After having cameras for so long, and taking photographs with that ‘mind app’ for longer, I have always wondered why. I try to remember second by second meeting Neil Liefers assistant in some fancy Soho gallery when I seen that black and white photo of Ali cowering over Liston and finding out it was colour. That he was on the wrong side of the ring the night he shot that legendary photograph and as he was a first timer rookie, they thought “Stick him over there” not knowing he would go on to shoot the photo of the year in my book and then the Kennedys and so much else. Like so many other works that photo really made me think.

Then I think again, it’s not that particular photo so much that inspires me, it’s the fact he wasn’t allowed to be there in the first place, I like this hindrance, maybe the whole story was made up, maybe he was late and didn’t say it, and that was the spot on that side of the boxing ring he got, but I like that part of photography that isn’t allowed, I like the feeling it’s not okay to shoot photos on a train of people sleeping, but as long as you don’t hear the clicking shutter move the film on it’s somehow ok. I do this from the hip listening to music that fits the scene, carefully chosen tracks blast out the sound of the film winding on, if I can’t hear it, they can’t hear it. I get away with stealing.

I always think of Maier, Weegee, Gary Winogrand, Nan Goldin and William Eggleston over Dorothea Lange, Liebovitz even Avedon or Arbus who were maybe a little too slick for my liking [I'm usually wrong]. I say the afore mentioned because they were quick on the draw catching a pulse of a situation, I rather this frenetic way of catching the street than a meticulous set up, it’s about being in a cauldron and working my way out with a flash of a second recording, the bliss of the fight out. If it has to be landscape photography then it’s the cityscape I want to capture, not the hills rolling away under ilford clouds. It’s a city I see and that’s were the life is and It’s not the posh end, it’s where the housing has faded and the money gone, it’s the blackout with thousands of souls.

Why shoot people sleeping, living, creating in the first place, the voyeuristic part I try not to think about but that’s there inside the process. I’m trying to add up all the parts of taking a photo that make me want to keep doing it, what am I actually trying to do?

Early on seeing other photographs started a thing in my head, stills of family probably came first or photos on record sleeves could have had a serious effect on me as a kid as those images came with sound. I can barely look at photographs of my dad now he’s gone, even photographs of myself when I seemed a stupid kid. But what they don’t fail on is the instant remembrance they give me and for me particularly I see the Outside of the Inside. The part that the photograph stopped at, the outside of the frame I missed or didn‘t select, for that split of a second caught the world then and I seen it and felt it. Yes we’re talking about memories and the nostalgia that comes with all that purposeful exposure, picking a type of camera, a lens that’s wide to record as much as possible, and even the film stock will tell you about the choices I make much like a colour scheme for clothes or mood. It’s all recording, it all has good reason.

I’m a selfish loner, recording the world for me. More or less you and probably no one else and if others do get to see these bits then that’s a part of it too. Now in my mind there’s a difference between taking photos to remember the world for yourself and taking photos to put up on Facebook so that everyone else knows your story, your endeavors. I do think lately this is a predominant generation of photographers [maybe Glen E. Friedman would disagree with the term ‘Photographer’] those people who shoot only themselves and friends and family to relay to the world that they are fully functional, ‘getting on without you just fine’ or recording themselves so that they recall it after a blackout or interruption. I’m not sure this is strictly photography in the creative sense. This is not how I feel about taking photographs, I stop breathing when I see the shot develop in front of me, I need to do it even though I cannot sometimes because honestly, I’m not fully functioning myself, there’s something amiss.

I did hear that in the last year say 2010-2012 more photographs were taken in that time span than in the last 40 years. I’d well believe this with the ease that the online ‘social’ can accommodate photography from phones and digital devices, but that’s not why I would take photographs, in fact I’m both happy and sad this is so prevalent in the world and more importantly not going away.

When I think about photography as a ‘way’ I remember that I had been painting for a while at a certain stage and felt later that shooting the abstract lines I was painting could do the same for me and make more sense in my head. I had for a long time drawn and found it tough to break away from the rules I gave myself and started to not want to work like that. Weirdly now though I’m thinking of going backwards and shooting ideas I might feel could work as oils later on and secretly storing a set of ideas, involving balloons, clashes of colour in blocks and the early days come full circle it’s all for the one creative reason, staying calm.

