Proper Aim of Art

Proper Aim of Art

Dublin – a city of tradition and many contemporary surprises

Dublin is a big city with lots of big city sights and sounds. Tall, decorative street lamps, double-decker bus noise, bicycle stands—the kind where you can rent a bike here and return it elsewhere, a therapeutic clinic on the corner where you can remove your cellulite, and the clip-clop of the touristy horse and carriage. Perhaps all common in the major European capitals, except for the seagulls.

This is indeed a culturally rich city, with many historic and architecturally impressive buildings. A favorite would be The National Gallery, that houses among other treasures, the rare and exquisite Johannes Vermeer c. 1670 “Woman Writing a Letter.”

But today I am searching for a remarkable work of art that is not inside this museum — but a short distance away — in the elegant Georgian park known as Merrion Square. You don’t have far to go along the tree-lined path. Then bang! The colorful monument of the flamboyant Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde (1854-1900) looms powerfully before you.

 

Oscar Wilde by Danny Osborne

This larger-than-life-size, three-dimensional portrait of Oscar Wilde features him sprawled high on a thirty-ton piece of white quartz, with a devilish look on his face. The rock is situated across the street from his childhood home, where the family moved in 1855. He is staring across the road to where he lived, as his family were key-holders to the enclosed park, and he would have played often in this very spot as a young boy.

 

Larger-than-life-size sculpture portrait of Oscar Wilde by Danny Osborne

 

This is a truly beautiful work of art of a man who himself adored beautiful stone and materials. Starting with his shiny black, laced-up shoes made of black Indian granite, the stone sculpture of the dapper dresser takes on more color with his green jade velvet smoking jacket, adorned by quilted pink cuffs and a shawl collar, made of a beautiful stone from Norway. His face and hands are expertly carved from the pale jadeite that the artist brought back from Guatemala. It is a very hard stone, carved with high quality diamond tools and polished to perfection. Two rings are visible on his left hand.

Radiating both the wit and insouciance of Wilde, there is not even a hint that the life of this brilliant man came to an all too early tragic end at the age of forty six.

The National Gallery, Dublin, Ireland

Oscar Wilde, Sculptor: Danny Osborne

An oval-shaped bronze plaque informs us that the work is by Danny Osborne and was commissioned by Guinness Ireland Group. It was unveiled by Merlin Holland on October 28,1997. Osborne reveals in a 2010 interview that the two stone pillars accompanying the sculpture, which are covered in famous Oscar Wilde quotations, were chosen by people associated with the Irish art world and written in their own hand. Some are in block letters, some in almost illegible script.

 

A selection that I could make out:

“Beauty has as many meanings as man has moods.

It seems to me we all look at Nature too much and live with her too little.

A cynic is a man who know knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

Life is not complex. We are complex. Life is simple and the simple thing is the right thing.

Experience is the name everyone gives to his mistakes.

I can resist everything but temptation.

There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.

This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.”

 

And one of my most favorite of all:

“Lying, the beautiful telling of untrue things, is the proper aim of art.”

Hear the Heartbeat

Hear the Heartbeat

Intro

Where Sophia’s ear is

Shortly after I got back from Ireland last summer I discovered an event at Troon Country Club called the Hawk Talk was scheduled for November 18th. I signed up for it right away. I was hoping it would be interesting like my experience several years ago at the Burren Birds of Prey Centre that I visited with Kevin’s family in County Clare. I wrote a story about it: “Hear the Heartbeat.” 

The Troon CC Hawk Talk was conducted by Master Falconer, Tiffany White, with Sonoran Desert Falconry. Along with her colleague, Sally Knight (a General Falconer and the co-founder of Sonoran Desert Falconry) they dazzled us with birds in their care like Dracarys, the Harris’ hawk. They introduced us to Uno the Kestrel and Zeke the Peregrine falcon. But it was Sophie the Barn owl that stole my heart.

 

 

The Hawk Walk

Kevin’s daughter, Nicola McGrath, and her husband, David Boyle, came down from Dublin to Clare for a visit with their two boys, Adam and Simon.

David drove us to the Burren by way of Corkscrew Hill. The narrow road was just like it sounds. 

