

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Crypts. Tombs. Sepulchres. Deep dark places where the dead sleep.

Places where the dead are placed to rest are never actually full of peaceful corpses, as far as fiction in concerned. And here I was, entering into just such a place, without a single coat of chainmail, mace, or holy symbol to protect myself.

St. Michan’s proper is a rather beautiful if plain church that’s existed since the 11th century and has survived the trials and tribulations of all those longs centuries. It also happens to be the exact location in which people discovered it’s a pretty decent place to store bodies. The temperature underground stays constant year round and the limestone walls absorb the moisture from the air.

The crypts possess a semi-oppressive atmosphere. The darkness is almost alive, clinging to corners, nooks and crannies where the light of the olds electric bulbs cannot reach. The tombs, some still in use, remain unlit as per tradition. I felt the urge to move to the other side of the path as I walked past them, overactive imagination coalescing darkness into rotten hands reaching out.

However, the areas that light graced were a sight to behold. The most important of those rooms hold the remains of four people. One is relatively unknown, but by his condition it’s thought that he paid his way into the tomb. It’s the other three that are far more fascinating.

The first was a man with his feet and one hand chopped off. Battle damage? Perhaps, but it’s more likely that he was a thief who’s luck ran out (or who never had any luck to begin with), was caught and was punished. So how did he end up in the crypts? Again, he could have bought his way in, but chances are that he joined the church as a way of repentance.

The second corpse is that of a woman, and the first detail that stands out about her is the condition of the feet and hands – they’re so well preserved that one can still see her nails. This, as the tour guide explained, was a sign of her status as a nun, and when she passed it was her right to be buried under St. Michan’s.

The last body is the most fascinating. It is the body of a crusader (most likely a participant in the 3rd Crusade), whose body was brought back to the Church for its eternal slumber. The man was once 6’ 6” (a giant, especially in those days), and so his legs were broken so he could fit into the casket.

It’s eerie, being with those mummies – it’s almost as though I could feel eyes on the back of my head as I stepped into the room to touch the crusader’s hand, a little lucky charm as legend has it. But if there is anyone else here, they’re not speaking up.

I’m rather alright with that.

 

Don’t Croke

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Stadiums are interesting places, even for those who do not actively watch or follow the sports that take place in them. As I take a seat in Croke Park’s section usually meant for announcers and sportcasters, I soon realize that this particular stadium stands out a bit more from the others I’ve visited. Earlier today, our guide had explained the Irish way of support for teams, the way that they stick to their home county, no matter where they are in the country (or the world). It’s a bit strange to the average American way, where one can ‘adopt’ teams of other cities in case of a displacement.

Sitting back in the semi-comfortable plastic seat, my focus switches back to the tour guide who’s been leading us through the stadium. The park itself has been around since the 1880s, and was a prominent part of the GAA from its inception in 1884. The park ran into financial problems in 1908, and a GAA member by the name of Frank Dineen purchased Croke Park for the sum of $3,250. The GAA managed to pool together the resources necessary to purchase the park from Dineen, and in 1913 Croke Park was signed over for $3,500.

Our guide gestures to one of the the four sides of the stadium, smaller in height than the others. She says the name of that section is Hill 16, and was once nothing but a mound of dirt and grass that spectators crowded onto. Once known as Hill 60, referencing a brutal and bloody fight in Gallipoli in WW1, its current name comes from the Easter Rising of 1916 – the rubble produced from the destruction of Dublin buildings by the British gunboat Helga was used to create a more permanent fixture on the hill. The hill as it stands today is the gathering ground of Dubliners, the section turning into a sea of sky blue during games when Dublin’s team is playing.

We are led out of the stands, back through the Broadcaster’s  box, and go down a level where we come to a black stone monument – the stadium’s remembrance to the events of Bloody Sunday. One cannot speak of Croke Park without mentioning the events of that day – the stadium was the site where a force of RIC police and the British Auxiliary Division opened fired on the crowd in the stands after a group of British Intelligence officers were assassinated by Michael Collins and his men earlier in the day. It is still hotly debated whether or not they were provoked by IRA agents, or if they opened fire on their own.

In the aftermath, 13 spectators and the captain of Tipperary’s team, Michael Hogan, had been killed. It was to them that the monument was built, and one of the sections was named after Hogan himself. It’s a sobering lesson in the blood-stained history of Ireland.

