Rural Ireland is a burial site of true community, where shared essentials like lime kilns and threshing machines once brought farmers together. Fields carried the names of previous families, now displaced by land grabbers. Holy wells grow overgrown, and old Irish gates reflect the practicality and teamwork of the past – like my grandad’s gate, made from a cart wheel, a common but beautiful relic of its time. I am drawn to the shadows cast through field hedges, the silhouette of gates projected onto roads. These gates hold profound significance as points of entry, transition, closure, and opportunity – a place to pass, sit, mend, or pull-in. I don’t argue that the community is fully lost or that times were better before. Today, we are more inclusive and tolerant. However, the knowledge of our land – its features, shapes, plants, historical sites, and stories – are fading. That loss is what makes Ireland so powerful and alluring to me.

Local solutions, like using dock leaves for nettle stings instead of imported aloe vera, mirror globalization: solutions will often grow right next to problems. I celebrate rural Ireland’s traditions, ancient sites, artifacts, and etymology, exalting them in a modern context. Horses frequently appear in my work as mirrors to humanity, reflecting my experience in an increasingly urbanized world. While I thrive on city energy and human interaction, I long for the sense of community or “herd” that feels increasingly out of reach. Modernity has propelled us forward, but also stunted us. My work seeks to braid the values of “then” and “now,” exploring this through an interdisciplinary approach. I experiment with 2666, printmaking, collage, sculpture, and installation, recently incorporating bio-plastics to expand my practice’s boundaries.