A Clearing, College Green

I offered to distribute some copies of my book to the main bookstores in the city centre (my publisher, Salmon, is located on the Cliffs of Moher). I noticed this artist working near 'Books Upstairs', whose steps are just to the right. I was less interested in the highly skilled work he was engaged in (a copy of one of the Old Masters' paintings of The Virgin) than the workmanlike intensity of his sloped posture, which reminds me of those wind-worked trees a few posts back.

Part of what makes pavement art unique is that the artist has to be at least three things in one: artist, exhibitor & curator. Ideally, there should be something incantatory in the work (e.g. luminous colours, a high level of graphic/reproductive skill etc.), that throws open a window in the grey, truly pedestrian canvas. The more elaborate the work, the more poignant it is, since, like sand-sculpture, its creation is wedded to its swift destruction. If it is good enough, passers by will be stop to warm themselves, to apprehend a stained-glass fire, a growing Rose Window licking their feet.

A minute later I passed another street-scene that snared my eye, a motor cyclist patiently getting what I assume is a transfer on his arms (couldn't be a tattoo, could it?). Such public intimacy arrested me. I was going to make it my blip-photo, but changed my mind.

I paid a brief visit to my friend Fr Noise on O'Connell Bridge: a plaque to a fictitious priest, set in the stone by anonymous artists, and allowed remain (after some debate with some members of the City Council, who had wanted it removed). If anyone's interested, I wrote a detailed post about it on my LIGHTBOX blog. I was delighted to see that his pew is still in place, since there was some concern that the more conservative (and grossly unimaginative) members of the Council might remove him for renovation and 'forget' to replace him. Fr Noise now has his own entry on Wikipedia.