Abbey Theatre: Past & Present

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As a child, I spent many hours on stage, both dancing and acting. At one point in my life, I even aspired to be a Broadway actress. So, needless to say that when I heard that our class was attending a production at the historic Abbey Theatre, I was thrilled! I had never passed by, but have heard many things about the Abbey Theatre, mostly about the quality of the productions that have been put on there.

When I arrived, I was underwhelmed to say the least. I knew that the theatre was over 100 years old, so I was quite disappointed to walk up to a modern looking, beige box that was made out of concrete. The building is so non-descript that I could have easily walked by without noticing it. After conducting some research, I found that the original Abbey Theatre was destroyed in a fire in 1955. The theatre that I visited was rebuilt as the Abbey Theatre in 1966, and until that time was known as the Queen’s Theatre.

Photo of the original Abbey Theatre – courtesy of http://www.abbeytheatre.ie/behind_the_scenes/article/history/

The Abbey Theatre as it exists today.

The interior of the theatre was nothing to be impressed by either. It is just a plain lobby, with red carpeting and white walls, that contains a concession stand. It reminded me of the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia, where I have attended many productions. I had initially expected grandiose decorations, but now that I know this theater is more modern, I am not surprised by the style of the furnishings. The Abbey contains two stages, with the larger being more ornate than the smaller one. The larger of the two is much more impressive architecturally, and contains a balcony. The smaller is pretty bare bones, with a plain stage and one level of seating.

While I thought Shush, the show that we saw, was excellent, I was still disappointed by the Abbey Theatre. I wish that I was able to somehow see the original Abbey Theatre, not only because of the beautiful architecture, but also so that I would be able to stand in a place that was the creation of W.B. Yeats, one of the most celebrated authors and playwrights in Ireland. To me, the original Abbey Theatre represents old Dublin, and great writers of the past. Like many other beautiful buildings in Ireland, it exists now only in historical documents and the memory of older Dubliners.

More than a Memory

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In center city Dublin lies a solitary park that has been my frequent escape for inspiration and contemplation. It is big enough to incorporate the beauty I imagined in a fantasy book, and small enough to take a stroll around the perimeter without getting lost. I don’t think I even remember the last time when I was wholly satisfied with a city park, but St. Stephen’s Green Park of Dublin did the trick—at least when I just wanted to clear my mind and get my creative juices flowing. I didn’t expect the strange feeling I felt when I went on a Saturday to catch up on some reading from the book, Dublin, Tenement Life.

My plan was to first get into the mindset to understand the wretched tales of the tenement dwellers. As I walked down the park, I turned to the statues to get inspiration, particularly the ones of Irish leaders who stood up for Ireland’s freedom and human rights. But there was something missing when I looked at those proud, yet mundane faces, leading me to become continuously distracted by how beautiful the day was. It was then when I passed the famine memorial, and something bitter grasped my thoughts. It was a feeling I got whenever I passed this particular work of art—a deranged headless figure feeding an empty spoon to a collapsed body. I knew the Irish famine was a tragic event in Ireland’s history, causing about a million people to die from starvation. Usually a memorial plaque or wall would have sufficed in paying homage to the dead, but these sculptures single-handedly brought out the grotesqueness and horror of how the famine truly tore away all hope for the Irish people. For me, just the physical construction of the sculptures was enough to make me feel uncomfortable. The thin mutilated bodies without a distinct face made them seem anonymous and terrifying. The texture of the sculptures was harsh and jagged, and the eroded color made them seem burnt and crippled. If I had not known what they were, I still would have associated them to something beastly in the sculptor’s mind.

It was hard to look away, and I soon found myself molding dark and ghoulish characters in my head for a future animation project. On the plus side, I was in the mindset to read my book. But even then, the sight of tourists taking pictures with the memorial sculptures and little kids running by them without a second look made me wonder about the statues in the park overall. Were they all there simply to invoke a reminder and emotion? Or could some sculptures be there for another purpose entirely—like a play-thing for children or a source of inspiration for creative work? It was a thought that occupied my mind for the rest of the day. I never got a chance to get back to the book.

—   Julisa BasakArtbeatTHREEpic

Songs to Remember: Drew Russin

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Our class saw Dublin’s identity engrained in towering, graffiti ridden social housing flats in Dublin 8. We saw the changing culture absorbed in the Guinness Factory half a block away. Dublin’s past danced around us as our professor softly sang the first few verses from Pete Saint-John’s, “Rare Old Times”. Darren’s soft, conversational voice carried half a block down the road, catching the curiosity of three ten year old girls on their way home from school. They smiled in recognition of the tune and the boldest of the bunch joined in on the chorus. She proudly exclaimed, “my father used to sing this”! The song was written 25 years before the girls were born, yet the story of change that struck their neighborhood was preserved and passed down to them through the oral tradition of song.

