Camilla Griehsel has everything on board to be a diva. And in several senses of the word she is one. Exceptionally talented, a highly accomplished performer, she’s had her brushes with fame and fortune, brief or enduring. But the word ‘diva’ also has negative connotations and those do not apply to her at all writes Moze Jacobs. The Swedish singer is a musician, actress, (song)writer, mother, colleague, friend, and all-round sound person who has lived in West Cork for 23 years. 

Born in Stockholm, Camilla grew up in a loving family where music was part of normal life. “My mom played some piano and sang songs with us when we were small. No one really had any musical ambitions but my parents would encourage me to sing.” She describes her inner experiences beautifully on the inside cover of the 2-CD set of her album Mamasongue: Source (2023), a semi-live recording of what started as a 2-hour show across West Cork plus Dublin, Cork (Everyman, Opera House) between 2018 and 2024: 

“I have been aware of (…) the powerful role that music plays in our lives since I was a five-year-old girl singing to a room filled with adults. I saw tears in their eyes and understood then that music has the power to touch the deepest parts of our beings. When we listen to music with open hearts and minds we become present to the moment and captive to our feelings. If we experience this together we join a network that transcends all (…) cultural barriers and is united by a musical language that goes beyond words into pure sound. This network elevates us from being isolated individuals to being part of a shared consciousness that we might call family, community, benevolence, or love.”

In resonance with the spirit of these words, ‘Mamasongue’ is both her own artistic project and the outcome of a highly creative collective process. It features songs, as well as musicians, from across the world: Niwel Tsumbu  (guitarist, singer, composer), originally from the Congo, resident in Ireland since 2004. Donegal-born Éamonn Cagney (percussion, vocals, composer) is known as Ireland’s foremost hand-drum percussionist. Concorde Nkabinde (bassist, vocals, composer, arranger), an award-winning jazz musician born in Soweto (Johannesburg, South Africa) has worked with many great musicians and is prominent in South Africa’s music scene. Rory McCarthy (piano, keyboards, vocals, composer) hails from Cork. The first song on the first CD opens with a rhythm that is intimately familiar to everyone on earth from before life started. It stretches across an intricate tapestry of music and vocals. And overlaid by Camilla’s crystal clear voice: “The first music I ever heard was my mother’s heartbeat (…). The music of our ancestors. The music of creation. This bitter earth, what fruit it bears (…).What good is a love that no one shares? It be so cold (…) yet someone may answer my call. And this bitter earth may not be so bitter after all. True believer, a long way from home.”

At least six or seven languages can be heard on Mamasongue (English, Irish, Swedish, Lingala, Zulu, Spanish, Aquitanian). “I love the different languages,” shares Camilla. “Not that I can do them perfectly, but I become like a different singer in Spanish. Or Zulu. As if all my Swedish inhibitions are gone.”

When Camilla was 10, she was invited to audition for a renowned music school, “like a normal school but with more music added.” It opened doors to many different genres. “Choir singing. Or performing as a soloist in church. I loved that.” She joined a barbershop group, went busking with three friends in Stockholm’s old town, became a jazz singer, sang for tourists in Gran Canaria and in Switzerland. “Singing in a piano bar at night and skiing all day. Living my best life.” 

Suddenly, aged 24, she got headhunted to replace the singer of a 1980s Scandinavian pop band, One 2 Many, followed by a brief period of almost instant chart success in Europe and the US. It turned out to be not to her liking. “To be honest, I found it all quite embarrassing. The glitzy limousines, everyone wanting to interview me, recording next door to the Bee Gees in London. Whereas all I’d done is sing 10 songs that I didn’t even write anything. It really wasn’t my thing and it made me lose a lot of confidence, initially.”

At the same time, it spurred her to fulfill a long-held dream: to sing opera. “It also led to me meeting my husband on a boat on the Thames, doing promotion. We were with the same record company.” By that time, Colin Vearncombe (stage name: Black), a serious singer-songwriter from Liverpool, had already had a major hit, ‘Wonderful Life’, originally released in 1986. A bittersweet song, it celebrates the magic and beauty of life from a perspective of utter loneliness.

“On that boat, our eyes met and both of us felt, ‘Oh my God, who is that?’” shares Camilla. “And then we were friends for a very, very long time. Nothing happened for nine months. It was lovely to get to know someone for that long. But he proposed soon enough. Out of the blue. I had to take an hour to think about it.” They married in 1990. 

In 2003, with their three young sons, they moved to Schull where a flourishing collaboration started with the band Interference, founded and led by Fergus O’Farrell, a close neighbour. It sprouted an offshoot called Dogtail Soup (from a line in one of Colin’s songs, ‘Cold Chicken Skin’, originally coined for Game of Thrones) and attracted many other brilliant musicians, including Glen Hansard and Liam Ó Maonlaí. 

Then tragedy struck. In January 2016, on his way to Cork airport, Colin Vearncombe was involved in a two-car collision on an icy road. He remained in a coma for 16 days. Camilla had to make the decision to turn the machine off. “Horrendous. I speak about grief a lot. And yes, it’s painful. Like having a large chunk of ice inside your body. But I’ve been chipping away at it. Bit by bit, it melts. He’s still in the living room a lot of the time and when I have something to talk about, I go there.”

It turned out to be an intense conflation of life and death. Her uncle died the next day. Within a week, the magnificent Fergus O’Farrell finally succumbed to muscular dystrophy, aged 48, not as previously predicted, before he reached 20. In the aftermath, Camilla’s mother also died. “A long time ago we decided together that, whoever dies first, we’ll both look at the moon if we want to reconnect. It really is a comfort. I feel her a lot. Yet around Colin’s death, our son Max became a father. So there’s life, too.”

The Dogtail Soup Trio (Camilla Griehsel, Maurice Seezer, Paul Tiernan plus potential guests) play Levis’ (Ballydehob) on June 7 and Prim’s Bookshop (Kinsale) on June 9, with more dates to come in August. Camilla Griehsel plays eight concerts with Barefoot Baroque in July. See next month’s gig list for more details. The documentary ‘Breaking Out: The Remarkable Life of Fergus O’Farrell’ can be purchased or rented on YouTube.

Frankly, I nearly lost the will to go outside in the last weeks of May. Unless it was to drive to the airport and fly off to a country where the fog isn’t obliterating the landscape. Looking out the window was like peering into an illustration for a sword and sorcery novel. The mist totally covered the front field. It was easy to imagine a wizard riding out of the solid grey haze. Or a horde of orcs tumbling out of the wet fog to attack the house. Driving home from town, I could not see further than about 50 yards. Worse of all it was cold! Every meeting in the shops or pubs initiated a conversation about how dreadful the weather was. I found myself being consumed by envy for those who were away on holiday and tried not to snicker if it rained wherever they were – even though rain or shine it was warmer where they were than my little sodden cold patch of the planet.

