Your canvas is a pilgrimage, an excavation of the bones of time
that breathe in a mosaic of brunailles and verdailles that sketch
the diptych of earth and sky. A reflective pentimento unveils
secrets buried in cairns, bronze age dilates within your palette,
possessed by vignettes of antiquity that dream across light
and shade. A keeill, a wayside shrine, built on mounds, where souls
sleep beneath the narrow vault of grey heaven; silent shamrock
camouflaged under notes of pastel greens, tugs at the sleeves
of kneeling spirits that pray from the dark vaults of history.
A walk in well, a baptism in hues of chamoisee, chestnut
and cordovan, a cryptic encounter with the remains of yesterday.
My eyes cannot fathom this abstract landscape, but a blissful
tranquillity draws me into your float-mounted surreal world,
your brush strokes, hatching a journey into the core of the earth.
Keill – shrine/cell
Corrody – is a pension allowance or awarded by the church
Corrody Keeill can be translated as a small shrine under the diocese