2017 06.07 ACCORDING TO THIS RESISTANCE sculpture FERRYBANK, WATERFORD

"The biology laws require cooperation. The finance laws require competition. Therefore, a competitive society is intrinsically pathological.
The Competition is the exact opposite of the Resonance: how can I resound with someone, if I must compete with them because I win or they win? Until it exists a regime based on competition between human beings the issue of happiness can't be ever resolved"
Emilio Del Giudice - physicist

"So he went. According to Pereira on that occasion he forgot to pay his bill. He got to his feet in a daze, his thoughts elsewhere, and simply walked out, leaving his newspaper on the table along with his hat, maybe because it was so hot he didn't want to wear it anyway, or else because he was like that, objects didn't mean much to him"
from Antonio Tabucchi: According To Pereira

7th June 2017 @ 5:30 - 7:00

Presentation in Kilkenny Library
Ferrybank (in Waterford):

Short video by Therese Dalton, Film Director;

Pat Cooke, UCD, Director of the MA in Cultural Policy and Arts Management;

Anthony E. Walsh, Managing Director, NM Proactive Solutions Ltd, co-author of the book Understanding Suicide;

McBett, Artist

"Marco Polo describes a bridge, stone by stone. -But which is the stone that supports the bridge?- Kublai Khan asks. -The bridge is not supported by one stone or another,- Marco answers, -but by the line of the arch that they form.- Kublai Khan remains silent, reflecting. Then he adds: -Why do you speak to me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me.- Polo answers: -Without stones there is no arch.-"
from Italo Calvino: Invisible Cities

Some contributions :

Tony Walsh's personal review :

The first thing that struck me about Eli’s sculpture is that it is mainly a glass
structure regardless of it being just a wall of glass jars. Light and glass
complement each other and the way the light hits this glass creation also gives an
amazing effect. Glass is used in so many settings and has so many uses.
Throughout time glass has been used for ornamentation and to make vessels for
celebration and allow light to connect with us through windows. We also have
stained glass like in the amazing art of Harry Clark that have been used in
churches to enhance a sacred space. When we look closer at this creation by Eli we
see that this glass is actually rows of different separate, unique and individual glass
jars and that is what makes this sculpture particularly interesting for me.
Eli's choice of material was perfect for what she set out to achieve
What is contained within the jars cannot be easily discerned. This is reflective of
the inner world of the human being. We might get a glimpse of what lies within
another person but we certainly won’t be privy to the details and the depth of a
person’s thought, feelings, fears, losses and dreams.
Glass properties – Analogy with the person
The properties of glass can be closely related to a person’s essence also. So many
of us conceal aspects that are very fragile. Like glass, while it presents a hard
exterior to the world, we can be easily shattered. Sometimes we can be too
transparent when we don’t want people to see through us. We can feel so
vulnerable when our cracks and blemishes and warts and all become visible to
others. Society places a requirement on us to be perfect, to be without blemish but
for many of us there are too many cracks and dents to hide.
After researching for the book Understanding Suicide the extent of this fragility
and pain felt by so many became very apparent. (Suicide is really just a symptom
and the end point of what we really need to be examining. Along with the 500-600
who die by suicide, up to 12,000 present at A&E annually for self-harming and
attempted suicide, an estimated 120,000 who self-harm or attempt suicide but are
dealt with privately and 1 in 4 people are on antidepressants).
Just as glass is adaptable as a medium under the right conditions, human beings
have also proved to be very adaptable. However, the individuality and uniqueness
of each person can be shown to be restricted and constricted by society’s
structures. We have the illusion of diversity but in reality there is societal pressure
to conform to a desired sameness. This is well represented in Eli’s sculpture by the
functional wingnuts that hold the glass jars in place.
What Eli has done here is to brilliantly encapsulate the deep desires and yearning
of every human being: for, on the one hand self-expression while also having a
sense of belonging within the community, for inner healing and letting go of the
past as well as dreaming and envisioning a better future. Maybe there is a clear
message here to break through our resistance to change, to become more
transparent and to let in more light and have the courage to do this. Rather than
pigeon-holing or generalising aspects of life, we need to learn to embrace life in all
its complexity.

some inspiring further poetry I tripped in recently

Poetry is a celestial attack

I'm not here but at the depths of this not being here
There is a waiting for myself
And this vigil is another way of being here a waiting
For myself to come back into myself
While waiting I go out
Into other
Objects
In this going out I give away a little of my life
To certain trees certain stones
That have been waiting for me
All these years
Tired of waiting they have given up hope and fallen back
Into themselves
I'm not and I am
I'm not here and I am here
In a waiting
State
They wanted
My language
To express them
And I wanted theirs
To express
Them
And in this lay the mistake the great
Error
This pathetic state
Carving myself deeper into these plants
My clothes falling away from my bones
My bones re-clothing themselves in bark
I'm beginning to feel like I've become
A tree I've been changing myself
Into so many other things how dolorous
How tender
I could cry out but this cry would frighten away the desired
Transubstantiation
Must keep silent Waiting completely
Silent

Vicente García-Huidobro Fernández (1893-1948): La Poesía es un atentado celeste from Últimos Poemas (Later Poems), 1948; English version by Tom Clark