So, it was with a great sense of gratefulness and answered prayers that we woke on the weekend to actual sunshine and blue skies. Not only that but the prediction for the next few days seemed unreal: Full sun and temperatures hitting 28C. We immediately made plans to go to the sauna on Red Strand and spend the rest of Sunday on the beach with fish and chips to celebrate. I also promised myself to get to the ocean any day that the weather remained good. After over thirty years of living in West Cork, I know the golden rule: Drop everything and head to the beach as soon as it looks like a fine summer day. If you don’t, you might miss the summer all together. I’ve been caught out many a time, staying in the house, working indoors (needs must), promising myself that I’ll get out asap; only to find that those fine days were the only ones we going to get…

So, beach blankets were found. Sea sandals slipped on. Water bottles filled and sunscreen forgotten, we headed out in a glorious blaze of blue skies and stone splitting sunshine. The sauna was for once, totally unnecessary, though very welcome. We use the sauna to convince ourselves to take off layers of clothes and go outside practically naked, perhaps to even take an icy dip in the Atlantic. This Sunday it was positively balmy. No need to get our core temperature up with the heated steam. It was just as warming to lie on the sand and soak up the rays. The scene was straight out of a holiday brochure – parasols and striped windbreaks, children building sandcastles, people lying reading books, or sleeping, dogs running happily amok. It was the Costa del Cork in all its glory. The slight breeze coming off the ocean cooled our sunburnt skin. The sound of the lapping waves lulled us to have a quick siesta, and the overall feeling was one of contentment and joy at the answer to our soggy prayers. If Met Eireann is to be believed summer will keep going for the week. Let’s hope it lasts into June and beyond.

As always, when we get the return of summer, I am totally seduced all over again. Like a cheating lover who appears on my doorstep bearing flowers, chocolates and champagne, I welcome West Cork back in my arms and revel in its embrace. Let’s face it, when we get the weather there are few places in the world that can compete with a West Cork beach. Looking out over the shining ocean, with Galley Head lighthouse in the distance and the promise of fish and chips down the road, I have to admit that it doesn’t often get any better. Viva La Costa del Sol!

There’s a heavy drizzle falling on the country road. Framed by the lush green of the softly humming hedgerows, a man sits on his bicycle in the mist, waiting to greet the farmer coming his way. “Soft,” remarks the cyclist with a smile, acknowledging the weather. “Soft indeed,” replies the farmer with a nod. Dreamer Fred La Haye moved from the Netherlands to Ireland almost 50 years ago drawn by the possibility of a self-sufficient lifestyle. These are the sort of interactions that kept him here. “It’s beautiful you know,” he tells Mary O’Brien. “To be able to hold a conversation around just one word. I love that about the people in this country.”

Words, but perhaps more importantly listening, are all-important to Fred, (78), who is well known around West Cork for being a passionate proponent of dialogue, as well as for his pioneering work introducing sustainable practices into local communities.

A poet and philosopher, Fred’s writing is inspired by the thoughts and writings of the philosopher and scientist, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a French Jesuit priest, who sought to bridge the gap between faith and science by showing they are interconnected. He also looks to the teachings of American physicist and philosopher, David Bohm, who believed that beyond the visible, tangible world there lies a deeper, implicit order of undivided wholeness; and that transformation in society could be brought about by dialogue.

“Listening to the world is essential and the quality of listening so important,” says Fred passionately.

In his poem ‘Noosphere’ Fred describes ‘The ringing out of a thousand million human vibrations! / A whole layer of consciousness exerting simultaneous pressure on the future! / And the collected and hoarded produce of a million years of thought! / Have we ever tried to form an idea of what such magnitudes represent? / Have we?’

After discovering a shared interest in the ideas of Teilhard de Chardin, musician Justin Grounds composed the oratorio ‘The Embracing Universe’ to elevate Fred’s poetry, which shares the thoughts and writings of the visionary French philosopher.

“Teilhard de Chardin was banned from lecturing and publishing his own work, as he was told by his superiors that the Jesuit society was not founded to support religious pioneers,” explains Fred. “I wrote this work to rescue him from historical oblivion.”

Actions speak loudly too for Fred, who got his first taste of community activism as a young man in the Netherlands when he hitchhiked to Amsterdam to join the thousands of demonstrators opposed to the Vietnam War and the expansion of nuclear energy. “We were so furious, so angry that we couldn’t even celebrate Christmas,” he recalls.

Although he struggled at school and dropped out early, Fred’s hunger for change and ambition to fight injustice led him back to education and eventually to study law at university specialising in criminology, in particular institutional and structural crime.

Married with a young child and eager to explore the possibility of living a self-reliant life in a more natural environment, Fred moved with his family to West Cork in 1978. The original plan was to continue his law studies in Ireland, however life and its struggles got in the way of that ambition, with the young family finding themselves focused on mere survival. “It felt like we had stepped back about 25 years in time going from a modern city in the Netherlands to rural West Cork,” he shares.

Fred found work in a piggery six days a week that brought in eight pound a day and, with the help of other odd jobs, eventually the couple saved up enough to buy a ruin of a cottage near Ballygurteen.

“Life was so basic but our surroundings – the wildness of the land, the ocean – were so fantastic, that it made the challenges and insecurity bearable,” says Fred. “The questions we asked ourselves at that time were very simple: ‘Will we keep the roof on tonight or will it blow off!’.” The family didn’t have a car for the first year and Fred recalls cycling to the village of Ballineen from Rossmore to do the shopping. “All I came home with was a white loaf, a floppy cabbage and a few carrots,” he laughs.

While life wasn’t easy, there was a strong sense of community with many lifelong friendships forged. “We were a part of the community and participated in many ‘meitheals’ – bringing in the hay or cutting the turf with our neighbours, helping to do up each other’s houses, that kind of thing,” says Fred.

A member of the West Cork Organic Growers cooperative, which he helped to get off the ground in the mid-eighties, Fred grew a selection of vegetables on their acre of land, as well as rearing fowl, which were sold through the distribution centre at Bridgemount House in Dunmanway. 

A mix of different nationalities mainly farming in the Ballineen area, the West Cork growers broke new and exciting ground in 1987 when they were granted use of the brand new IOFGA (now known as the Irish Organic Association) soil symbol. “It stood for produce grown without the use of pesticides and fertilisers in high quality soil,” says Fred. “We belonged to the first wave of organic farming in Ireland and our aim was not only to grow high quality food but to show our farming neighbours the advantages of organic methods and to influence the way Irish food is produced.”

After he and his wife separated, Fred moved to Clonakilty for a period, where he lived in a tiny flat, finding work with the local Council and joining the famous street theatre group, Craic na Coillte.

In the early 90s, after his divorce was finalised, he settled in Bantry with his two children. It was while living here that he met his longterm partner of 35 years, gardener Julia Kemp. In 1992, they were both involved in the start-up of the healthfood store Essential Foods – better known today as Organico – with Alan Dare, a project which began on a shoestring budget. Around this time Fred was also instrumental in the setting up of the country market in Bantry.

A few years later, in 1996, Fred chaired a group that set up a system of trade in the Bantry area that worked without money, through which people exchanged goods and services.

The LETS (Local Exchange Trading System) in Bantry had its own currency known as BATS (Bantry Area Trading System). It encouraged people to help each other out, operating successfully for a number of years with transactions recorded by means of cheques written in LETS units.

