If you can't make my talk at @wearerubicon today, here is everything I want to say in one image, a boy climbs past the barrier to see the brush strokes of the painting with his touch. My grandfather was blind, and this is how he saw, with his hands. In my work, I encoded secrets and stories in the structures and surfaces of the weave, I shared it only with those who I trusted, and yet I was sad that so few people thought to even look at it with their hands, to look for meaning, but I was also scared of those secrets being discovered in a single touch. The artist as an adult retains the instinct of play and is an active participant in their life. To touch. To taste. To feel. To understand in seconds what years of study can only hint at. To invite others into our soul/spirit/imagination, our deepest hopes/dreams/fears, takes courage and intimacy. The work of the artist is to pursue what lies not within but beyond your imagination, and uniquely, we must give utter intimacy, for free to strangers and must be willing to surrender our control over meaning in order to grow. Irish tradition, music in particular carries an open invitation to transcendent play, there is permission, and when someone's singing or playing needs it, the room will call silent and with their feet, gently echo. Everyone is involved. I was reminded of this and excited last week at #macalla, a playing of @roisindebuitlear's glass objets led by Liam O'Maonlai in which a two part permission took place. The audience gave permission, or trust, to the artists to lead them, and the artists gave permission to the audience to use their feet, hands, voices and to be s part of the music. This picture came to me and changed my talk, and so I took a few hours this evening and drew it, so that you could see it too. (at Brendan Joseph Studio)
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