Mementos from:
Aaron Dowreg; Aidan Bannon; Aideen Ní Riada (Confidence in Singing); Àine Garrelly; Ali O'Brei; Alison Freary; Alison Martin; Angelo Fardello; Ann Hogan; Anna Pospieszynska; Anne Killeen; Anne O'Neill; Anne Russell; Annie Flynn; Annie Lynott; Aoibhinn O'Dea; Ben Rilot; Betty Kavanagh; Boys of Finglas; Bryony Cameron; Callie O'Bernes; Caju Oliveira; Cecilia Dinhelman; Chaelio Thomas; Craig O Reilly; Daniel Kleppa; Danny Ahearn; Dari Shechter; Daryl Smith; Des Gunning; Elaine Ellis; Eleanor Stewart; Elena De Natale; Elena Jimenca Trillo; Ellie Baker; Elton Dinino; Else Videball; Eoghan Riordan; Eoin Ò Fearghail; Erivestas Gaidqkeviciks; Evelin Velazquez; Federica; Flinn Shannon; Forest Friends/Radio Enviro; Giulia Rapino; Giuseppe Crupi; Kamran, Karen Donnellan; Keith Irish (Waterford Healing Art Trust); Kevin Malone; Ian O'Shea; Icelsie Rose; Iracy Pickevill; Irene Doval Marcos; Irene Rogli; Iriane Sena; Iseult Byrne; Laura Tello; Liubov Kadyrova; Lorena Lampedecchia; Lucia Dapena; Luke; Joanna Niec; Jessica Doyle; John Cotter; Jonny Tennant; Justice for Madgalenes (Mary Creighton Wong); Justina; Ju Yun Ju; Malgosia Przeworska; Marco Pizzolato; Mario D'Alessandro; Mary Kiely; Matthew Vutton; Maurice Caplice; Maurizio; McBett; Michelle Belardenelli; Naomi Murphy; Nathan McDonghel; New Ross Bagpipe Band; New Ross Library (Patricia Keenan); Nicola Brady; Paddy Maron; Ran Stokes; Rana Örtürk; Robert Brown; Robi Cornaggia; Rosi Leonard; Ross Art and Music Collective R.A.M.P. (Conor Coresh); Sally Cotter; Sean; Silvia Loeffer; Siòna Cameron; Simon Luque; Sinèad Fitzgerald; Sofie Bork; Sondess Azzabi; S.P.A.M. ART (VIttorio Pavoncello); Standing Rock Indian Reservation; Stephen Blaupls; Tom McNally; Tuilelaith; Ùna Williams; Wumerson Silra

Thank you for the support to Jim Farrell (Ferribank Shopping Centre); Keith Irish ( Waterford Healing Arts Trust); Majella Byrne (Kilkenny County Library, Ferrybank)

Pat Cooke's quotes Derek Mahon's poem: A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford

(Let them not forget us, the weak souls among the asphodels.
— Seferis, Mythistorema)

(for J. G. Farrell)

Even now there are places where a thought might grow --
Peruvian mines, worked out and abandoned
To a slow clock of condensation,
An echo trapped for ever, and a ﬂutter
Of wildﬂowers in the lift-shaft,
Indian compounds where the wind dances
And a door bangs with diminished conﬁdence,
Lime crevices behind rippling rain barrels,
Dog corners for bone burials;
And in a disused shed in Co. Wexford,

Deep in the grounds of a burnt-out hotel,
Among the bathtubs and the washbasins
A thousand mushrooms crowd to a keyhole.
This is the one star in their ﬁrmament
Or frames a star within a star.
What should they do there but desire?
So many days beyond the rhododendrons
With the world waltzing in its bowl of cloud,
They have learnt patience and silence
Listening to the rooks querulous in the high wood.

They have been waiting for us in a foetor
Of vegetable sweat since civil war days,
Since the gravel-crunching, interminable departure
Of the expropriated mycologist.
He never came back, and light since then
Is a keyhole rusting gently after rain.
Spiders have spun, ﬂies dusted to mildew
And once a day, perhaps, they have heard something --
A trickle of masonry, a shout from the blue
Or a lorry changing gear at the end of the lane.

There have been deaths, the pale ﬂesh ﬂaking
Into the earth that nourished it;
And nightmares, born of these and the grim
Dominion of stale air and rank moisture.
Those nearest the door grow strong --
‘Elbow room! Elbow room!’
The rest, dim in a twilight of crumbling
Utensils and broken pitchers, groaning
For their deliverance, have been so long
Expectant that there is left only the posture.

A half century, without visitors, in the dark --
Poor preparation for the cracking lock
And creak of hinges; magi, moonmen,
Powdery prisoners of the old regime,
Web-throated, stalked like trifﬁds, racked by drought
And insomnia, only the ghost of a scream
At the ﬂash-bulb ﬁring-squad we wake them with
Shows there is life yet in their feverish forms.
Grown beyond nature now, soft food for worms,
They lift frail heads in gravity and good faith.

They are begging us, you see, in their wordless way,
To do something, to speak on their behalf
Or at least not to close the door again.
Lost people of Treblinka and Pompeii!
‘Save us, save us,’ they seem to say,
‘Let the god not abandon us
Who have come so far in darkness and in pain.
We too had our lives to live.
You with your light meter and relaxed itinerary,
Let not our naive labours have been in vain!’