“We traded in whatever anybody had to offer, knitting, babysitting, walking the dog, you name it” says Fred, who was best known for organising ‘meitheals’ and bringing a chef along.

Then the opportunity arose for Fred – who at this stage was an enthusiastic advocate of organic growing and sustainable agriculture – and Julia to be part of a collective purchase of 30 acres of land edged by the River Lee in Ballingeary. They lived at this site, which they named ‘Slí an Uisce’ (Way of the Water), for over 20 years, during which time Fred – living by the principles of permaculture – earned the moniker ‘the man who lives in the polytunnel’, after creating a home and a garden within the confines of a tunnel measuring 9m x 16m. “I wanted to live among my plants,” he says of this extraordinary lifestyle. “It was a continuous learning experience and experiment and inspired so many people.”

In the summer the tunnel was opened up to allow fresh air to circulate and in the winter it was heated by a large stove. Nothing was wasted, with ‘grey’ water and tea leaves emptied directly around the base of the plants to feed them. Fred shared his home with frogs (who helped keep the slug population down), lizards and a friendly musical robin. At night it transformed into a space lit by candles and the full moon. With the smell of flowers, ripening peaches and grapes filling the air during the summer and fresh beans an arms-length from the cooker, it was as close to Utopia as he could get.

Eager to share their experiences and learnings and to bring the community together around food growing, Fred and Julia launched the ‘Bia Ghleann na Laoi’ group, hosting a number of innovative talks and workshops on sustainable practices at Creedon’s Hotel in Inchigeelagh and raising important points around peak oil and food security to different community groups in the Mhúscraí area

A Harvest Festival initiated by ‘Bia Ghleann na Laoi’ provided the launching pad for a  farmers’ market in Inchigeelagh and a community orchard in Ballingeary. Designed by Julia and kindly sponsored by local plant nursery Future Forests – ensuring that local children would be able to pick fruit for years to come – the orchard was planted in collaboration with the village Tidy Towns.

“We wanted to bring the people who produce food and the people who consume it together and open up new ways of doing things in the community, particularly around food resilience,” shares Fred.

In 2016, on World Water Day, the group organised an initiative entitled ‘Salmon Come Back’, focusing on the health of the River Lee and its impact on local communities. 

With the current oil crisis and the world’s food systems dangerously dependent on fossil fuels, Fred’s hope is that the work done by ‘Bia Ghleann na Laoi’ will continue to make a difference at local level.

Fred eventually retired to Bantry back to the same house he lived in before. It’s on a quiet street overlooking the town with a garden that mostly looks after itself. The house is small but comfortable, easily heated by a large stone stove and filled with books, plants and interesting items collected over the years.

He gets around locally by walking or cycling and, if he needs to travel further afield – for instance to visit his children and grandchildren in Glengarriff who he values spending time with – he plans his route using the bus timetable. “We used to be so isolated in West Cork but we have such a good public transport network nowadays that it’s very easy to get around without a car,” he says.

While the Dialogue sessions in Clonakilty ran their course, he still hosts a regular session in Bantry, at the Bridge Street Community Cafe every fortnight on Wednesday mornings.

After a lifetime of doing, today the soft-spoken Dutchman is happy to mostly just be. From his kitchen he has a view of the hawthorn and the wildlife that visit his untamed patch. Fred spends a lot of time here at his table…writing, thinking, listening.

Against this backdrop I made my way with a friend to the Biennale itself. Everything, it must be said, after Kiefer’s display, was underwhelming. Kiefer towers, not just in scale, but in scope; his subject, the very rise and fall of nations, the melancholic debris of war’s aftermath. Pavilion after pavilion failed to escape the German artist’s shadow. That is, until we found ourselves in front of the Russian Pavilion. It was closed.

The Biennale Foundation, like the majority of cultural institutions in the West, had taken a stand, and banned the Russian Federation from participation in its iconic, international event. It strikes me now, years later, that Russia’s absence from the Biennale that year was a powerful corollary to Kiefer’s presence in the Palazzo Ducale. The two formed a binary: one, an aggressor waging an imperialist war, the other, an artist reflecting on 2000 years of history, encompassing fire, devastation and conflict.

The Biennale was right to exclude Russia; to do otherwise would show it could act without cultural reprisal. It was a powerful statement, and the country’s absence held within it more ‘art’ than its presence, at that point, could ever have done; for the political moment would render any Russian artist, put forward by the state, either mute or complicit or both.

Which is why it is astounding that the Biennale Foundation, has this year, lifted its ban on the Russian Federation, and invited its participation. It is an inexplicable decision, and has been met with condemnation and outrage both within Italy, Ukraine and across the EU. Indeed, the Biennale faces losing €2 million in EU funding over its new position.

The Biennale Foundation president, according to the Guardian, said, that he had invited people “from all areas of conflict to share their points of view. We believe that where there is art, there is dialogue.”

The idea that state-sponsored artists from Russia could express an independent point of view on the conflict in Ukraine is, of course, laughable. The 2025 documentary, ‘Mr Nobody Versus Putin,’ made by Pavel Talankin, a brave Russian school teacher (now in exile), drives this point home. In this film, Talankin, the school’s videographer, documents his school in Karabash (located in the Ural mountains), as it undergoes the transition from a pre-2022 curriculum to a war-time one, in which questions and answers, on all topics, are now read by rote from state-supplied texts. 

We see a lively school become a depressed one, we watch joyful interactions between students and teachers become fearful ones. Students, who had previously hung out with Talankin in his ‘open office’ were now afraid to be seen with him, as his opposition to Putin had become known. The documentary is both moving and chilling. The Biennale Foundation would do well to project it onto the Russian Pavilion, to play it continuously at night on a loop. That would be art by a brave Russian artist, footage smuggled out of an authoritarian country; not propaganda from a state, that is all too ready to whitewash its crimes, to legitimise its imperialist war.

It is no secret that many people in Ireland like traditional Irish music. It’s also no surprise that most tourists do too. For, just like visits to stone circles, tombs, beehive huts and other Megalithic and Neolithic monuments, Irish trad offers a vivid, direct and immersive encounter with the roots of ancient language and culture in Ireland. A blast from the past, so to speak. And a pointer to the future. More and more Irish bands, famous and otherwise, writes Moze Jacobs, are inclined to weave a jig, a reel, a polka or an air through their music in some way or form. And/or sing ‘as Gaeilge’. Ballydehob-based band Rubicon has been described as ”pretty much the longest running trad band in West Cork”.

According to the band’s lead singer Francine Thurnheer “The music is going strong. It doesn’t seem to be stagnant.”

”Major bands such as Kingfisher and Amble or Kneecap make it trendier. Trad groups are now even performing at the big music festivals. And there is a large number of upcoming groups including 17-, 18-, 19-year-olds with brand-new bands. When I was growing up, you were nearly a nerd if you were learning Irish music.”

Originally from Castlehaven, Francine is also the virtuoso tin whistler player of the band. Her fingers deliver the melodies meticulously, clear, fast or slow. A feast of precision. No faltering. Which may have something to do with the fact that she immersed herself in music when she was young and stress-free.