With personal business I always like to hide behind a something, for years it was playing music for people in venues as a DJ, always trying to be obliging and self deprecating to the point I made a good few friends, less money and found networking easy, they became long time friends, I took photographs of them to remember them as well as photos of the world around them, a world inspired by just wanting to leave a mark behind as the time passed. I thought if I could record when I could that the passing would be easier to look back on, if I could record with a camera, hide behind those entire one off moments the passing wouldn’t be hard at all. But then I am collecting memories and these images can be saddening, they can do the reverse of what I wanted in the first place. I can’t reverse that time now or see my dad again and I have to do what I can to get used to that.

I do live in my own world. I’m a complete dreamer and spend as little time as possible in the real world, I’ve gotten away with this for far too long, but along the way I’ve used the work as a way into this other place, But the reality is kicking in. The photos in the future have to change; they have to say something else.

I try to work with space a good deal, like I’m running out of it, If people are involved in the work then they are there to punctuate the fact that there’s space, this would of course exclude the work I do that has a portrait aspect to it, at that level I’m trying to remember myself through other people I’ve met, almost the way songs help to recall a time. The straightforward portrait is in part again a look at a time but more for myself than them.

Straightforward untouched or just honest, much like the INK work on elders and their tattoos, I didn’t want to deceive in those works like fashion photography does, in fact all the portrait work I can remember shooting is done with certain film or a digital process that harks back to classic portraits, again like Eggleston or even Parr. The honesty for me in taking photos of people in these wider spaces or close ups is about how important it is to stick to the reality regardless of the fashion of work being done at any time. This is very difficult because modern photography has a new role involving being deceitful, lying about what is wanted and not really needed. The story’s not being told correctly.

So this bigger question of space in my own work I think could have some more potential, I have begun to record moving footage that doesn’t typically record individuals [except in a space but rarely] and these recordings do more than stills. In one case I walked a beach in the south of France that worked for me and thought it would be useful to keep this place in my pocket, the recording is on my IPhone charging in the wall right now. Another is a sweep of a garden balcony in Brooklyn belonged to my friends, Jen and Marley Lyon on Dikemann street in Red Hook, again a calming place and now forever in the pocket. These moving pieces seem to do a little more than say pure stills, but I feel like I’m selling out on my cameras.

Space in a quickly receding world is a premium, so like the last days of the world which will come sooner than we think, when say fresh water is gone and the sky is covered out by solar panels, we might want to remember what it was like before the streets and fields became closed off or built upon. Maybe that’s actually what’s happened in my mind, I’m recording for the end.

So I look for space, interesting areas of simple colours, blocks of concrete covered in green and glass or the odd unusual skyline interrupted by a noisy woman layered bodies waiting for the world or a train line covered in cables that carry the same noise. Street lamps, men sleeping on the grass, Dogs. Anyone different.

So this is me, this is what I might be happy to do forever more, with a camera I look for writing on the walls, the storytellers and fringe maniacs and in this case since before Christmas the graffiti heroes, the theatre of it, the legends and the marks left on the sleeves of my city. I meet these mark makers and hear their stories, stories just like your stories just spoken differently and It all makes me happy in the recording, I have to do it, I’m better for it “I’m ok”
Nervously I thought this might go arseways but they’re not that scary, they are more like me in trying to remember through their work and leave it behind somehow so that eventually after walking into a place on your own as a lone artist a lone spider you will gather friends together and not leave the same way you came in.

They know you because you did something no one else did, you remembered for them, you learnt lessons through the long and short days and although tough, you came through the other side with something worthwhile to share a creation a message and you’ll never be on your own with something like that, something worth handing back.

Aidan Kelly

Talking about spiders is good.

His series of works on the extinct Irish Elk have stood out from the rest, his clever use of them as a metaphor for the way the countries elite discard it’s people like its depicted icons of Irish wildlife show us that his thought process is different then most others, on the scene they talk about him as a painter in the actual sense and therefore ideally different for Firstfortnights aims.

It was myself who suggested to him knowing his previous work that maybe these leans days could be akin to keeping the wolf from the door. What’s mine is mine and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it, would that be something he’d consider? I did love the idea that James Earley could easily tackle a Wolf and nail it.

The result is a vast sweep of a piece with a colour palatte that’s impressive. All with a little help from Kevin next door in the Ideal Fruit Company, the sound of the passing Luas trains and a fearless friend Sam who cut the work in half.

