Martin Doyle and Fintan O'Toole commissioned me to create images in response to a series of short stories on the theme of 'This Means War' that are being published in The Irish Times. Fintan's inspired choice of theme had the centenary of the Great War in mind but the stories didn't have to be specifically about World War I; the theme could be interpreted however the authors wished. I was asked to make thought-provoking images which alluded to the stories rather than produce 'slavish illustrations' of what was happening in them. A wonderful and challenging commission...
'Hanora Ryan, 1998', beautiful reminiscence by Donal Ryan.
‘My sister was in love with him. I suppose I was too.’
In my response to Donal Ryan's beautiful writing, a huge heart broken in two, represents the love and sorrow felt between the author, her sister, her brother and Robert Coleman. Rather than the obvious red, the heart is painted in sepia/tan to evoke memory (the way old photographs fade to sepia) and to allude to the political differences mentioned. The two heart-halves also provide the landscape where Robert ‘talked and laughed across the whispering water, and always waved back at me as he started up the hill towards home’.
The barbed-wire clouds above refer to ‘An Irish Airman Forsees His Death’, which the author is so moved by. The white crosses symbolise those who died as a result of the War: those who fell at Flanders (with poppies) and those who died at home due to the Spanish flu brought back by soldiers (without poppies) are now all equal in death, regardless of whether they answered ‘the call of king and country’ or not.
‘My sister was in love with him. I suppose I was too.’
In my response to Donal Ryan's beautiful writing, a huge heart broken in two, represents the love and sorrow felt between the author, her sister, her brother and Robert Coleman. Rather than the obvious red, the heart is painted in sepia/tan to evoke memory (the way old photographs fade to sepia) and to allude to the political differences mentioned. The two heart-halves also provide the landscape where Robert ‘talked and laughed across the whispering water, and always waved back at me as he started up the hill towards home’.
The barbed-wire clouds above refer to ‘An Irish Airman Forsees His Death’, which the author is so moved by. The white crosses symbolise those who died as a result of the War: those who fell at Flanders (with poppies) and those who died at home due to the Spanish flu brought back by soldiers (without poppies) are now all equal in death, regardless of whether they answered ‘the call of king and country’ or not.
'Arsenal'
Aifric Campbell's brilliant short story opens with the line 'I once had Gerry Adams in the crosshair of my rifle' and goes on to describe the tense meeting and dialogue between two parents watching their children play a match at Arsenal's training academy.
My image was inspired by the line 'my problem is war'. ‘Ex-Forces’ even relates the author’s child’s preparation to take a free kick to military training so instead of a human wall I have positioned targets from an army shooting range in front of the goals.
Rain pours down over the scene but the rain that falls on ‘Ex-Forces’ is like a shower of bullets further showing his inability to escape his past.
‘History is your lot’s problem’ inspired the black and tan vertical bands which also separate the adults culturally.
The red strip locates the story (Arsenal’s Academy) and holds the faded motto from the club’s old crest, ‘Victoria Concordia Crescit’ (Victory Grows Out of Harmony) which coincidentally caused war between club and supporters when it was dropped.
Aifric Campbell's brilliant short story opens with the line 'I once had Gerry Adams in the crosshair of my rifle' and goes on to describe the tense meeting and dialogue between two parents watching their children play a match at Arsenal's training academy.
My image was inspired by the line 'my problem is war'. ‘Ex-Forces’ even relates the author’s child’s preparation to take a free kick to military training so instead of a human wall I have positioned targets from an army shooting range in front of the goals.
Rain pours down over the scene but the rain that falls on ‘Ex-Forces’ is like a shower of bullets further showing his inability to escape his past.
‘History is your lot’s problem’ inspired the black and tan vertical bands which also separate the adults culturally.
The red strip locates the story (Arsenal’s Academy) and holds the faded motto from the club’s old crest, ‘Victoria Concordia Crescit’ (Victory Grows Out of Harmony) which coincidentally caused war between club and supporters when it was dropped.
'Mud'
This tremendously evocative story by John Connolly recounts the haunting incidents experienced by 'The General' after the war.
‘Doubt was the enemy.
That was when the mud began to appear.’
The General is depicted walking towards the pond to confront his enemy of doubt, which is symbolised by a bloody question mark that drips from the moon giving life to the dead bodies about to emerge from below. The first figure to surface (which compositionally provides the horizon) appears in the shape of one of the World War I boot prints of ‘grey wet mud’ and ‘like the face of a second moon’ with ‘clouded eyes that turned themselves towards him yet did not see, not truly’.
This tremendously evocative story by John Connolly recounts the haunting incidents experienced by 'The General' after the war.
‘Doubt was the enemy.
That was when the mud began to appear.’
The General is depicted walking towards the pond to confront his enemy of doubt, which is symbolised by a bloody question mark that drips from the moon giving life to the dead bodies about to emerge from below. The first figure to surface (which compositionally provides the horizon) appears in the shape of one of the World War I boot prints of ‘grey wet mud’ and ‘like the face of a second moon’ with ‘clouded eyes that turned themselves towards him yet did not see, not truly’.
'Things No Longer Relevant' is Belinda McKeon's harrowing and moving story.
‘You clawed at the ugly grey stones that it all had become.’
The author’s husband and children are buried under ‘the ugly grey stones that it all had become.’ Just as the towering ‘A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire of a Child in London’ is referenced, my bodies are inspired by Picasso’s figures in the monumental Guernica. ‘– what had been – one of your husband’s hands’ is visible above the surface.
Things no longer relevant (pets, password, feelings, longings, your blood type, etc) are graphically crossed off with anguish and anger but for the loss of the four family members ‘there is no ending.’
The negative space of the composition reflects the pauses in the prose.
‘You clawed at the ugly grey stones that it all had become.’