“I was six when I started on the tin whistle. I also learned the accordion, guitar, piano. I just loved music and took to it naturally so my parents didn’t have to force me into it. On the contrary – I always absolutely loved singing and playing. And performing! My first band was with my music teacher and seven of her other students. We used to play a few nights per week over the summer. 

“I had my first gig in a pub when I was 12 and I’m 45 this year, so it’s 33 years of playing in public. I’ve been in various bands before Rubicon, but this is the longest stint. 17 years!”

Although she feels very comfortable on stage in most situations, there is an exception. “I don’t have any problem with huge, anonymous audiences but I get very nervous when I have to play in front of people I know. And during the first year I was with Rubicon I wouldn’t talk into the microphone and address the crowd. I was so scared I’d freeze. But now they can’t shut me up.”

The person who invited her to join the band, and who has since become her husband, is called Haensel Thurnheer. On Rubicon’s website it says he is, “on guitar and backing vocals and makes sure we never get bored!” Like all the other members of the band, he is self-employed and has a day job.

Francine says she “didn’t know him as a musician.

“He’s an engineer, did some business with my dad’s company and was looking for a singer.”

On stage and on video, Francine is clearly the dynamic heart of the band. Whether she sings, plays, or steps off the stage to direct groups of dancers (small – in pubs – or large – at festivals), she’s very good at running the entire show, including the céilí. Microphone in one hand, tin whistle in the other, alternating seamlessly. But it wouldn’t all work so smoothly if it wasn’t for the other musicians. A deceptively simple line-up consisting of brothers Dorian (banjo, mandolin, backing vocals) and Finn Kelly (bass) with Thurnheer himself on guitar. Whereas Rubicon are still looking for a fiddle-player (apply via rubiconireland.com or ring 086 8430006) they have a ‘pool’ of five bodhrán players including Ivan Camiers and 22-year-old Daniel Coughlan, a former Senior Bodhrán Champion of the Munster Fleadh Cheoil. Plus, when they play in Austria or Germany, they are joined by either of two local bodhrán players. 

As will happen on their upcoming tour, which will take them across West Cork, from May 17 (Courtmacsherry) through September 26 (Castletownbere) and on to Germany and Austria in October. The tour ends in Rosie’s Bar (Ballydehob) on January 1, 2027. Thirty gigs in all, so far. Not including functions (weddings, private parties, birthdays) where the band plays in-between. It will literally accommodate to any sort of audience.

“Our smallest gig was for six people: a couple, two friends, a chef and a waiter,” shares Francine. “The biggest was St. Patrick’s Festival in Munich for 80,000 people in March.”

Earlier this century, they played New York for six years in a row on St. Patrick’s Day. Until 2016, when Trump came in.

“They blocked us, sent us back to Dublin and said we are never allowed to return to America. Blacklisted. I went on Joe Duffy to complain and several bands contacted me to say they had similar experiences. When you’re being interrogated they say things like, we don’t need you in our country, we’ve plenty of people who can play Irish music, go home.”

We were entering America on tourist visas. A working visa would have cost us €3,000. That was completely unaffordable,” adds Haensel.

He founded Rubicon’s precursor under a different name in 2006, fifteen years after moving to Ireland from Switzerland where he was playing guitar in an Irish trad band. “I was immediately hooked.” But he’s also partial to rock. “I really like ACDC as well as trad. Our original idea was to play heavy rock albeit with Irish tunes. In the beginning we had an uilleann piper. Quite an aggressive sound but then we began to soften. Now we play not pure trad, but something close to it.”

Finn Kelly’s sturdy bass and the riffs he and Haensel play together, “give the music a real lift and facilitate the dancing.”

Rubicon play some original songs (including one called Ballydehob, by Haensel, “a comical song”) but their real focus is on existing Irish material. “Sometimes I hear a tune that gives me goose bumps,” says Francine. “Then I have to go home, find it, and learn it. Such as ‘Curlew’s Reel’.” The tune, (composed by Josephine Keegan), combined with a reel called ‘Moving Cloud’ (by Neillidh Boyle) is on their brand-new album, ‘20 Years A-Live’, released in March, available on CD during gigs and online. Somehow, the combination of Francine’s high-flying whistle and the solid trad band behind her continues to work like a train. Or, like clockwork.

A natural beauty, exuding calmness, confidence, and a quiet dignity, Fiona Carson grew up on the family farm about four kilometres west of Schull, where she lives today after converting the ruins of an old building where she played as a child into her home. Fiona speaks proudly of her roots. Her maiden name, O’Mahony, has a long and rich history in this part of West Cork. The O’Mahony clan once ruled a significant part of West Cork in the early seventeenth century. Fourteen of their castles were built along the coastline, and many of them still remain today. The closest to Fiona’s home is Leamcon Castle, while one of the oldest is Dunlough Castle, also known as ‘Three Castle Head’.

Fiona works remotely as an accountant for a group of companies based in Killarney. Working this way allows her to stay at home and enjoy life surrounded by nature.

She tries to spend as much of her free time outdoors as possible. She loves long walks along the country roads with her collie, enjoys gardening, and in summer swims from the local pier about a mile from the house. Another of her passions is yoga.

Interestingly, there was once a very different side to her life – together with her husband, she competed in ballroom dancing. At that time, her wardrobe was full of long, flowing dresses embellished with sequins and crystal jewellery. These days, she rarely thinks about fashion, as most of her time is spent at home or around the village. But when an occasion does arise, she still enjoys wearing something beautiful and elegant, although comfort always remains her priority.

For Fiona fashion comes down to personal taste. If a person carries themselves with confidence – head held high and shoulders back – they can look wonderful in any outfit. She also believes that women today are placed under too much pressure, even when it comes to something as personal as hair colour. She has chosen to embrace natural change and calmly watches her hair gradually transform from brunette to a beautiful silver shade.

When I invited Fiona to take part in my photoshoot, she was surprised. But she decided to take the opportunity – to step outside her comfort zone and try something completely new.

Look 1

A beautiful example of modern understated elegance, where comfort and style are perfectly balanced.

The main focus is a soft beige poncho with fringe. Its relaxed silhouette creates beautiful movement and brings a sense of lightness to the outfit. The chocolate roll-neck underneath adds depth and makes the look feel more polished and composed.

Slim turned-up jeans balance the volume of the top, while leopard-print ballet flats bring character and a contemporary edge – exactly the kind of detail that makes an outfit feel alive and interesting.

The accessories are kept simple and considered: statement earrings and wide bracelets support the colour palette and add individuality.

This is the look of a modern woman who chooses comfort while remaining elegant.

Stylist’s tip: If you wear volume on top, always balance it with a slimmer shape below or show the ankle – it visually lengthens the silhouette and keeps the outfit feeling light.

Look 2

Depth of colour and understated femininity with character.

A monochrome look in a rich turquoise-blue shade creates a refined, elegant silhouette. The pleated dress adds softness and movement, while the leather jacket structures the outfit and brings in a sense of modern confidence.

The jewellery becomes the main accent here – a bold necklace and matching earrings deepen the colour story and make the look more expressive, almost artistic.

