Multidimensional Icarus of Slieve Bloom Mountains
07/07/2020 Portlaoise
What is an important attribute of creativity? Does light cast on a random object or person fulfils its meaning? Whether it has to be a certain muse that causes everything we hear and see pervades and surrounds us in different way whenever we strive to comprehend it. Offering in result a new inside glance, maybe even familiar, but not, a different, completely different one.
Reality tends to be complicated and always exceeds expectations. But still we are longing to tame it. And sometimes we succeed with extracting a little of its inexhaustible wealth, hidden deep in an imaginary world, and thus half real, half alive, half existing. In a world that is within a grasp of our hands but also impossible to preserve. In this respect, especially painters have a lot to add.
There is a place in Laois, in the heart of Slieve Bloom, near the Glenbarrow waterfall wherein time runs differently. Where the virus did not have access, or was simply something that occurred away, off the beaten track, something that had no effect on life and its consequences. One might say that this place exists outside space and time, or it is a different dimension tailored to match its inhabitants.
We see a beautiful stone underpinned house surrounded by hills, set in lush greenery of grass and distinct trees. A shady narrow gravel road suddenly turns into a wide alley filled with bright white and grey stones. A little behind the house but still visible from the road the second construction catches the eye. Right in front of the house I see Tom Joyce, a smiling senior gentleman dressed in a tangerine and butterscotch garment, neckerchief he wears only ads certain taste of style to his overall look. We are moving towards the second building far back, the stones neatly arranged in a lane clink under our feet, the air smells of rain and forest, bird chatter mixes with the sound of the wind. Usual sense of tension fades away somewhere between wonders of Slieve Bloom Mountains.
We climb wooden, partially mossy stairs, Tom opens the door, we’re entering his atelier of a bright attic with large skylights attracting as much as its possible light. At the entrance, just to the right, there is a table and beautifully carved antique chairs, on the left a sculpture of a motorcyclist made of many engine parts and weld in tools (Tom bought it few years back at the RDS exhibition), a table with a mechanical hand created by Mr. Joyce out of kindness and compassion, as he describes himself: Some years ago during a campaign to ban the indiscriminate use of anti-personnel mines, I was greatly affected by images of innocent civilians, men women and young children who had lost hands when the curious looking object they had picked up exploded. This sculpture is to acknowledge their loss and condemn those who caused it. I called it “Legacy of a Landmine”.
Right next to the hand my eyes caught on tree deeply scarred and gold-coloured stones, Tom explains that in ancient Ireland quartzite was regarded as a mystical rock often associated with sacred ritual, and mountains with a quartzite summit, such as Croagh Patrick were regarded as sacred places.
Geologically quartzite is often associated with gold and I created this sculpture in response to the threatened gold mining of the quartzite mountains of Connemara Joyce Country. It is composed of three quartzite rocks, which have nun cut to symbolically “bleed” their gold. The cuts are Ogham script, spelling the word ‘GANG’ — defined as “a band of criminals”; “a number of labourers working together”.
Then I get to see a Globus sculpture that can be adjusted to any latitude to become a functioning equatorial sundial, it is called “Earth Science”. In about the center of the room (I guess with the intention of making the most of the light) Tom have placed two easels with oil paintings yet in composition, further down I spotted a modern Ikea rocking chair and a little to the right a comfortable sofa with a tasteful Persian rug beneath; opposite, leaning against the wall, arranged in a row, or one against the other, carefully separated by cardboards, there are about two dozen of Tom’s paintings waiting appreciation.
We talk about art, Tom is showing his works with a mix of pride and excitement, some remind me of nineteenth century Dutch school of landscaping. He describes how his creations came to be: This painting (I’m looking at one with the waterfall) is the expression of my love for the valley in which I live. For exhibition purposes it is titled “Upper Glenbarrow” but it is not a painting of a particular place, rather it is composed of elements found all along the river valley; all mixed together like ingredients for a cake and “cooked” In my mind until it is “baked” into a composition that I can paint — contrasting light, the mystery of the woods, the fascinating geology, the adventure of falling water and the calming peace.
And when it comes to the second one featuring the river in a dark forest: It happened that some years ago I embarked on a series of adventurous river walks not along but in the rivers of Slieve Bloom, one of which was filmed by RTE for the series ‘Summer Journeys’. That walk was in the Silver River, upstream of the village of Cadamstown. This painting is an imaginative composition drawn from my memories of that time. It is titled “Silver River” and reflects my interest in the geology of Slieve Bloom and my love of river landscapes.
My attention is drawn to a portrait of a woman whose head is covered by shawl. This, in turn, directs my thoughts towards the seventeenth century Flemish school.
Many of Tom’s creations are the reflections of a real places, remembered from past journeys and yet full of details, which results that I look at the next ones with even greater hunger for artistic experiences. Tom uses the light very skillfully, which is quite an achievement and an art in itself. I really enjoyed the demonstration when we looked at one of his paintings changing the perspective and the intensity of the light from very bright to twilight. Each time the trees in the distance and the light coming out from among them changed the colour and saturation, sometimes illuminating the entire landscape and sometimes trimming it. He also showed me his self-portrait, which is interesting because in the foreground Tom presented his hands, which are very clear compared to the rest. In a way we realize that the artist’s hands are the most important creative tool next to the imagination.