I could not think of one American song that myself, my ten year old cousin, my parents, and grandfather might all be able to sing from memory. Certainly none that highlighted the changing landscape and demographic of Philadelphia; that’s something you learn about in American History classes focused on industrialization or gentrification. A month in Dublin has shown me music is not purely for fun and entertainment, but a glue that holds together generations, reminding everyone of the struggles and triumph that accelerated Dublin into a post-modern hub of commerce and education.

If there was one unifying characteristic I’ve found in all Irish people, it is a deeply engrained identity with their hometown; where you are is who you are. If born in Belfast it doesn’t matter if you moved to Dublin as a kid; you would never root for any club but Bredagh (Belfast’s club). In Ireland, your past matters, it makes you, and just like the Gaelic Athletic Association, folk songs like “Rare Old Times” have acted as an integral preservation of Irish identity.

“Rare Old Times” chronicles change in Dublin during one man’s lifetime. He was a “cooper”, one that would repair and make casks at the Guinness Factory. Like his tenement flat, demolished and replaced by social housing, his trade was lost as even the Guinness Factory bowed to modernization. Historic and cultural landmarks of Old Dublin vanished, and, “tall glass cages”, apartment buildings and office complexes, “spring up along the Quay”.

I find Dublin westernized and modern, the romanticized vision I had of an old Ireland is surprisingly hard to find. The Celtic Tiger transported Dublin from a simple city to a posh, expensive, economic force of Western Europe. I think Dubliners see now what they’ve lost during rapid growth; a language, a culture; most importantly an unshakeable sense of community. Apparent and encouraging is Dublin’s conscious effort to regain it’s true identity. Signs, maps, descriptions around the city are written in English and Gaelic, Croke park is the fourth largest stadium in all of Europe though it hosts only Gaelic Games, and ten year old school girls, with nap-sacks on their shoulders, clad in plaid jumpers, can recite, “Dublin in the Rare Ould Times”.

Rare Old Times

Mutefish and Deaf America

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Since I’ve been in Dublin I’ve found myself on Grafton Street more times than necessary. I just can’t seem to deny its shops and entertainment. Not only is the street a good place to spend Euro on outfits, food, and drinks, it’s also Dublin’s prime location for street musicians or “buskers.”  The juxtaposition between begging musicians and high-end shops is a perfect representation of Dublin’s present culture. Although the city is making its way through a recession, shops have been able to remain open because of heavy spending tourists.  Buskers remind us that Dublin is not only a working class city but a musically talented one, with people willing to go above and beyond for a note or two.

In Dublin I’ve found street performers to be either hit or miss. It seems like just about anyone can set up shop on a corner and play something mainstream in hopes that their tune will catch an ear.  Some musicians just sound like noise while others rise above and demonstrate pure Irish talent.

In Ireland people’s claim to fame has often been through busking.  Some of my favorite street performers that have made it “big” from Grafton Street are Damien Rice, Glen Hansard, and Paddy Casey.  I even found myself at one of Paddy Casey’s sold out concerts on a first night in Dublin. These artists have been made into global talents and they all started through strumming on Grafton.

One afternoon while walking down Grafton Street, a crowd of people near a ritzy storefront caught my attention. Beyond the crowd was a band of six. The music the men were playing was completely instrumental. The song had hints of reggae with obvious Irish influence. What a combination!  In front of the group of guitarists and drummers was a man playing a traditional Irish flute.  Although I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what genre was being played it was certainly appealing to the audience. Throughout their set, people were even willing to purchase their music. That sort of thing is quite unheard of back home. In the US it’s very difficult to sell your own music especially through street performances.

Upon researching these Grafton Street buskers, I learned they’re called Mutefish. They happen to be one of Dublin’s most popular street bands. They’ve played shows at a pub I’ve frequented called Whelan’s and have even toured across Europe. The members of the band do hail from Ireland but also Poland, Lithuania and the Ukraine.

Recently it’s been common that “superstars” are made overnight in America via viral videos and reality shows. It seems that America has become so technologically advanced and closed off that our ears are deaf to street talent. No one ever stops in the train station to give the old man singing the blues a cent. My experience on Grafton Street has made me wonder about this; if Americans unplugged their headphones and shut off iPhones would we discover more genuine musicians?

