Work In Progess Wednesday. What’s in a Name?


Yet another ground breaking week in the my one woman woolly sweatshop. Perhaps, as an inevitable concatenation of my diverse methodologies, and my Magpie mind,  I’ve finally taken a step into the world of Assemblage/ Mixed Media/ Collage/ Applique/ Objets Trouve Scene Building. I suppose there is a catchier name for this particular genre but hell I like my one.

I can’t believe I haven’t done this before now. I love the creative process (Magpie mind), the end result (even if I do say so myself)  and the smug feeling I get, as all that stuff I’ve been carefully hoarding all these years gets new life. Take note – all you excessive chucker outers. Don’t throw it away – give it to me.

Unsurprisingly the Ginger Cat, the Owl and the Sheep all insisted in starring roles in my first two productions, and seeing as how they have wheedled their way into my creative unconsciousness from my subconscious creativeness (the sneaky feckers), I felt it was time they had names.
So – presenting FINBARR the GINGER CAT from Cork, SHAMEY the recovering Catholic Sheep (Shame ? He’s only mortified)  and the OWL WAN. (There’s always an Owl Wan – you know, just hanging around,  lookin’).
Now that’s sorted I do really need a snappier title for my new style of Artworks – To the Internet with me for some research, if I can drag myself away from assembling EVERYTHING into something else for long enough.  Any and all suggestions or direction on the nomenclature would be most welcome.

So, An Owl, A Cat and A Sheep walk into a Bar.

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Hibernia Knittanica

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In a frenzy of unconscious patriotism, I stayed up late knitting little Irelands – as you do.
As with a lot of my work I made three and then stopped. I make up the pattern as I go and I think that by doing it three times I embed it in my brain. Yes, I know I could just write it down but I prefer the thrice tried method.

Apart from Italy of course, Ireland is an extremely knittable island and just cries out (to me) to hung from a keychain. Glad I’m not Indonesian in that respect.
Looking at the map, I have always had the strong impression of Ireland as a tubby little bear, sitting aloof, with his back to Europe, with Lough Neagh for an imploring eye westward, arms outstretched – whining “ Help America, help. Big Bad England’s kicking me up the arse.

So – now the only question left and it’s an age old one – How much is the Auld Sod worth? What price the multiple Mother Mother Eireanns? Oh, Roisin Dubh – do I even put a price on you or do I auction you off to the highest bidder? – well if NAMA can, I can.