Yet, imagination seems to be Tom’s strength, he uses it effortlessly, it is distinguished in his works where reality and muse mix along in multiple layers. It may be strange, but I think artists like Tom derive their creative power from places to which ordinary people have no access. They are directly linked to some higher, or maybe even superior idea that manifests itself in the imitation of the landscape, happenings, behaviors, characters, and above all is a visible and translatable icon of our fate. No! Not literally, it happens rather by separating the element of reality from the sum of the creative essence, where lies what’s gives no peace, but makes artist rediscover the world again, and again, and again. Constant change — life in its eternal flee. So, then they choose between trivial and sublime, high and low, because life, ever dreamed, carries with itself promise of undiscovered secrets: originality, magnificence and dread — an everlasting reserve of wonders. If only man could ask for more?
Whatever art is, it continues to absorb human curiosity, freely climbs from the lowlands to the peaks and falls from the peaks into the lowlands. And yet, in spite of its adaptability (let’s call it compliance), the most vital element of creation remains hidden. To paraphrase Czeslaw Milosz we can make an effort to cracks the secret open, by saying that key ingredient is “provisional creativity”. Question is: can it really be provisional? Since artists succumb to the influences of time, also theirs work must finally fall to it. Consequently, we are here on provisional terms, thus our creations, although more persistent, are also marked by its stigma. It may be seen in portraits, or in the faces of friends, in changing behavior of our children and in passing seasons.
Present Day is less benevolent than we expect, it strongly opposes art, forcing its subjects to race with agony, rarely allowing to slow down, to label battered thoughts into a readable hierarchy and finally to reconcile with anxiousness of life. Nevertheless, artists are striving to renounce common perception of reality, they feel obliged, as if they had an agreement with the rest of the world to show life in its purest structure, or as if they were wondering to save every single soul from the entrapment of false perception of beauty. Forgive connotations, but sometimes it seems to me that artist are like kittens cornered by magpies, the only thing they can muster against is a disarming eagerness in coloring out all what surrounds us — all they own, is the strength of their inventions, and a momentous awareness of consequences. So, they comfort themselves with solitude of creation where only requirement is to meet own expectations. In such circumstances creative process have no boundaries, but also carries inevitable changes, daring decisions, ineluctable and sometimes painful choices. Dream that was dreamed inside the dream is about to reach its final conclusion — pointing towards the horizon where light comes to life and fades away living observer with unexplained feeling of loos.
Are we capable of believing in something and at the same time renouncing it? I think yes, moreover we are morally bound to it in order to feel, embrace and thrive in a creative process. Tom have master it into the perfection. His works do not so much reflect reality as they show it in all its complexity, Tom’s painting touches those hidden strings, catches from the depths of sensations and moves in an immeasurable way. He feels and understands that this is the only way of introducing empathy to this world — no one gave it to him — he had to grow it and nourish it with the cold sweat of cognition. With this price artist like Mr. Joyce is finally allowed to embrace his consciousness and understood what he is destined for.
No, it’s not a blunt admiration — its rather curiosity lined with a thrill when frankness and understanding take the form of a symbol or possibly parables. Something lingers on the tip of the painter’s brush; something lurks in the shadows. A universal figure within the imagination? Seeker of light in a continuous game of appearances awaiting transformation? What exactly would it involve? Focusing into the right spot? Or is it the illumination that creates a situations by organizing movement, opening a new dimensions, perhaps it’s a shadow cast deliberately, or mix of both a fraction of time torn out of a shapeless complicity, right at its only source.
Today’s world is ransomed by profound instability, it is a slippery space, somewhere between the sole and the ground, where creators need to get dirty to bring invisible matter to life. But is it safe to unfold it like an old box, into prime factors, just to gaze in? Is it really safe? I guess so — after all, the reconstruction of the axiological foundations of the world is one of the artist’s main tasks, it makes him a savior, strengthens the relationship between what is sensual and what is tangible and concrete. It also connects the artist with the sphere of timeless ideas, where his works find their rightful place.
Our understanding of art steams from inherited patterns of perception — from the power of tones that build up exaggerated spiritual ambitions. Contemporary, but also former audience (nothing changes in this respect) perceives the artist as someone who thinks, feels and impresses in their favor, someone who due to talent, awakens in us the awareness of origin, and thus lives not his own life (not for himself) but “for” and on behalf of millions. In a place, where we mere mortals do not have access — on the other side, in the midst of spells, myths and legends. Artists have something in common with the unfortunate Icarus, whose flight and fall are widespread symbols of our thoughtful pursuit of unattainable objectives against the natural order of the world.
We want to see them as those who are in pursuit of reality, those fully aware of their tremendous responsibility, always faithful to an supreme idea, entering boldly where none seemingly normal would dare to enter — mainly because our “me” bothers us more than it should. Artist (who lives inside us) has thousands of them — continues in perpetual flight to fall and to rise, and so it goes, he passes from one dimension to another becoming his own multiplication, with echo of admiration, that offers no guarantee, but yet we embrace it like the Gospel, to face the fragility of ideas and beliefs that we succumb to, looking at each other and not seeing anything new. Well Tom sees it clearly and it is this ability that makes him an artist — a multidimensional Icarus of Slieve Bloom Mountains.