Simple shoes complete the composition without drawing attention away from it.

This is the look of a woman who combines strength and refinement while staying true to herself and her personal style.

Stylist’s tip: Don’t be afraid to build an outfit around one colour – play with different textures, such as leather, knitwear, and silk, to make it feel layered and stylish.

Look 3

Confident eclecticism.

The paisley-print dress sets the tone: feminine, dynamic, and instantly eye-catching. The soft silhouette and midi length make it versatile, while the belt defines the waist, adding structure and balance.

A contrasting leather jacket brings modernity and a subtle edge to the look – it is exactly this element that grounds the romantic feel of the dress and makes the outfit feel more current.

The accessories work as accents: a small textured bag and jewellery in turquoise tones echo the print, creating harmony in the details. Gold-toned shoes add light and a sense of completion.

This is the look of a woman who is not afraid to combine prints, textures, and character – and does so with ease and natural confidence.

Stylist’s tip: With a strong print, add one grounding piece – such as a leather jacket. It makes the outfit feel modern and stops it from looking too dressy or overloaded.

Stylist and photographer: Galyna Zaitseva.

For me, like many of us, food and wine is an essential element of travel. In my case, wine plays a leading role. Apparently the ancient Romans had a similar outlook, some theorising that their empire extended only to the limits of where wine could be produced. This is not a historical fact, I might need to clarify it with the more qualified historians in this very paper!

Wine provides a perfect route for exploring, though. Our European neighbours have great diversity in their wine styles and regions, a path which leads to discovering more about a country’s food, history, language and culture. 

Travelling by car is the easiest way to explore wine country, as vineyards are usually outside of the main centres. That said, there are always tours into the heart of the wine regions which can be booked for a day trip, or a bike tour, though be careful on that bike after a few samples.

I love to see a hand-painted sign pointing down a farm track. This usually promises a more interesting experience than a swish, glass-fronted building in the centre of town. Here, you’ll meet the winemaker with her husband, sister and grandad, see where the vines grow, smell the fermenting juice in the cellar, and hear the story of the business, often going back generations. Many also offer agri-tourism, or ‘agriturismo’ in Italy – farm stays where you are immersed in the local food and wine, seeing the production all around you, whether vines, olive groves, vegetable gardens or farm animals.

When we’re eating in restaurants on holiday, I always ask for the most local wine, which is generally the best wine to pair with the local food. It also regularly leads us on a journey. Last year, in Bayonne, the wine we were recommended was from Irouleguy, a tiny Basque wine region I had never heard of. I looked up the vineyard and called them, arranging a visit the next day. We travelled up into the foothills of the Pyrenees, to St. Jean Pied de Pont, a town milling with pilgrims starting the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. We tasted their wines surrounded by vines, were given chunks of a sister’s sheep’s cheese, and the spicy local Espellette pepper. We heard of the survival of their own language in the area, the winemaker’s children going to the Basque equivalent of the Gaelscoil in the town. 

In north-east Italy, look out for a ‘Frasca’ sign on the side of the road. This will lead you to a farm which produces wine and serves simple snacks of cheese and salami. You’ll eat and drink outside at a wooden table, and meet the people who are producing your meal. It’s a delicious way to learn about the area, always discovering a new grape variety or method of production. 

In Sardnia, we learned a valuable lesson. We hired bikes to cycle to a famous vineyard a few kilometres outside Alghero. The road was narrow and busy, the vineyard glossy and soulless. When we returned the bikes and told of our experience, the owner told us of a gorgeous small winery he would have recommended, reachable by an off-road cycle track. Now I know – ask the bike shop guy where to go, not Google.  

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the best food is found in the heart of the wine-producing regions. Vallidolid in northern Spain is close to many wine regions, producing a range of styles to please every wine lover. The food in the town is among the best in Spain, whether you graze on tapas or sit down for the works. You’ll drink wines by the glass from the region, and you are always rewarded by asking for a recommendation, rather than playing safe with the name you recognise.

Every region has its own distinct grape varieties, making a style of wine which reflects where it comes from. It is the best wine to drink with the food of the area, as they have grown up together over centuries. Markets are another great way of discovering local wines, as there are often a few local producers showing their wares. They are always keen to talk about the history of their farm, explain the different wine styles they produce, and the ideal food to go with their wine is found close by on the other market stalls.  

Heading off in search of these small vineyards in remote places has led us to discover parts of the country we would otherwise have never found, and met people who gave us an insight into the heart and soul of the region. 

The how and why will always be more important than the finished product to process-driven artist Kathy Kirwan. In fact the end may never be reached, as demonstrated by her most recent and ongoing passion for flax and its many threads writes Mary O’Brien.

Kathy Kirwan’s interest in flax – a plant whose cultivation and use dates back over two thousand years in Ireland – was first sparked close to her home in Clonakilty, a town whose history is inextricably interweaved with this versatile plant in the production of linen. Walks past an old retting pond – where flax would have been soaked to rot away the unusable plant parts – inspired Kathy to explore the labour-intensive process behind flax to fibre and collect stories about the industry from older people in the area.

Born in Birr, Co Offaly, or as she puts it “in the bog in the middle of Ireland”, Kathy has always felt deeply connected to nature. After moving to West Cork to teach geography and PE, she ended up sailing around the world for a couple of years before returning to put down roots with her future husband, a Clonakilty man, and pursue a career as an eco-social artist and educator in sustainability.

As part of the Flax Lín (flax to linen) community, she has been connecting past with present through a ‘Flax – Threads of Time’ project, organising immersive exhibitions and talks and quietly planting the seeds for the revival of flax growing in West Cork. Looking to the future, she says she would love to see the old Linen Hall in Clonakilty turned into a creative space to preserve its rich flax and linen heritage while fostering a vibrant hub that supports local artists, performance, and the evolving cultural future of the community.

This year, 2026, is particularly significant, as it marks 200 years since the collapse of what was once a thriving linen industry in Clonakilty. During the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the linen industry underwent explosive growth in the area, employing tens of thousands of people until its collapse – almost overnight – in 1826. Local historian Con O’Neill has written a fascinating paper on the economic transformation of Clonakilty through linen in the 18th century. He writes that “the collapse of 1826 was not merely a precursor to the Great Famine; it was the event that dismantled the region’s primary economic defence, leaving a generation of dispossessed weavers and struggling smallholders entirely dependent on the potato…. The long shadow of 1826 stretched across the century that followed, leaving the town economically diminished.”

With the 1936 Flax Bill, the growing of flax experienced a short-lived revival in West Cork, as it offered a good return on investment for local farmers, later encouraged by the guaranteed high price offered for flax following the outbreak of WWII, when linen was needed for RAF aircraft, parachutes and uniforms. “Flax and therefore linen has anti-microbial properties so it was used to make bandages,” adds Kathy. “It was dyed using nettles to create camouflage fabric.”

She shares how flax inspector Patrick Kerr – the father of retired Clonakilty estate agent John Kerr – played a key role in the revival of the flax industry in West Cork following the introduction of the Flax Bill. “Drawing on his extensive experience – particularly from his time in the North of Ireland and Donegal – and comprehensive understanding of the sector, Kerr travelled across West Cork, encouraging farmers to take advantage of the strong opportunity to earn income, emphasising that flax prices were secured at a guaranteed minimum level.”

