Friday 17 October 2008


I'm blogging from the boarding area of Shannon airport, after clearing immigration with a pretty cool South American woman officer. These things can, and have, in my experience, been intense. Last year I was interrogated for over an hour, before they let me through. This time, she asked some straight up questions, I gave her some straight up answers, she looked at my 'story' on her big database, stamped me up straight off, and vigorously. It's a nice sound, the stamping of a passport by immigration officials. But sitting in that little corridor for the second time, I really wasn't in the humour for all that bollocks all over again, so I'm really glad it was short and sweet.

I have had so many epiphanies in this departure lounge. It's a strange environment for an epiphany. A real, literal holding area. After last november's grilling, I sat here and vibrated until they opened the plane and I got into pretzel mode. This time, I've forgotten to order the Indian vegan option (apparently it's great) but otherwise the epiphany is muted. Thoughtful. This departure lounge needs an art project, something softening, engaging, drawing in. That corridor also needs an art project, to soothe freaked out people trying to get their story together.

So, it is going to be one of those long afternoons today. I love those. It's the best kind of jetlag.

Thursday 16 October 2008



Wednesday 15 October 2008

Here is ... This is Where

Finally, my two still movies, Milla and Rose from the This is Where series, are online.

This is what they look like.

(Also viewable on the vimeo page, where they are a bit larger. Bear in mind that these works are intended for large sized projected installations. Feel free to purchase a dvd where you can view them in the comfort of your own sofa, on your lovely flatscreen telly.)

My day

I got a filling today and the anaesthetic injection contained adrenaline. At least that's what they say, I don't know, it was intense. Also, I got a puncture in town and had to get a taxi home. Now it is 12:35 am and I am about to put the first undercoat (already primed, last night) of paint on the hallway walls. It's going to be a long night.

Tuesday 14 October 2008

Monday 13 October 2008

Please forgive this momentary need for endless repetition

but seriously, cloud cuckooland. Cloud cuckooland. Cloud Cuckooland.

How Sheep Shit Made My Blog Mega

Ok it is an attention-grabbing headline, but I have to say that google brings visitors from all over the world to LUCY TAKES OFF to read and understand sheep shit better. I would say that currently, 5 % of my traffic comes from this source. I will shortly dedicate a full and in-depth post to the topic.

Sunday 12 October 2008

New Projects

I am working on assembling a few new projects from the ideas files, that I'm interested in diving into over the next few weeks. Dude. I have 28 immediately pressing minimised files on my dock right now, and I've just started looking through a whole new place I've been keeping ideas lately. Lucy Inhales Deeply.


When I was 18, part of my extended scene included a dude called Pedro. He was about our age, probably 20, and he was homeless, living by selling and taking drugs, knocking on his clients and friends’ doors at 2 in the morning, asking if he could sleep on the couch. He was a friend of Tadhg, who shared a flat with Caroline and me.

I remember him calling and asking me to just look at his eyes, as he looked up to the light, his pupils huge and wide and black. Six tabs, I’ve just taken six tabs of acid, he said. I kicked him out. He stayed for a game of Trivial Pursuit once and I remember being amazed by his ability to answer every question and take the game comfortably. I hope he got hip to "Who wants to be a millionaire?" when it came around. Pedro. I met him on Grafton Street, or maybe it was Camden street, about 3 years ago, in 2005. I was so surprised to see him, even more surprised that I recognised him, I hadn't thought of him even once since then. Pedro! I shouted, and went to greet him. He looked at me with horror. Don’t call me by that name. That’s not my name anymore. My name is Peter.

Slice o' life

So I find myself in a village where the local small shop is dying slowly from a trade that has turned away from shopping local (what's that?) to once a week car treks to the 24 hour Dunnes Stores, where they buy Everything. The local small shop used to be run exclusively by a single old dude, but he seems to have mostly retired now, and a female relative runs the shop.

But she's not there all the time because the sheer living reality of operating a slowly dying business is probably squeezing the life out of her, and so she hires this teenager to take care of things on the weekends. This teenager is cool you know, we have a chat of some sort whenever I go in, it's part of the appeal of nipping down to the shop, the whole casual blah blah of it all.

So I bring Stinky Yappy (what a charmer) for a walk down to get some Donegal Catch haddock fillets, and while I'm there, the old man comes into the shop and is kind of spruced up and cheery and he makes a bee line for the teenager. As my attention is drawn to the cola bottles it seems to me that dude is pretty delighted that teenager is around and wants to ask her questions and you know, be around her. Now, dude is like, 85 years old. Teenager is like, oh I suppose 19. She responds by shutting down and shutting up. It's a really common Irish teenaged response to weirdy old men. I did it myself sister, exactly the same way. And you know, he's never going to try to do something physically to her, and he probably won't even say anything explicitly freaky to her, but it's just all about the way he vibes in her presence, and the way she is clearly wondering why the fuck she has to cope with this shit for ten euros an hour.

Brought me back.

The beautiful beautiful Tube

Boots at Bacon

Here's Grace!