Off to Galway: Ireland Part 2

After our jet-lag recovery in Dublin, we took the train to Galway, where we picked up a rental car for our adventure through southern Ireland. Before setting off, we had a few hours to enjoy the city. A friendly Garda (Irish police officer) at the train station suggested a nearby pub, so we rolled our suitcases a few blocks down the street and found ourselves at O'Connell's Pub.

From the moment we arrived, we knew we'd stumbled onto something special. The pub's winding laneways, cozy nooks, and charming storefronts felt almost magical. It was easy to imagine Harry Potter appearing around a corner or ducking into one of the hidden passageways.

Since Mike and Cassidy had graciously agreed to be the drivers for our trip, Angelica and I settled in to enjoy the experience. We ordered lunch, raised a pint, and spent the afternoon soaking up the warm atmosphere and friendly Irish hospitality. It was the perfect introduction to Galway—and a wonderful start to our journey through Ireland.

With our two brave—but understandably nervous—drivers adjusting to driving on the left side of the road, we set off for our Airbnb just a few miles outside the town of Galway. Nestled in the countryside, Robin's Nest became our home base for the next three nights as we explored the beautiful sights and hidden gems of County Galway. After a day of adventure, it was the perfect place to return to—cozy, welcoming, and surrounded by the peaceful charm of rural Ireland.

Our first night at Robin's Nest, Angelica made us a tasty spaghetti dinner. 

Kylemore Abbey and Gardens

Our first morning at Robin's Nest began with a drive through the beautiful Connemara countryside to Kylemore Abbey, one of the most photographed landmarks in western Ireland. As we rounded a bend in the road and caught our first glimpse of the abbey sitting beside the lake, it was easy to see why. Framed by the Twelve Bens mountains and reflected in the still water, it looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.

As we explored the estate, we learned that the stunning neo-Gothic castle was originally built in the late 1800s as a family home. Its history took several unexpected turns over the years, including a period when financial troubles led to its sale. In 1920, Benedictine nuns fleeing Belgium during World War I found refuge here and transformed the abbey into both a convent and a boarding school for girls.

Walking through the beautifully restored rooms gave us a glimpse into the lives of the families who once lived there and the nuns who later made it their home. It was fascinating to see how one building could hold so many stories. Between the history, the architecture, and the breathtaking setting, Kylemore Abbey was one of those places that felt every bit as magical in person as it does in photographs. 

Included are pictures of the Neo-Gothic Chapel and gardens as well as the interior of the Castle.

Kylemore Abbey

Elegant Estate

Along the hour-long drive back to our Airbnb, Angelica spotted a small roadside attraction that she simply couldn't pass up. For just 10 euros, she got the chance to hold a fluffy lamb and feed it a bottle of milk. Judging by her smile, it was money well spent.

Of course, no day in Ireland would be complete without a stop at a local pub. This one turned out to be the liveliest pub we encountered during our entire three weeks in Ireland.

The place was packed with young men celebrating a long-awaited soccer cup victory—their first championship win. The excitement was contagious, and the cheers were so loud they practically shook the walls.

We were guided to the dining area, where two musicians were playing traditional Irish music on a fiddle and accordion. Their performance was wonderful, though it often competed with the roar of celebration coming from the bar next door.

If there's one thing we learned that evening, it's that an Irish pub is anything but quiet when there's something worth celebrating!

The following day we headed out to see the oldest dated megalithic monument in Ireland. The tomb sits in the Burren, a unique landscape of glacier-sculpted limestone that covers about 200 square miles.

The structure dates back nearly 6,000 years and consists of a 5-ton capstone resting on upright stones. Archaeologists discovered the remains of at least 33 people beneath the monument.

Despite the bare rock, frequent wind, and cool weather, the Burren is home to 27 species of wild orchids. The orchid I photographed was the first one of the season, or so I was told.

It's amazing to see something so delicate growing in a place that seems, at first glance, so harsh and unforgiving.

I asked AI to combine 2 of my photos from that day

The ancient history I had hoped to experience in Ireland certainly did not disappoint. As we drove from the Burren back to Robin's Nest, we passed several castle ruins scattered across the countryside.

One that caught our attention was Kinvara-Dungory West, sitting quietly on a hillside. And by "quietly," I mean it wasn't overrun with tourists.

What we did find were two charming 13-year-old Irish lads selling homemade cookies. They were eager to tell us about their sleepover the night before, when they stayed up baking their treats. Their enthusiasm was every bit as memorable as the castle itself.

Sometimes it's the unexpected encounters, not the historic landmarks, that become the highlights of the day.

We Took a Tick to Ireland: Ireland Part 1

Four Ticketed Humans and One Stowaway

Here we are — four happy travelers heading to Ireland. (I’m behind the camera.) During the  trip, I noticed a tiny dark speck on Mike’s neck. As I reached to brush it away, it disappeared down the back of his shirt. I assumed it was just a bit of dirt or debris and thought nothing more about it.

The next morning, though, Mike discovered a tick happily attached to his knee. We carefully removed and killed it, and fortunately there was no later infection.

