If you ever hear “summers” used as a verb, you know you’re in privileged company. I encountered Pauline a few days ago as we navigated the intense morning fog on the wet gravel road. She lives in London from October through March, and “summers” down the road from April through September—the third house on the right. I know the house. It’s one with a fake stone fence. It's a lovely house, but a bit over the top. Unlike my stateside self which prefers midcentury or modern architecture, in Ireland, I like the charm of Carraig-na-gCat. Pauline feels she has the best of both worlds: winters in London, and summers in Ireland. Then she gave me the lowdown on the weather. She told me the weather is dreadful in Ireland in the winter; the dark evenings get to her. I can’t imagine London being less dreary, but I’ll take her word. Pauline says she follows the sun. Yes, I get that fellow sun seeker.
It’s now mid-June and southern Ireland is starting to warm up. When Matt and I traveled together in early May, we had amazingly mild and dry weather. We didn’t know how lucky we were. So, on a fine day last week, I planned a bus trip to Cork City. Of course, to get to a bus, it’s an hour's walk or Danjoe chauffeurs me from Carraig-na-gCat to the bus stop in Leap, a nearby village. I chose the latter.
I was told that Cork is a quirky city. I was there for a day and found it intriguing, although not as distinct as Galway. It’s hard to top Galway's location. I gave myself six hours in Cork with a list of places to visit. I moved quickly with no lallygagging, even in a cathedral over 1400 years old. I did allow for an hour to be spent at The Glucksman. It’s an art museum located on the campus of the University of Cork. It was easy to spend an hour there. They have a thoughtful exhibition installed right now, Labor of Love.
As I wandered from place to place in this very walkable city, I realized I enjoy anonymity. Cork didn’t feel touristy, just busy. There were people everywhere. I am, along with many, a product of a pandemic. My attention span is short, and sometimes I need to be around people. I planned to work through these self-identified problems while isolated in this remote location in Ireland. The residency sets the stage for extreme focus. That is desirable, but maybe it’s not all I need. It’s important to navigate different cultures, languages, and people with respect and grace. One of the reasons I was accepted into this residency program is because I try to abide by Josef Alber’s idea, “to make open the eyes.” Or, as Robert Irwin noted, “Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees.” It sounds simple enough, right? It takes work.
Below are photos from my day in Cork City, the thick fog that lasted for days around Glandore, and I added a few images of decent weather. This sun seeker is still searching for the sun, and I found a beach! I’m ready and waiting.
The campus of University of Cork.
The Glucksman. I have many photos of art from the exhibition. I may add them later.
Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral, over 1400 years old.
Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral. The scale!
Saint Fin Barre himself.
St Anne’s Shandon Bells & Tower. They let anyone ring the bells, and provide sheet music for you. Yes, I did.
View from the bell tower.
A stained glass window in the Cathedral of St. Mary & St. Anne. This cathedral has a surprisingly midcentury vibe.
Inside the Cathedral of St. Mary & St. Anne.
Lunch break at the The English Market.
Crossing an offshoot of River Lee near the center of the city.
Elizabeth Fort. Strange place. I didn’t have time to read about it while there. It’s good for a view of the city.
View from Elizabeth Fort.
Another view from the fort. See the mass of green, so much architectural history is left in place in Ireland.
And now, FOG!
Nature reclaiming space.
There is an ocean out here somewhere.
I had on a stocking hat a moment before. I’m bundled up inside, partially because I like to have all the doors open.
Coppinger’s Court. This photo isn’t from a foggy day, but it’s a good story. I walked 3 hours round trip to this site. Danjoe gave me the history: years ago, a human train 4 miles long passed stones to the mason to build this house. An English landowner built it. It was quite grand in its prime. The Englishman got into an argument with an Irishman in a pub who threatened to burn his house. The Englishman came home to a burned home. Well, It’s stone so it only burned so much but was never occupied again.
The beach! East of where I’m staying.
Where the sand meets rock. So dramatic.
I walked the hill on the right. It’s private property with amazing views of the ocean. I’ll jump a gate on private property unless there is a warning sign posted.