The Bateleur eagle with his handler | the Burren Birds of Prey Centre, Ireland

We reached the aviary where they house the Birds of Prey, which include eagles, falcons, hawks, vultures and owls from all over the world. We continued to the grass arena with the magnificent hills of The Burren in the background. We watched the handler perform with “Batty” the Bateleur eagle. We were told she could fly up to 200 miles a day, but could only sustain a wing beat for two to three minutes. Bateleur is French for “tight-rope walker,” describing the bird’s characteristic habit of tipping its wings when it flies. She was a magnificent, very large and quite fluffy bird, predominantly black with a gorgeous streak of red plumage down her back. 

A couple of other birds did perform, one being an American owl who although he looked quite large, only weighed 2 lbs. He was “built for stealth — very quiet.” All the birds put on quite a show, but did “not fly for fun.” Their handler quipped, “This is a business relationship! We make the most of their laziness and they make the most of our generosity,” as he fed them little morsels of food throughout their performance.

With the demonstration over, it is now time for our Hawk Walk. There was a tinge of trepidation when I learned that Nicola and David had designated me as the one to ‘fly the hawk.’ “Are you sure David shouldn’t be the one to do this?” “No, Taba, it’s going to be you.”

Our instructor and hawk handler, Jamie, appeared with Eric the Harris’ hawk. As I slipped the elbow length glove over my left hand, Jamie untied Eric from his glove and transferred the raptor over to me. Then he tied a falconry knot entirely with his right hand only, informing us, “You must be able to do everything with one hand and it’s always the right hand.” “Why is that?” we all asked in unison. “So you can draw your sword if you have to!”

The hour walk through the Hazel woodland was full of wondrous facts, starting with the sport of falconry. Jamie told us the Chinese and Japanese have been hunting with birds of prey for some 3,000 years, but the Harris’ hawk was only recently introduced in the late 60’s.

Taba with Eric the Harris hawk

After a few minutes, I got comfortable with Eric, who perched on my glove, just so. It was amazing to be eyeball to eyeball with this beautiful creature. He would often fly away and be “called back” with a little bit of meat placed on my glove. Eric would always fly to a branch high in a tree and swoop down in a second or two, making a perfect landing every time.

At first I kept my eyes closed when I saw him coming, as his wing span was easily three feet and I wasn’t sure where those wing tips would wind up! Eric would tuck his feathers in precisely at the last possible second so they never touched my face. I relaxed and got more confident, and stared right at his intense eyes, while he zeroed in on his “reward” that Jamie placed on my glove.

 

Eyes Like a Hawk

I will forever have new respect for the phrase, “Eyes like a hawk.” They are small, but penetrating. Brown just like mine. Maybe that’s why I bonded so well with this bird. It turns out that southern Arizona is part of their natural habitat. They even nest in saguaro cactus, which explains why coyotes would be their most feared predators when they are on the ground.

The top of the beak is bright yellow with little nostrils, becoming a dark grey color and then white at the sharp tip. The legs were equally yellow, each with four powerful talons. His feathers are mostly brown, with a reddish color blending in where the wings attach, and then his tail feathers are tipped with white.

Adam asked Jamie lots of very intelligent questions, like “What do they eat?” “Rabbits, mice and other small animals,” said Jamie. “Would they eat other birds?” Adam wondered. “Yes they would,” affirmed Jamie.

Harris hawk with a handler | the Burren Birds of Prey Centre, Ireland

David followed the line of questioning, “When they are in the wild, do they hunt cooperatively?” “Yes they do,” explained Jamie, “one or more might scout the prey and another swoops in to attack.” (Note: Tiffany told us it is the female “that closes the deal.”)

“These Harris’ hawks are very social,” informed Jamie, “and very easygoing around people.” Eric did seem perfectly happy in his well-learned role to fly away and back to us as we followed a path through the woods…often varied to avoid predictability.  Every now and then, he made a short, high-pitched sound, as if to let us know where he was. 

“When he flies up high in the tree, is he looking for something to eat? Will he leave and never come back,” queried Adam. “Yes, although he really couldn’t survive in the wild, he has never lost his instincts. Every now and then he does catch something!” 

We learned that all the little bits of food, in this case chicken, were stored in a pouch to be eaten later. Sure enough, as the walk progressed, we could see the bulging pouch. “He only eats raw food, never cooked food,” Jamie clarified. Adam worked it out, “That would be chicken sushi.” 

