Behind the Freezer

Hybrid: Ink Drawings

2009-01-10T01:43:00.000-08:00

Ink and acrylic drawings of Hybrid using home-made wire and wooden tools on cartridge and tracing paper.

October 2006

Hybrid: Wire drawings

2009-01-10T01:15:00.000-08:00

3-Dimensional wire "drawings" of Hybrid.

October 2006

Hybrid

2009-01-10T00:58:00.001-08:00

A bra and a packaging carton combine their functions of support and containment to become a sort of lobster-pot cave-cage, with the help of some rubber bands and wire.

October 2006

where am i?

2009-01-02T04:46:00.000-08:00

Freezerbag with Skewers

2009-01-02T03:08:00.001-08:00

Part of an exercise in multiple containment-

freezerbag containing wooden skewers.

04/10/06

Candle

2009-01-02T02:53:00.000-08:00

This is a composite of lots of not-very-good photos I took of a candle.

Cracks

2008-12-31T08:10:00.000-08:00

Bottle Flower

2008-12-31T05:08:00.000-08:00

1 Sprite Zero bottle turned inside out.

September 2006

The Bridge Improvement Scheme

2008-12-30T02:07:00.000-08:00

The Bridge Improvement Scheme

The smell of rotting grass is the smell of childish optimism.
I know the sound the leaves will make before I kick them.
But I kick them anyway,
To test my memory;
To break the silence, the uncomfortable familiarity.
When I travel grass reminds me that I've come home.
But the landscape is different.
Brambles prevent nostalgic return.
Bridges fall behind the "Bridge Improvement Scheme".
There are new cuts in the earth.
Comfort is gone.

The rotten grass smells the same as ever.
But it makes me feel sick.
It smells of longing, pain, disappointment-
And the recurrent tears and fears
Of Sunday nights.

-V.L.B. 30/12/2008

Rock

2008-12-30T01:19:00.000-08:00

hidden rock-
uprooted molar.
I see once secret scars.

-V.L.B. 30/12/2008

Foamboard Airport

2008-12-18T04:16:00.000-08:00

March 2006

Foamboard, clay, balsa wood, wire, plastic.

Chimps are people too

2008-12-17T11:05:00.001-08:00

Chimps are people too.

Calpol

2008-12-17T11:00:00.000-08:00

Why does the orange calpol taste so much nastier than the purple stuff?

Is it something to do with growing up?

Update:

My mum suggested it may be because paracetamol tastes disgusting. And babies can't be drugged as much as six year olds.

Still though...

Architecture paintings 2006

2008-12-17T10:44:00.000-08:00

architecture paintings I did in 2006.

Acrylic and oil on paper.

Hairspray

2008-12-17T10:15:00.000-08:00

Weaving through the meandering mess of dazed and frantic seasonal shoppers is surprisingly more enjoyable with suitably depressing music wailing in your ear.

With the freezing wind soothing your aching skull, the lights look almost pretty. And it doesn't seem to matter when people get in your way.

You'll probably be the only happy-looking person on the street. Try it.

Portfolio 2006: Bats + Airports

2008-12-16T16:31:00.000-08:00

The portfolio I used to apply to art college in February 2006.

The theme was bats, with a bit of airport thrown in.

Bray Harbour 30/09/05

2008-12-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

some photos I took one morning down at Bray Harbour...

Project: My 3-D BATventure

2008-12-16T14:56:00.000-08:00

I feel a peculiar affection for this hybrid creature.

Reminder

2008-12-16T01:35:00.000-08:00

One night in East Village, New York, February 2008

American Fascism

2008-12-16T01:30:00.000-08:00

Chelsea, New York, February 2008

Hippies

2008-12-15T16:15:00.000-08:00

Jersey, August 2008

Dead Skin

2008-12-15T14:31:00.000-08:00

Dead Skin

My body is disintegrating-
Flaking layers of cuts, cracks, recurrent scars
Are appearing in the tension between Feeling and Pretending.

Some hurt, others don't.
I hope this new fingerprint is an Ambassador
From the other side, telling of her future coming.
She is frighteningly clean but compellingly perfect.
Does the Resurrection replicate? Or reform?
Will my fingertip ever be the same again?

Part of me hopes not,
Hopes this tiny scar will
Not join the ranks of disappointed history
But consume me entirely in its
Transformation.
I am already dead skin...

-V.L.B. 14/12/2008

Tomatoes

2008-12-15T14:30:00.001-08:00

I feel sad when the sun shines here,
Its familiar light revealing
Unfamiliar absences.
Another year separates us –

It was all ours:
The forest, the fields, the streams…
We went barefoot, explored and built dams.
Tomatoes ripened
In the exotic heat from the Tunnel.

I loved our little house
Where my mother,
On hands and knees,
Carefully clipped the edges of our
Five little lawns.

There’s nothing left now.
Just my family:
Five of us –
In a square, grey house.

My childhood friends have moved away.
Brambles Tunnel shields only
Brittle stalks of grow though the roses
And the gaping long-dead tomatoes.

The forests were felled.
We stay inside with the curtains drawn,
Watching TV. No-one notices.
Grass is beginning to creep
Over the unused piles of bricks.
Something has died…

This place is a warped echo of the past.
We expect nothing from each other.
My life here is already a pleasant
Memory. I’m waiting –
Waiting to begin my life.
Waiting to leave.

-V.L.B. 2005

Un Geste Simple

2008-12-15T14:27:00.000-08:00

You stand; arms folded; frozen:
I stand beside you.
A moment’s hesitation –
Then I put my arm around
Your shoulder – warm, solid,
Yet fragile through the
Thinness of your shirt.
Do you soften for a moment?
You turn, dreamlike,
Your eyes slowly find mine.
You smile –
But your eyes slip away,
Back to the
Hole they’re boring
In the wall.
I hope you understand
What I am trying to say.
Your worries are mine,
Just as your happiness is mine.
I would give you
My time, my sleep, my strength
If I could.
I am here for you.
I love you.

-V.L.B. 2005

The Tortoise

2008-12-15T14:25:00.000-08:00

The Tortoise

His world measures 18 x 28 inches;
His life passes by in a quiet corner.

In the beginning he rebelled.
I watched his tiny claws working against the hard
Plastic. But I knew it was futile –
He would never escape that way.
Frustrated, I wished I could explain to him.

But when he finally accepted his cage
As his universe, I felt his loss.

He knows nothing of the world outside –
Trees, mountains, rivers, oceans, continents.
He has no idea that he's a pet

In a box in a bedroom of a house in Ireland.
He thinks he is independent.
He goes where he wants within his furnished prison.

Does he realise that his life is in my hands?
I doubt he really knows that I exist.

Yet I control every aspect of his life –
Even day and night come and go with the
Flick of a switch.
He depends on me.
I make his decisions.
I foresee his future.

But he doesn't know.
He doesn't know – and it frightens me.

-V.L.B. 2005

L.C. Mock Exams

2008-12-15T14:24:00.000-08:00

L.C. Mock Exams, 2005

Caught in a delicate balancing act,
I try to hold my mind just level,
Holding all this information
Just out of reach.
But I know that it is all there.
I must remain
Confidently removed,
Waiting for the moment when I can
Make my choice,
Can pull down and grab onto what I need
And let the rest go –
But until then I must keep
A respectful distance.

I must not give my attention to
Any Single Piece of information.
For if I favour one, I will lose
My tentative hold on all the rest,
And they will slip through
My distracted fingers, and drift away,
Into the endless blue –
Like smoke –Like a balloon string.

-V.L.B. 2005