But on to our travels. As you can probably imagine, we arrived in Dublin in a bit of a stupor after the long flight to Europe. As tempting as it was to collapse into bed at our Airbnb, we decided instead to store our luggage and walk across the River Liffey to the National Museum of Ireland.

 

The museum was filled with fascinating exhibits, but the most jaw-dropping by far were the Bog Bodies — human remains dating back 2,000 to 4,000 years. They were discovered by people cutting peat (turf) for fuel. Remarkably, the bodies were preserved for centuries by the acidic conditions of Ireland’s wetlands.

The museum's antiquities range from the Mesolithic Age (8000-4000BC) to Post Midieval. Here are two items from the Viking Age.

As our attention span had drained, we had a brief discussion and came to a unanimous decision to head back to the airbnb.

 Here are a few pictures of Dublin taken as we walked back to our airbnb.

So what is Ireland famous for? Pubs!!

The Ferryman Pub, built in the 1780s, had a cozy and quiet basement where we enjoyed our first — but definitely not our last — Guinness on draft. At first, the atmosphere was calm and relaxed. But once the Dubliners got off work, the pub quickly filled with locals enjoying the other thing Ireland is famous for: the “gift of gab.” Soon the room was buzzing with laughter, conversation, and the warm energy that makes an Irish pub unforgettable.

The next day we got on the train to Galway. Stay tuned.

Falling in Love with Sepia

I spent last week immersed in an art workshop, soaking up new ideas and approaches. Stan Kurth has a relaxed, thoughtful way of teaching—one that suited me perfectly. If you’re looking for a step-by-step, highly structured class, his approach might not be for you. But if you’re interested in exploring new paths into abstract painting—as I was—his workshop can open the door to a more intuitive, non-representational way of creating.

One of Stan’s approaches to beginning a painting is to scribble small shapes using your non-dominant hand. The intent, as I came to understand it, is to interrupt control—to bypass habit and allow less conscious mark-making to take over. Since I was there to experiment, I followed along, even though the process initially felt uncertain.

From there, we moved into color. I limited my palette to the three primaries—yellow, blue, and red—as a way of keeping the focus on interaction rather than selection. Applying the paint directly from the tubes was another departure from my usual method. It introduced a level of immediacy and saturation that I don’t typically work with. Because the original marks were made with a water-soluble pen, the lines partially dissolved into the paint, creating a subtle integration between drawing and color rather than a strict separation of the two.

The final layer involved white gouache, which shifted the process again—this time toward editing and definition. As I applied it, I began to notice a pattern in my decisions. Even within a framework designed to encourage spontaneity, my shapes consistently resolved into geometric forms rather than organic ones. That realization was useful. It suggested that, regardless of the tools or approach, certain visual preferences remain persistent. Recognizing that tendency gives me something concrete to either lean into or consciously challenge in future work.

Here is my first piece, Traffic Lights. From this painting I learned that not only am I partial to geometric shapes, I also like the number three.

Here is a piece where I tried to break away from geometric to more organic shapes, Fire on the River.

Stan then introduced another challenge: to paint from reality using only memory—no photo references allowed. The goal, as I understood it, was to rely less on visual accuracy and more on internalized experience—what stays with you after the moment has passed.

By coincidence, a memory had just resurfaced on Facebook: a photo of my granddaughter and me in an art gallery. Rather than revisit the image, I used that moment as my source. What emerged wasn’t a precise reconstruction, but a filtered version—shaped by what I remembered, what I overlooked, and what felt most significant. Inside the Cathedral.

Or What Stan saw-Truck

And then came Sepia, that reddish-brown tone often associated with old photographs. It carries a warm, earthy, muted quality that naturally evokes nostalgia. Working with it felt like stepping into a different emotional register, one that was quieter and more reflective than the brighter primaries I had been using. Below are the paintings in sequence as I explored how best to use it.

Sepia Squares

Walk Away

Advidity

“Advidity” is defined as extreme eagerness, enthusiasm, or keenness. It feels like the right word for my current response to this color. There’s something about sepia that I keep returning to—it’s subtle, but deeply expressive. I find myself wanting to spend more time with it, as if it has become a kind of quiet companion in my work.

To end today's post, here is the painting I finished after returning home. The initial idea came from a walk up our driveway, where I saw our large wooden sculpture set against the trees beyond, all surrounded by the fresh greens of early spring at their base. That simple visual impression gradually evolved in the studio, shifting and reshaping itself over time into something more internal. Somewhere along the way, it became Dearly Beloved.

Tools, Texture, and Technique: Creating “Viennese Festival”

Sometimes it’s fun to bring an idea to life by drawing on all the skills you’ve developed over years of making art. This painting, inspired by a memory from my recent trip to Italy, is exactly that kind of piece.

From the beginning, I had a clear concept in mind. I wanted to divide the paper into sections while carefully considering the composition—reserving space for the hats, experimenting with ways to suggest brick walls, and incorporating texture throughout. Every decision was intentional, building toward a layered and dynamic final image.