Five years after the War, in 1950, the suspension of the Flax Act (1936) signalled the beginning of the end for the flax industry in West Cork. The rise of synthetic material, increase in cotton production and changing consumer habits, all contributed to the decline of linen in the 1950s.

“I felt an urgency to collect some of those memories before they were lost,” explains Kathy. ‘Some of the older people I spoke to have since passed away.”

Growing flax takes about 100 days. Once the pretty blue or white flowers have dropped and the seed heads appear, the plants are then pulled, gathered into bundles and dried for two weeks before being retted for up to 15 days, which releases the fibre strands, from which linen is produced. In Ireland, retting was traditionally done in streams or ponds and the resulting foul odour of the decomposing plant was notorious. It was then spread out in fields to dry before being bound and stored, ready for transportation to the mill for scutching, which separated the flax into long finer fibres called line, short coarser fibres called tow, and waste woody matter called shives.

“Nothing goes to waste with the flax plant,” says Kathy. “The shives, used for manufacturing composites, are now being used to make car seats for the McClaren Formula One racing team.”

In an article in the Ardfield/Rathbarry Journal, Michael Collins writes how ‘a good acre of flax would produce between fifty to seventy stone of flax plus a certain amount of tow. This would be sold at the Flax Market in Clonakilty, which was held every four to six weeks, when buyers from Belfast and elsewhere in Northern Ireland would be in attendance.’

The late Johnny Crowley, a well-known owner of a service station in Clonakilty, worked in a retting pond as a young man.

He recalled to Kathy how the workers “would scrub themselves with carbolic soap after a day at the retting pond before going dancing at The Lilac Ballroom in Enniskeane.”

“He laughed as he reminisced to me at the petrol pumps, sharing how as the temperature rose in the ballroom, so too did the smell!”

The late Michael Santry from Lisavaird told Kathy how they would “keep the flax in the ‘seomra maith’ (good room) to mind it” before bringing it to the market in Clonakilty on a Friday.

He also remembered his mother using the flax shives for cooking outside in a bothy (small hut). “As flax was highly flammable, the cooking was done outside the home for safety,” explains Kathy.

In‘Ghosts, Gargoyles and Garages’, a book of childhood memories, Michael Pattwell, a retired Irish District Court judge from Clonakilty, recalled the “long queue of flax laden horses and carts” running the entire length of the street where he grew up.

As a young boy, Michael created the enterprising role of minding the farmers’ places in the queue when they “would drift into Santry’s pub for a pint or two or three”.

“I was employed to hold the reins and move the horse along and when the owners turn was about to be reached, to dash into the pub and get him out to take control again.

“With that, shilling in pocket, I ran back up the queue and it  wasn’t long before I was employed again. This continued for the entire day – especially when the market was held on days when there was no school – or for the evening if it was a school day. The longer the queue the better, because the longer the farmer was in the pub, then the more he drank and this often blurred the difference between a shilling, a two-shilling piece or even a half-crown.”

Michael O’Sullivan from Rosscarbery, 91, is a treasure trove of memories. He learned about the complex process of flax production from his father, James O’Sullivan, a flax inspector. He shared how his father tested the quality of seed collected from local farmers on blotting paper at their home.

Michael also recalled how fine rushes were placed on the flax in the retting pond before being weighted down with heavy stones to keep the flax from rising. “I remember we had to walk on the flax morning and night during this period to ensure that it was kept below water level.”

His remembers accompanying his father to the Linen Hall in Clonakilty where Wilsons of Belfast would come to purchase flax for linen production. “Very often Wilson’s of Belfast would ask my father to assist them with the vetting process when determining the quality of the flax. This was an unenviable task for my father to have to vet his neighbour’s flax but people trusted his judgement, as he was known to be such an honest man.”

With the once busy mills now lying in ruin around West Cork, memories are all that remain of West Cork’s linen legacy. However, flax enthusiasts like Kathy are driving a resurgence of the hardy and versatile plant in their communities around the world. Kathy is a member of Fibreshed Ireland, a global movement that focuses on regenerative fashion using locally grown fibres. “As demand grows for sustainable fibres, flax may offer a potential diversification route for smaller farms,” she says. “It’s also being looked at as a tool to restore soil health and decarbonise industries.

“You could say I’m obsessed with it,” she admits laughing. “It really is a fascinating plant, even more so because of its history in West Cork”

While she currently has her head down joining pieces of cordage together for the ‘Flax 405: From Mallon to Mizen’ shared island project, which will launch online on May 1, future flax projects are never far from mind.

“405km is the winding distance between Mallon Linen in Co. Tyrone and Mizen Head in Co. Cork so the objective of the project,” she explains “is to engage communities across the island in creating 405 equivalent pieces of flax rope, thread and linen that symbolically weave together our shared past, present, and future.”

Over the coming months, Kathy is organising a number of flax events in West Cork, including the planting of flax around Clonakilty through local community groups and farmers, an interactive experience outside the Linen Hall in Clonakilty as part of the Old Time Fair and a flax harvesting event and craft workshops during Heritage Week.

One of the flax planting projects will take place at Fernhill House Hotel, a site historically surrounded by retting ponds and flax fields. This year’s planting coincides with the bicentenary of both the collapse of the local linen industry and the founding of Fernhill House. In September, Kathy and the hotel will also welcome a group of 25 textile enthusiasts from the United States.

Thanks to four DNA testers, who have West Cork O’NEILL connections, we have now confirmed (or genetically proven prefer) the outline story for the origins of some of the O’NEILLs in West Cork. The latest piece of the puzzle landed the day before St Patrick’s Day. All four have taken the male DNA test known as ‘Big Y’.

‘Big Y’ is a male line DNA test provided by FamilyTreeDNA (FTDNA) and is currently the most detailed test of its kind. For the last 500 years or so, this essentially ties all unbroken male lines to family names. All four O’NEILL testers show that their male lines are genetically connected and unbroken.

The most recent result is important for a number of reasons. Firstly, it identifies a single C16th male (MRCA: Most Recent Common Ancestor) who was the father of two sons, whose lineages became O’MAHONY and O’NEILL. This confirms the detailed genetic work done by the O’NEILL project at FTDNA and matches the various annals of Irish history that document the split into both family names known today.

Two additional testers surnamed MAHONEY and MAHANEY connect with the four O’NEILLs at this historical period, estimated to be around 1550 from DNA alone. (Please refer to my previous articles regarding the deeper historical connection.) The tested MAHONEY traces his origins to Maryland in the US at about 1760.

As previously reported, a letter written by a member of the O’NEILL family from Knocks, outlined the basic story of a young boy arriving in West Cork following the Siege of Limerick (1690) and settling in Garranes and Ballinard. While it has been a challenge to match all the detail from the letter, it has been possible using standard atDNA tests to connect O’NEILLs from Knocks with those from Derrimilleen, Reenroe & Cashelisky, and to some overseas branches.