 

Hear the Heartbeat

Jamie also told us, “The hawk can see much better than us but doesn’t have peripheral vision, which means he has to turn his head if he wants to see something not straight ahead.” Adam wondered, “Does he hear much better than us, like an owl?” “Hawks hear very well, but the owl has much more acute hearing. Owls actually have one ear higher than the other and they find their prey by hearing, not by seeing. In fact, even though they have big eyes, they can’t see well up close. If a mouse was right under an owl, the owl wouldn’t see him.”

Adam wanted to know, “Couldn’t the owl smell the mouse?” “No, but he could hear the heartbeat.” Hear the heartbeat.  Now that was amazing. 

The owl could hear the heartbeat of its pray

Finally we headed to the Birds of Prey Center to join up with Nicola and Simon, who was now getting his second wind. Back to the arena we went.

This time we got to see the handlers fly two Harris’ hawks together, a brother and sister, the female being about one third larger. Again, we were told that they are very social and easygoing, completely different from the falcons, which are much more high-strung. They are hooded to calm them down. The largest of the falcons, the Peregrine, is the fastest animal on earth, achieving speeds of 200 mph. (Note: Tiffany told us a Peregrine has been clocked at 220 mph.)

White-backed Vulture with its handler | the Burren Birds of Prey Centre, Ireland

Our flying display concluded with a pair of massive White-backed Vultures, which were surprisingly beautiful. The pair were named Henry and Dyson, after two models of the Hoover vacuum cleaner! Their names are funny, but their endangered status is not. Members of the Gyps family, they are suffering from an extremely rapid population decline.

After such a special day of many wondrous things, David guided our flock back to our nest in Liscannor, electing not to return by the Corkscrew road, and instead taking another scenic road which hugged the coast for part of the journey.  

I was securely wedged between the two boys, who promptly fell asleep in their car seats. Not a peep out of either one of them as we wove our way through the Burren landscape. They are so sweet and peaceful. I think I can just about hear their heartbeat.

Moy or No Moy

Moy or No Moy

Moy or No Moy

The other night while having our customary romantic dinner by candlelight—we now have a proper candle-holder with one 3” wide x 4” tall candle-that-melts-inward, which replaces a rustic block of wood holding an “individually foil-cupped Kinsale-Candle Night Light for Every Occasion,” (in other words a wee tea light)—I looked over Kevin’s shoulder (as he gives me “the view” to the bay, and I asked, “What is that big white building on the other side of the bay? Is it just one house?”

To which he replied, “That is Moy House.”

We then talked about the fact that before he bought the lot our present house was built upon, Moy House was up for sale and he went to have a look with an idea to purchase it. It was so run-down, requiring many tens of thousands of Irish pounds, that he quickly abandoned the thought.

There it now stands, across the bay, registered in Ireland’s Blue Book of Irish Country Houses and Restaurants. It is described as having a “sensitive restoration of an early 19th century estate, creating a contemporary and eclectic ambience…with eight oversized rooms on 15 acres and commanding hilltop views over Lahinch Bay, enhanced by mature woodland and the meandering River Moy.” The book also says it has a “traditional  Drawing Room and a Zen-feel lower Library area.” Sounds lovely.

Too bad I am not at all confident about driving Kevin’s car while he is away at Old Head—especially in the rain with the sort-of-intermittent wipers, or I’d go have a look.

Moy or no Moy really defines: is there a mist, a fog, or a downpour? Can I see Moy House or can I not? As the crow flies, it is probably only three miles away. Well, I can see it, but it is raining.

In fact, while it looked like it was not raining yet, I thought I would take a walk up to the gas station/shop to get some soup or something warm in time to watch The Scottish Open on TV over at Loch Lomond. I figured on bringing my good golf umbrella (a perfect souvenir from Turnberry) in case it started to rain on the way home. As I got out the front door, it was, in fact, already raining. It was gentle enough with no real wind. That is, until I got around the corner. All hands on deck! Man the sails! Two hands on the tiller!

I made it to the store and back with a microwavable container of Erin Soupfulls Chicken & Country Vegetable soup, nearly soaked-through jeans and Moy House now disappeared in the mist.

But I know it is there—and someday, I promise myself I’ll see it from the inside, while having a piping hot bowl of seafood chowder as I look back across the bay and see, or not see, our charming little white house on the water’s edge.