The secret gallery’s blog

Maybe the first secret gallery in Doolin, Co. Clare, Ireland

Posts Tagged ‘the Burren

Peace and The Little Prince

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The night before last, I was told to “go and make some art” by James, my husband. It is great to have such encouragement to do the things I really want to do but often don’t do on my own.  I have been thinking about the land art project we are doing along the walking routes in the Burren and North Clare, so I went over to the turf basket and started playing around with bits of turf! (one of the walks is on a bog road) First I created this peace sign inspired by James. I have been reading the children “The Little Prince”. I really love the book, it influenced the little stars which I cut out of banana skins.

 

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Banana skin stars on turf in the Secret Gallery between Doolin and The Cliffs of Moher.

Some of the reasons that I put little yellow stars on turf may be because:

I have been reading “The Little Prince”.

The following day we had a conversation with our friend, she was talking about it being the time of stars, as they have more effect on us, maybe because we see the stars more as it gets dark earlier. It is also the time of year that there are more shooting stars.

Stars are very big compared to pieces of turf yet they are similar; the turf is a tiny nugget of the earth which is a planet too.

I remember night time bog walks as a child looking up at the stars.

Apparently there may be some moon dust on the earth after they crash into the moon. I hope it does not upset things too much on the moon or for us as a consequence of us interfering with the mighty Moon.

Maybe because it was playful, and I liked the contrast of the smooth banana skins and the rough turf. Who knows!

Peace to all

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Written by Marianne Slevin

9 October, 2009 at 11:02 am

Little poems from Doolin

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Eight years ago, when I visited Doolin for about a month during my M.A, I wrote these poems that slightly resemble Haiku poetry. I wrote them as I walked near the Cliffs of Moher and across The Burren. Now they are draped over our sofa on lengths of cotton! Little did I know that my family would one day sit on the words in the very same house! Life is very unpredictable and mysterious!

 

Here

horses graze

among sea-foam

 

Looking down

the sea-gulls

are imitating stars

 

Floating on

even thistles

become soft

 

Every day

I walk

a circle

 

The moon

is reflected

in a distant rock-pool

 

Wind is blowing

even horses

cling to mountains

Written by Marianne Slevin

26 October, 2008 at 6:36 pm

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A three day walk in the Burren, Co.Clare

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Goats beard or meadow sweet              orchid                       rust wheelbarrow for air                     hair bell                     clack of stones                wind shaped tree                   white

orchid                                        summer grass smell                                              herb Robert                                   thistle meadow                             milk wort                              butter wort 

bird foot trefoil                        dog daisy                        cuckoo spit                           bloody cranes bill                              rock hill                       corn crakes               meadow cutting            

 

                        sunlit valley                               blue at last                                  blue bell        low flying butterfly                   only foot print         memories            song bird

field of low lying rocks       

                                               portal tomb                 door way                          rock rose                              self heal                       pea-like flower                      speed well               swallows

dry river bed                    wind whistling through the valley                silver weed                    meadow brown butterfly                bramble faintly pink        blue butterfly winding down a path

nectar from fusia flower            scent of white clover              sun scorched dock leaves             winding stone walls                                                                   

                              scented air                                                                                                                                  white butterfly                    feet brushing the grass

Written by Marianne Slevin

14 September, 2008 at 8:20 pm

Posted in Words

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