The young lad, Sean O’NEILL, married and was reported to have had five sons. These children were likely born in the 1720-1730 period. This is now confirmed by the Y-DNA tree. All four O’NEILL testers with West Cork origins connect at a single male MRCA, estimated from just DNA alone, to about 1650. This is likely to be Sean or his father. The testers then split into two pairs.

The two testers from Derrimilleen and Knocks share the same natural genetic mutation. The two other testers, who’s surnamed became O’NEIL (with one ’l,’ due to emigration to the UK and US) share an additional natural genetic mutation downstream of this, which supports their family narrative. The latter pair share origins from a man born around 1720 who settled in Drimoleague, before his descendants moved and settled at Cashelisky adjacent to their cousins at Reenroe. This indicates that their ancestor was most likely a son of Sean. The other pair are known to descend from the man known as Felim or Filem Mor (‘Big Felix’) of Ballinard.

A genetic framework now exists for anyone wishing to investigate their West Cork male lines (O’NEILL or O’MAHONY) to check whether they tie in or not using Y-DNA, specifically the Big Y test. Normal customer atDNA tests (as provided by FTDNA, Ancestry and MyHeritage, and so on) can help tie lineages together in the post-1800 period.

I am grateful, through my previous articles, that O’NEILL descendants have shared their family stories. They remain of interest but ideally would be supported by both atDNA and Y-DNA tests at some time in the future. Hopefully, the success of this project will encourage others to DNA test.

One of the main features of ‘collecting’ O’NEILL lineages in West Cork is that most seem to have a Felix in them. My current total is around 40 people of that name. Most of these lineages cannot be connected on paper to the main framework and it is noted that three of Seans sons are yet to be accounted for, so highly suggestive many O’NEILLs in the region may actually be genetically part of the same family. Of course, there will also be those families of the name that have different origins (not from Sean) but may find themselves connecting a little further back.

As a final comment, I would like to mention the ‘rule of three’. For both of the established O’NEILL branches, and the pair of MAHONEYs, there are currently only two tests for each. Once a third tester on any of the branches comes in then the Y-DNA project will provide even more detailed mapping downstream of the already established ancestors. This opens up more rigorous genetic support for any paper trail undergoing research.

If anyone wishes advice on how best to join the project(s) and test for their genetic origins, please contact me.

Questions for future articles can be emailed to DNAmatchingprojects@gmail.com. Private client services available. Follow the West Cork DNA blog on Facebook ‘My Irish Genealogy and DNA’.

An archaeological survey at Cape Evans, Antartica, has uncovered a ski pole belonging to explorer and Courtmacsherry native Patrick Keohane. As reported in The Explorer Newsletter, the remarkable discovery was made by archaeologist Emma St Pierre. The ski pole has Keohane’s hand-carved initials on them.

Born at Barry’s Point just south of the village of Courtmacsherry, Patrick Keohane was a Petty Officer on Scott’s Antarctic ‘Terra Nova’ expedition between 1910 and 1913.

St Pierre told The Explorer that “Finding this ski pole was the highlight of my season on the ice. It is rare to uncover an item that can be directly linked to an individual, so this felt incredibly special. To find it amongst all the bamboo scattered around the site was a real moment. Thinking that this pole may have been used during Scott’s journey to the Pole is both exciting and deeply meaningful.”

Keohane was one of 15 men chosen to set out with Scott from their Cape Evans base on the 900-mile journey to the South Pole.

Keohane initially assisted with the ponies before moving into the man hauling sled teams once the ponies had been put down. Although disappointed to be turned back 350 miles short of the Pole, this decision ultimately saved his life, as the small polar party that continued sadly never returned. Keohane later joined the search party that found the bodies of Scott, Dr Edward Wilson and Lieutenant Henry Bowers in their tent.

Keohane’s ski pole has been stabilised for interim storage and will be scheduled for conservation work in the upcoming season.

A statue of Keohane erected between Broad and Blind Strand in Courtmacsherry, shows him looking across the water at the place of his birth.

West Cork seems to have its own ‘musical ecosystem’. Musicians playing in each others’ – often intersecting – bands. Gigs aplenty. In most genres under the (not very present) sun: Blues, trad, rock, world music, jazz, country, post-punk, alternative, classical. And yes, reggae. Music with a strongly accented sub-beat, originating in Jamaica, that evolved in the late 1960s. Most notably played by two bands in West Cork that partly overlap: Mango Moon and the West Cork Dub Collective.

Mango Moon started with a casual conversation in 2021, as Caz Jeffreys said to Kate Liddell, “Wouldn’t it be cool to have a reggae club in Ballydehob? Next I got five of us together for a reggae jam.” Soon afterwards, Mango Moon’s original line-up featuring Caz (vocals, electric guitar), Kate (trumpet, fiddle, vocals), Jane Goss (sax, vocals), Greg Woods (bass), Patrick Healy (rhythm guitar), Ben Crockett (drums) expanded as with the Mexican percussionist, Armando Ramirez, joined them.

According to Caz, “My initial idea was to create a kind of club in the basement of Oasis Arts Café in Ballydehob, also for other musicians, but, within weeks, we were invited to play a gig. And lead guitarist Rik Appleby came on board. We became a band very quickly, were building up more songs, gigging. Until Greg, our bass player, fell sick. Sadly, he passed away in early 2024. For a while, I didn’t know if I wanted to carry on but eventually we continued as a seven-piece. Rik transitioned to bass. And since February this year we’re on our third drummer, the brilliant Steven O’Connell.” Apart from reggae – “our backbone” – the band plays ska (a forerunner of reggae) and dub.

In the beginning, Caz Jeffreys supplied all the original material. “Roughly 50 per cent is still mine, the rest are covers. Jane has also written songs while she and Kate often write their own parts so we’re increasingly co-creating.” A party piece is the instrumental Swing Easy, recorded in the 1960s by the Skatalites, a band consisting of the musicians behind many of Jamaica’s hit records. “Swing Easy gets everyone going,” says Caz. “Some people keep dancing all night. It’s so great to connect with the audience in this way. And, the same people come back time and again. It’s like a community.” A word that is frequently used to describe Mango Moon’s musicians’ external activities. Some have MAs in community music (or music theory). Jane Goss conducts community choirs in Dunmanway and Castletownbere. Caz Jeffreys used to lead numerous community choirs (not to mention community bands, even a community musical) but is now creating music installations for community involvement and has set up Creative Voice Projects for fairly experienced female singers. “We don’t just learn great songs and complicated harmonies but also look into what has held us back from doing what we want to do or feeling confident about performing. These are eye-opening and moving conversations, which are now inspiring newly written songs.” Meanwhile, Kate Liddell has embarked on a solo performance project involving a loop pedal, vocals, and multiple instruments.

Last summer Patrick Healy, Rik Appleby, Armando Ramirez and then-drummer Fergal Lee set up the West Cork Dub Collective while continuing to play with Mango Moon. They rehearsed twice. “We chose rhythms from 70s and 80s classic dub tunes alongside chords and a bass line. That’s always our springboard.” So far, they have been doing gigs every four weeks, currently  in Ár n-Áit in Skibbereen on the first Saturday of the month. And every performance is different. The main ingredient, apart from those chords, rhythms, bass lines, is slightly mysterious: dub. 

