A Time to Dance
Palpable duality of contrapuntal existence, an Anglo Irish nexus, items portrayed through a complex process of reference to abstractions, concepts, historical and mythological systems of thought or even transcendent truths. Neither proponents of obscurantism nor protagonists of ersatz esoteric ramblings, we boast uncluttered minds though to the more simplistic aesthetic they are a macédoine of furnishings. Lacking aversion to exegetical exposition, a steeplechase, hill to hill, of heated incisions through the membranous timescape unfolds.
An overwhelmingly horizontal patchwork of fields and gorse and ditches, exceedingly silent, desertedly dark, spills into the languorous nostalgia of Donegal Bay beneath a watery sky. A misshapen nave of windswept trees, a cold blue procession of low light, leads to a house drawn of charcoal grey, a bastion of the Ascendancy, standing proud in splenetic isolation. Salthill, the 18th century agent’s house with the 21st century walled garden. Built for the Conynghams, lived in by the Temples of Magee Clothing. Soon, ceaseless images dispersed, we will dine with Gabhan O’Keeffe in unresting London at Lemonia, the Greek restaurant in Primrose Hill.
Ecclesiastes 3:1, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”