                                                                                                                                               

Faith Scheerbaum

Video: Mutefish Performing on Grafton Street

That Jiggity Jig

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The Arlington Hotel in Dublin’s busy Temple Bar district is home to the  popular “Irish Dance Party.” At first hearing these words my mind automatically thought of a techno-rave often associated with stereotypical European night clubs. But to my surprise,  this event hosted every afternoon, is an upbeat cultural experience for tourists and natives alike. Together with a small group of strangers from around the country and the world, I was taught, rather, re-taught the basic choreography of the Jig. With live music produced by a talented  performer, I could not help but get swept up in the energy of the crowd.

As noted in previous entries, I have been a product of the Irish Step Dancing tradition. The basic choreography of the seven’s, the cut backs and the two-threes (difficult to understand I know), are hard to forget for someone who used to practice it twice a week for three years. So as the instructor splits us up into groups, I refrained from revealing my past dance experience because I wanted to see if there is another way I could have learned and experienced Irish step dancing. I soon discovered there’s not. The choreography for the jig is universal. No offense to my previous instructor Miss Erin and her strict Irish Step regiment, but I had more fun that night than I have ever had under her instruction. The costumes, the soft shoe ghillies, and the hair-spray buns with curls would have any eleven year old running for the hills. But the effortlessly upbeat nature of the evening had everyone up from their stools for two hours while engaging us in the fast-paced rhythmic movement of the dance.

Initially, I was hesitant to partake in this event. The website and the hotel’s location screamed tourist attraction, and with payment at the door, I was positive I was falling into a tourist trap. But after getting there and experiencing it for myself, I found that it means so much more to the Irish than simple revenue for their economy. This communal event has been a way to help them preserve their culture, my culture, and before coming to Ireland, that was something that never had crossed my mind. For those who participate in the traditional forms of Irish step dancing it is a wonderful connection to a vibrant history. I am beginning to look at my own Irish history with some new-found perspective. After partaking in the “Irish Dance Party” I realize that this traditional and cultural dance means so much to those who live and breathe for Ireland.

Tara McNulty

photo: irish dance party

A Discovery for the Derby

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Me, modeling a favorite hat

If there’s one thing I’ve learned so far during my stay in Dublin, it’s that coincidences are everywhere.  Not too long ago, a peer and I stumbled upon a woman who makes beautiful hats.  We stopped to check out the striking head pieces and started chatting with the artist.  The few hats she had on display are wonderful, and any woman would feel fabulous wearing one of these.  I know this because I tried a few on.  I’ve never worn hats like these and I fell in love with the idea of getting to wear one to an event.

Millinery is the designing and crafting of women’s hats.  It surely can be labeled as a craft because of its use of dexterity and artistic skill. Catherine Cooke is an Irish milliner who hand makes each one of her hats, many of them being one of a kind.  The hats are made for women to wear at various events, such as weddings, horse derbies, and outdoor parties.  She also offers millinery workshops where interested people come to learn. Catherine will teach you how to make your own head pieces, with the hopes of walking away with a unique piece of art.  I think that’s so amazing; I love when artists share their craft and open their skills to an audience in an interactive way.

You may be wondering… what does this have to do with coincidences?  Well, as soon as she mentioned that her hats are perfect to wear to horse derbies, that’s all I could think about.  I’ve always watched the famous Kentucky Derby on TV and admired the beautiful hats the women in the stands wear.  This made me yearn to attend a derby one day, wearing a hat like this.  Anyway, back to coincidences, soon after meeting the hat maker, my mom told me that when she comes to Ireland to meet me after my coursework is over, we’ll be attending the Irish Derby!

Horse races are said to be very popular over here in Ireland, and the Irish Derby is the biggest one.  I’m so excited.  As soon as my mom told me we have tickets, I thought of the hats.  I have to buy them for us. We cannot attend a derby without the most important part of derby-attire, the hat!

What I love so much about the craft of millinery and hat making is that it is entirely possible to make hats that are unique in many ways, whether it be to a specific personality, event, or even outfit.  There are so many different characteristics that can be put into these hats that make it possible for uniqueness.

As I’m writing this, I’m becoming more and more excited for the Derby, although I think I’m more excited to wear a crafted head piece.  I know this event will not only be special for the beautiful hats, but for the bonding I will share with my mother over a bunch of horses and a beautiful accessory.

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Catherine Cook and her hats