“Dub started back in Jamaica when reggae was evolving,” shares Rik. “The music producers would record reggae singers and create their own mix based on that recording. And then another version, as they removed a lot of vocals while adding loads of effects. The end result was an instrumental that focused on the rhythm section. A production idea that turned into a style.”

“It was the art of using the studio and/or the mixing console as an instrument,” adds Patrick. “As part of the band. It’s about space and the creative manipulation of sound. Dub is certainly heavier than reggae, with prominent bass and drums while echoes and extra reverb are thrown in. We are also creating those effects, live.”

 Different guest musicians are invited for each Dub Collective gig. So whereas the musical points of departure are always the same, improvisation is the norm so the outcome cannot be predicted. It could be a danceable, vibrating wall of sound dominated by heavy guitar sounds or something entirely different involving a lyrical silver flute, baritone sax, vocals. 

Rik says the band are “working on some recordings from our October gig when the Grammy-Award winning guitarist Niwel Tsumbu, Congolese-born and Ireland-based, was playing with us, as well as Julia Cross on flute and vocals. The sound just took off into areas that were completely unplanned and exploratory and new. Nobody had any idea what was going to happen and it went to really interesting places.”

Their dedication to reggae goes far, has deep roots, and started early. “In Donegal we have the annual community-based Mary from Dungloe International Arts Festival,” says Patrick. “When I was five, my parents brought me along to listen to the Century Steel Band, an Irish reggae-outfit. My dad mentioned to me recently, “It’s no wonder you love reggae so much because you were dancing away when that band was playing.”

Rio’s grandmother lived in a flat in Hackney. “When I was very young, some Rastas lived next door to her. You could hear their reggae through the walls, especially the bass and drums. My nan called it jungle music but as a child I found it deliciously exotic. In my late teens I realised it was something that I could play quite easily as I had a feel for it. I would listen to the sound systems in London. Really heavy dub and very heavy bass. The effect is physical; almost like a physical meditation. You can feel your body vibrating in sync with the music.”

“Maybe reggae is so attractive because it can slow things down,” says Patrick. “Pace the breathing. In our busy, hectic world that steadiness is really appealing.”

West Cork Dub Collective plays Ár n-Áit in Skibbereen on March 7.

DMac Burns and Mango Moon play Connolly’s of Leap on March 16.

Caz Jeffreys runs Creative Voice Projects in the Ludgate Hub (Skibbereen) and at Civic Trust House (Cork).

Mamacha (with Kate Liddell and Armando Ramirez) plays Levis Corner House on April 12. 

Patrick Healy puts his music on Bandcamp as Emerald Lion (a collaboration with Mark Dorrian).

Rik Appleby releases reggae and dub productions on Bandcamp as Lionheart Recordings.

Light, daylight, shadow; the richness of the hues, the softness of the shades. What, I often wonder, are we missing when we switch on an electric light, a screen? The microtones, the half-lights, what DaVinci called ‘earth light,’ the mysterious quality of sunlight falling upon a living thing, animating it, responding to its living pores, its pigmentation, the iridescence leant to it by its cells. Or the light of dawn streaming through frosted glass like silver filigreed with gold, imbuing everything it touches, like King Midas, with a mysterious golden hue. And then even the shadows come alive, their edges as soft as DaVinci’s sfumato, the smokey way he drew.

Electric light cuts, makes the shadows sharp, evens out the room.

Sunlight folds in like a sigh, rolls shadows out like living things, softens space.

I’m not a Luddite, I am not pining for a time before electricity. But as a painter, I’m now feeling a difference between the lights on in the studio and the natural grace of the skylight, between the electric bulb on in the bathroom in the morning, and the predawn glow filtering through the frosted glass.

There is poetry in fluctuation, in there being nothing else on but the play of the sun with the atmosphere, the dance of the light with the clouds. I am thinking now of Monet’s waterlilies in Musee de l’Orangerie, the magnificent semi-circular paintings only lit by skylights. You sit and watch as the light swells and fades and swells again, the colours in the paintings constantly changing, brightening and darkening like embers in a fire.

Sunlight is grace.

The nadir of our visual culture’s love affair with conceptualism is, for me, Martin Creed’s ‘Work No. 227 The Lights Going On and Off’ (2000). The ‘work’ consists of two electric lights going on and off every five seconds in a room. The regularity, the coldness, the poverty of vision and experience. The irony, of course, that there is no light in this ‘work,’ only darkness, emptiness, sterility. A statement? Please spare me such statements, I’m looking for transformation.

The opposite end of the scale, for me, is Odd Nerdrum’s painting, ‘Dawn,’ from 1989. Like in some surreal ballet, the four, near-identical seated figures have their faces raised to the sky, their mouths open, eyes closed, in a blind love song to the sun, which is breasting the mountains behind. They are at one with the mountain-scape, their bodies aglow with a sunlit radiance (a stage trick, as the dawn is behind them, not in front).  The richness of this painting is something to behold, a testament to the truism that there are no new subjects, only fresh expressions of them.

Another, perhaps more iconic example, is Vermeer’s ‘Woman Holding a Balance’ from 1662. Light pours in from a high window, delicately catching the gold of the balance, the paleness of the woman’s hand, her face and gown. This is why the world loves Vermeer: because he connects natural light to the figure in perfect, ordinary harmony, because he transforms oil into light. We feel the stillness of the moment, the silence of the transformation, and are more at peace for it.

I am writing this on a laptop, the screen radiating out at me. It is not, I know, good for the eyes, but I am grateful for it, writing is an addiction. At the same time I cannot help thinking of my childhood spent in an old farm house in the Australian bush. No computers or iPhones, of course, and for years we had no television. No screens at all. We rose with the dawn. At night we lit a fire, read books. You could hear the frogs croaking in the nearby dam, the wind rustling the trees, the wooden walls creaking. Outside the stars shone with a rare, diamond-studded brilliance. The cosmos was so vast, so mysterious, an intoxication of fire-laced distances beyond human measure.

Street lights cut out the beauty of the night sky.

But where would we be without street light? Our civilisation is founded on this electric pulse, this illumination, this connectivity of information and purpose. Somehow it keeps all the raw wildness at bay. For we are only one power outage away from the Middle Ages. This is our conundrum, a measure of our fragility. 

How did I even begin thinking about this? For several years I have been imagining scenes in the 16th century studio of Pieter Bruegel, for a novel. Painters at that time were wholly dependent on natural light, could only really work in the spring and summer. Perhaps they could draw in the colder months, by the light of oil lamps and candelabra, but such light was hardly sufficient for painting. The studio was set up in such a way as to make the most of north-facing windows, north-facing, as it offered the most stable, unchanging illumination throughout the day.

Life had a different rhythm, a slower, softer vibration.

I am not pining for a time before electricity. I am a grumpy mess without a hot shower. But we have the luxury of choosing: to at times, turn things off, tune our eyes to the shadows, to a softer vibration, to a silence that truly connects.