The author’s husband and children are buried under ‘the ugly grey stones that it all had become.’ Just as the towering ‘A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire of a Child in London’ is referenced, my bodies are inspired by Picasso’s figures in the monumental Guernica. ‘– what had been – one of your husband’s hands’ is visible above the surface.
Things no longer relevant (pets, password, feelings, longings, your blood type, etc) are graphically crossed off with anguish and anger but for the loss of the four family members ‘there is no ending.’
The negative space of the composition reflects the pauses in the prose.
'Deus Absconditus'
I used a vivid colour palette and energetic brush stokes to respond to Mary Costello’s alluring story and its rich details.
‘There is something gnawing, something more he wants – a pledge, a promise, some certainty.’
Inspired by Johannes Moreelse’s stunning painting which depicts Heraclitus as the ‘Weeping Philosopher’, my image shows Martin, like Heraclitus, wringing his hands in despair: he is anxious about the tunnel; he is horrified at his sister’s story; he feels the whole evening pressing down on him; but most of all, he despairs at the thought of his son’s research being used for chemical warfare and the lack of ‘certainty’ that it won’t be. The cadmium orange that blazes across the composition represents the ‘Heraclitean fire’ which scorched the earth that Martin wants to tell his son about. As I have portrayed Martin to also appear somewhat God-like, the way the orange covers the eyes is a reference to the title ‘Deus Absconditus’ (Hidden God). The ‘blood drops from hell’ which fall in the direction of John as he walks away (from his father and the ‘path’/formula of his past polymerisation research) potentially link him to the chemical warfare that Martin dreads his research will lead to, in the same way that the author of ‘Heraclitean Fire’ ‘had no direct hand in that project but still he felt tainted, tarnished, complicit’.
I used a vivid colour palette and energetic brush stokes to respond to Mary Costello’s alluring story and its rich details.
‘There is something gnawing, something more he wants – a pledge, a promise, some certainty.’
Inspired by Johannes Moreelse’s stunning painting which depicts Heraclitus as the ‘Weeping Philosopher’, my image shows Martin, like Heraclitus, wringing his hands in despair: he is anxious about the tunnel; he is horrified at his sister’s story; he feels the whole evening pressing down on him; but most of all, he despairs at the thought of his son’s research being used for chemical warfare and the lack of ‘certainty’ that it won’t be. The cadmium orange that blazes across the composition represents the ‘Heraclitean fire’ which scorched the earth that Martin wants to tell his son about. As I have portrayed Martin to also appear somewhat God-like, the way the orange covers the eyes is a reference to the title ‘Deus Absconditus’ (Hidden God). The ‘blood drops from hell’ which fall in the direction of John as he walks away (from his father and the ‘path’/formula of his past polymerisation research) potentially link him to the chemical warfare that Martin dreads his research will lead to, in the same way that the author of ‘Heraclitean Fire’ ‘had no direct hand in that project but still he felt tainted, tarnished, complicit’.
'Those That I Fight I Do Not Hate', a very tense story by Danielle McLaughlin.
‘The clouds seemed greyer and darker and were no longer still.’
As the clouds move ‘erratically, bulging against their casing of the sky’ I have formed them in the shape of Kevin’s predatory hand as it reaches out to corrupt the seventeen-year old Aoife. Aoife ‘on the swing, her long legs dangling, the toes of her white Converse scuffing the dust’ swings forward, seeming all too willing to break the fetters of childhood, signified by the severed chains of the swing (which appear as the summer blossoms mentioned in the opening sentence). Compositionally I used a lot of white space to reflect the tension that Danielle builds so expertly in the story and to show the innocence that is being tainted by Kevin’s actions. A Sopwith Camel (Bob’s favourite model plane) emerges from the clouds which represents ‘the drone of low-flying air-craft’ of the last sentence and the anger which I imagine will ensue when Aoife’s parents find out what’s going on.
‘The clouds seemed greyer and darker and were no longer still.’
As the clouds move ‘erratically, bulging against their casing of the sky’ I have formed them in the shape of Kevin’s predatory hand as it reaches out to corrupt the seventeen-year old Aoife. Aoife ‘on the swing, her long legs dangling, the toes of her white Converse scuffing the dust’ swings forward, seeming all too willing to break the fetters of childhood, signified by the severed chains of the swing (which appear as the summer blossoms mentioned in the opening sentence). Compositionally I used a lot of white space to reflect the tension that Danielle builds so expertly in the story and to show the innocence that is being tainted by Kevin’s actions. A Sopwith Camel (Bob’s favourite model plane) emerges from the clouds which represents ‘the drone of low-flying air-craft’ of the last sentence and the anger which I imagine will ensue when Aoife’s parents find out what’s going on.
'The Only Daughter'
Dermot Bolger's very moving story required an emotionally-charged image in response.
The words ‘our two world’s collided’ decided the composition for me, where the Polish mother with a tortured face cradles her child in a tragic moment of tenderness in one world, while ‘Mum’ of the story drags the block of ice (of her burden of being an only child) in the dream sequence in the other world.
The violent splash of red which partially divides the composition comes from how ‘Mum’s shoulders bled in the dream and also refers to the war-like scenes in the Emergency Department and ‘Mum’s anger at the situation.
Dermot Bolger's very moving story required an emotionally-charged image in response.
The words ‘our two world’s collided’ decided the composition for me, where the Polish mother with a tortured face cradles her child in a tragic moment of tenderness in one world, while ‘Mum’ of the story drags the block of ice (of her burden of being an only child) in the dream sequence in the other world.
The violent splash of red which partially divides the composition comes from how ‘Mum’s shoulders bled in the dream and also refers to the war-like scenes in the Emergency Department and ‘Mum’s anger at the situation.
Illustration for 'Secret Service 1942' by Neill Speers.