Below is the collection of tools I used to help achieve these effects:

• FrogTape — one of my best friends for protecting clean edges
• Oramask masking film — perfect for cutting out the gondolier hats
• A cut-up credit card
• Part of a silicone dish sponge scrubber
• Inkjet waterproof film for cutting shapes and lifting paint
• Cutting mat and X-Acto knife
• Handmade stamp

All of these tools played a role in shaping the final piece.

All of these tools played a role in shaping the final piece.

Viennese Festival
30" x 22" Transparent Watercolor

This was a time-consuming painting. I had to create custom tools, wait for layers to dry, and carefully consider each “special effect” along the way. But in the end, the process was incredibly rewarding. I learned a lot and truly enjoy how this piece came together.

When A Gondelier Image Won’t Let Go

Back in early May 2025, I captured a photo of two Italian gondoliers emerging from one of the many tunnel walkways in Venice. The image has stayed with me for nine months. I kept returning to it, asking myself: how could I take that fleeting moment and turn it into a powerful painting?

For me, the dramatic black and white and the aged brick walls were what made the scene compelling. The contrast, the texture, the sense of history — those were the elements I wanted to interpret with paint on paper.

Painting # 1

For my first attempt, I pulled out a full sheet of watercolor paper (30" x 22"), one of my favorite ways to work — big and bold. Before beginning, I spent time on small trials, attempting to capture the character of the old brick walls.

In this version, I expanded the scene and created a brigade of gondoliers marching out through the narrow tunnel.

The Start

March of the Godoliers
30" x 19
Transparent Watercolor

Although the painting was successful in many ways, I felt I could say more. The idea wasn’t finished with me yet. 

Let's Try it again! 

The next step was to create a study. I wanted to find a new approach — one I felt confident about — before committing to another large sheet of watercolor paper.

I was more satisfied returning to just two gondoliers, closer to the original image that had first captivated me. But the bricks still weren’t convincing, and the squared-off top of the tunnel entrance didn’t feel right.

So I paused and reflected on the many tools and approaches I’ve gathered over the years — from workshops, critique groups, and long hours experimenting in my studio.

A Week of Play 

It became clear that painting the brick walls traditionally wasn’t giving me the depth and texture I wanted.Collage, however, can introduce complexity and surprise, so I began experimenting.

Digging through my supplies, I found newspaper — a paper weight I enjoy using for collage. I painted the pieces with black gesso and let them dry. Then I made a couple of simple stamps and pulled out some old corrugated wrapping material tucked away in a corner of the studio.

Using the corrugated cardboard, I stamped brick-like lines in reds and whites over the gessoed newspaper. Once again, there was waiting involved. Layering takes patience.

It may not have looked like much at first — but I’ve learned to trust the process.

Maybe it doesn't look like much now, but wait.

Next, I revisited the first gondolier painting and realized the tunnel needed an archway rather than a square top. An arch felt truer to the architecture of Venice and added a stronger design element.

I pulled out crackle paste, thinking it would create the aged surface I was after. Once applied, it takes about 24 hours to dry and crack, producing a beautifully weathered texture.

Twenty-four hours later, the surface had transformed.

24 hours later

The Results of a Week's Work

Venetian Workers (working title)
Mixed Media
30x22

This second painting pushed me beyond watercolor alone. The addition of collage and texture gave the bricks the age and character I had been searching for, and the archway grounded the figures in a more believable space.

Sometimes a painting requires persistence. Sometimes it asks for play. And sometimes it simply asks us to keep looking until we truly see what we are trying to say.

From a Quiet Studio to New Paintings

A Dedicated Year

Exploring the Pond

As many of you know, I typically work in a series. That means that in my art, I try to focus on the same topic or theme over a period of time. I may paint outside of that theme on occasion, but my main focus is exploring ways to talk about one place, person, or landscape.

Last October, after a wonderful weekend with two close art friends, I chose the theme of the small pond just outside my studio. The pond has great personal meaning, and beyond that, it is home to creatures and plants that tell a different story each day.

Below, I am sharing all the paintings from this series. Feel free to scroll through and leave comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts!

From Water to Silk
Transparent watercolor
29 x 21

 

From Water to Silk #2
Transparent watercolor
29 x 21

Round and Round They Go
Transparent Watercolor
28 x21

View From Above
Mixed Media
16 x 12

The Flow of Things
Transparent Watercolor
21 x 15

Fish
Transparent Watercolor
22 x 18

Now You See Me, Now You Don't
Transparent Watercolor
22 x 18

Kawasemi Kimono
Mixed Media
29 x21

Guilty as Charged
Mixed Media
29 x21

Reflections
Transparent Watercolor
9 x 12

Jeremiah and Friends
Mixed Media
11 x 14

Feed Me
Mixed Media
11 x 14

Lunch in the Pond
Transparent Watercolor
16 x 20

Come On In
Mixed Media
16 x 20

Hide and Seek
Mixed Media
11 x 29

Working on this series has been a journey of observation and reflection. The pond, small as it is, holds a universe of life and stories that change every day. Through these paintings, I hope to share a glimpse of that beauty and encourage everyone to look closely at the small wonders around them. Thank you for taking this journey with me.