On an archeological tour near Dingle, Ireland we were standing inside the walls of a clochán or beehive hut (a dry-stone hut with a corbelled roof) when our guide mentioned the name of the family who owns the farm where this structure sits. Houlihan. My Mom’s name was Patricia Mary Houlihan Nollette. I didn’t travel to Ireland to research my heritage, but are these my people? Is my great-great-great (I don’t know how many greats) grandfather, Michael Leo Houlihan, from this region? I’m not here for this reason. I have another.

When I arrived at Carraig-na-gCat, an artist residency near the coast in Southern Ireland, I immediately tried to connect my phone to a speaker in the house to hear music. Danjoe, Daniel Joseph, because what proper Irish person has only one name, is my primary contact for the Carraig-na-gCat Residency. He is from this area and is connected to the property where the Albers’ residency is located, which I didn’t fully grasp because of his Irish accent. Danjoe takes me to the grocery store, shows me how to operate the windows, shower, stove, etc., and covers the basics, but can’t help me with technology. I was struggling, texting my tech support husband to make it all connect. I eventually gave up, located a small radio in the house, and moved the dial until it played classical music. The music was filling the silence. I was unable to sit quietly in a room. Danjoe asked if I needed anything else, then left me alone. This is why I’m here, and this will take some work.

The philosopher Blaise Pascal said, “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s (woman’s) inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” I was reading Silence in the Age of Noise by Erling Kagge before I left the States and picked it up again last night. I started reading, but I needed to reread what I had read. It holds a different weight here.

This morning I opened the doors and windows to the house and went out to arrange a clothesline while my coffee was steeping. As I returned, the Magpies began squawking. I turned around to see a fox standing where I had been, sniffing the ground. So, I started listening to the birds, maybe to see where the fox went and if it would return, but also to pay attention to them. I now hear a low buzz of bees in the field. I hear the ocean lapping the shores. I’m not close to the shores, but it’s that quiet here. The radio is off.

I tell my students we’re learning to be practical daydreamers, a phrase I heard that stuck with me. Daydreaming has a bad reputation, which it doesn’t deserve. It’s not a slacker’s activity. It’s reflective. It’s necessary. It’s work. Hard work. Work that isn’t fully supported or understood by most of society. You need to make time for it. You need silence. Daydreaming is having enough silence to observe your thoughts, record them in whatever manner suits you, and analyze what you noticed and recorded. Observe, record, and analyze. That’s what artists do.

Digging into my family roots is for another trip. The past isn’t changing; it will always be there. The present needs my full attention. I need to embrace silence.

Dingle Peninsula.

Clochan or beehive hut on a farm owned by the Houlihan’s.

The Houlihan farm on Dingle peninsula.

The unfinished structure on the right is future studio space at the residency.

My studio space for now. I’m the only one here, so I may set up several studios around the house!

I add to this arrangement daily. All plants are collected from the property. There is a huge fennel plant on the east side of the house. I love fennel.

Stone house on the property, sometimes used as studio space. It’s very warm in there this week.

I was raised in a land-locked State, Nebraska. The connection between the tide and the moon still amazes me. Everything is connected.

Sunset at the residency.

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