Matthew Loney on Minerstown Beach

I've been working on a new little project starring Matthew Loney of Kilcloud (you can find out more about him here).

Minerstown Beach proved the perfect location last Sunday for a few shots of Matthew and the Mournes.

The project is a story of emigration, something that's been on my mind recently as I've been researching my own family history. The tale isn't completely in focus yet, but every time I work on it, new ideas come rushing into my head. And my very patient model J has been a good sport about getting into character on freezing cold beaches while I try to organise my inspirations into actual shots.

I've been shooting backwards. I already have my New World images, taken in Florida last October. This afternoon I was thinking of Matthew's farewell to Ireland, imagining what he would do and feel on the last days in a country which he knew he was leaving forever. 

The beach couldn't have looked better, with miraculous fingers of sunlight reaching out of the clouds over the mountains. It seemed the perfect setting for portentous decisions and leave-takings. I'd go there myself now if ever I were to leave this island for good.

Letter from Kilcloud

Over the past few weeks I've been putting together some of the photographs from my Kilcloud project with music I composed to go with them. It's not completely finished at this point, but here's a little preview: click on the title below to view it on Youtube...

Letter from Kilcloud

Kilcloud: ten things and two creatures

When I close my eyes and recall Kilcloud a hundred years ago, these are the things I see.

Not so much the street and the roofs and the sky. More the things inside. Little things, like my mother's endless balls of wool. The precious clock on the mantelpiece. A piece of crockery, glaze worn with proud use. And things that turned out to be bigger, like the rectory bookshelf, with its complete set of Charles Dickens.

And it's always lit like this, shafts of cold sunlight in dark rooms. Dust motes despite the hours spent dusting. Sudden still lifes burning in memory with every stitch and wrinkle clear.

And Bridget and Betty.

Kilcloud, imagined village of the heart.

Matthew Loney in his New World

A new World it is.

A Slate, my self, washed clean.

My Journy, under-taken dazed, near forgot.

A Blessing, that, with

Part the 1st

A haze of roiling Waves &

Constant Unstediness &

Griping pain &

Part the 2nd

A Misery

By Carriage &

By Cart &

By my own nummed Feet.

Yet here at new Smyrna

One foot in Sea and one on Shore

I feel Awake again.

I look East.

Kilcloud a tiny Speck

Imagined in the distance

Thru the power of my Wishes

& yet not.

Not.

For Sophia.

For Sophia’s Shell

Is cradled by the Sand there

Dandled by the sea Creatures.

Selkies ring her Knell.

Another Slate to wash.

I read my Book.

I keep my Secret.

The Women of Kilcloud at their Windows

Kilcloud, County Down. October 1875.

Counterpane, eiderdown, bed-curtain, blanket,
Simmet, stock, shift, chemise,
Ankle, calf, knee, thigh.

Soot, dust, ash, rust.

Jane Kennedy, aged 44 years

How does light enter the house?
Through these six dulled panes and glinting, a little, from my pots.
Why does light enter the house?
To pierce me, rock me, shock, entice me, beckon me forth to dance, prance, fierce and reckless and feckless.
I will not go.

Eliza Gallagher, aged 58 years

They bow their heads, but the Holy Spirit is at this present moment a diving dust-mote in the sunbeam. 
I will lift my eyes. 

Rebecca Doherty, aged 24 years

Framing, as best I can in ink and secret, 
My Thoughts and some small Images. 
This Bird, this garden Wall, 
The Orchard trees beyond. 
My Self, perched quietly behind the Glass.

Matilda Murray, aged 36 years

Perchance & Perhaps & I may not.
But watch me, I Wink. 

Sophia Lynch, aged 16 years

She was always a great lover of flowers.
And I...
I cannot say more,
For the women of Kilcloud are always at their windows.

Annie Walsh, aged 49 years