Aidan Kelly

Talking to JAMES EARLEY

With his tall disposition and glorious ginger beard, striking a northern pose you might have spotted DMC’s work in Dublin before when he turned up first at the For The Love Of Mill street expo in 2009, He’s one of the heads behind the WhiteWash shows in Portadown and his trade mark ‘Girl’ pieces pop up more north of the border [he’s from Lurgan] than down south here, but that’s changing as he intends to spend more time in Dublin as 2013 progresses.

Thankfully for us he’s thrown up one of his classic looking ladies for this years festival, with an addition of a gold skull as a gift on the prime location of the doorways next to Costume, Drury street.

Strikingly the Girls he depicts all have a touch of sadness to them, they rain to the ground like the colours wash away all the parts unwanted and for FirstFortnight this has a special significance to what his work relays and how it ties in with our grand message.

Aidan Kelly

Talking to DMC.

Eoin – “As with much of my works, ‘Are You Content?’ tackles the issues of depression, darkness, and the light at the end of the tunnel – That glimmer of hope, that everything is not really as bad as it seems!”
The image and question are a mark to directly confront each individual viewer personally, to ask themselves, is everything really ok?

Many thanks to the organisers or First Fortnight!
First Fortnight’s key aim is to challenge mental health stigma and prejudice through the creative arts. We believe the arts allow us to create a space where people can talk about mental health issues in a very non-scripted manner and help to change people’s perceptions about an issue that effects us all.

www.ArtByEoin.com
www.facebook.com/artbyeoin2

I can Imagine the bus journey from Clonmel Tipperary to Dublin and that it fit like a glove as an experience resembling the plight of his beloved heroes and their angst, The Smiths. Over the shit speakers on a coach, one of their laments on the loss of youth, travelling into a discovery of life and the acceptance his haircut would garner in the bigger city blasts a memory into his decision to leave.

He has a love hate relationship with Dublin like most of us, it helps and hinders us, but he leaves and after deciding to spend 10 years in London as a poster boy for Greenpeace, clubbing till he fell over and discovering politics sat well with stencil work, paint under the fingernails and turning heads with his message, he just became staunch. His ideas got clever, funny, the work said something no one else dared try and people started to remember his three-barreled name.

He talks about a good friend who had a birthday on the same day as Christmas day but sadly it was that particular Christmas day his friends father passed on.
So amid the post on his Face Book page about his loss most of his friends seemed to ignore the news and congratulate him on his birthday. This sparked a conversation inside Will’s head that made him think, how many ‘real’ friends can you actually have online? Social media cynicism started to rear its awful head, you dig a little deeper and all is not right, what you imagine helping does more hindrance.

This work is dedicated to all those who call each other on the phone as opposed to ‘like’ what you said online, to those who say what’s actually on their mind instead of covering up the days slowness with fast words, it might be if you were that busy in your life day to day you wouldn’t have that much time to waste on pointless status updates. Someone once said to me if you don’t have anything good worth saying, say nothing at all.

Aidan kelly

Talking to WILL ST LEGER in Studio about his piece.

It’s fairly scarce to see pretty girls painting on walls anywhere, concentrating on promoting the female form Friz gently but quickly covers a great deal of space in one days work. Marian Noone from Belfast up north is the newest artist to join our crew at the street art level for firstfortnight. You can tell she has worked with these kind of issues before, there’s a hint she represents a signature of work least seen elsewhere and her piece inspired by a previous collaboration in another part of the country led her to do this large scale mural.

Over three large panels on the near end of Crow street a beautiful woman’s transition from crumbling to butterflies is a sublime take on the way some days are heavier than others. She explains where the inspiration came from and why she chose this type of figure, The heroic and beautiful female form which is a staple in her work.

Aidan Kelly

Talking to FRIZ

Those who know me well know that I talk a lot but I find speaking from the heart, really talking honestly about my fears and problems, very difficult, as a lot of people will understand and share. I hide behind my jokes, my subtleties and my not so subtleties. My family, close in our own way, are often all speaking at once, each engaged in our own conversations and listening to no one else. I chose to listen from a very young age. I listened to friends, listened to strangers on the bus, listened to everyone. I didn’t feel good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, or just enough enough to have my own opinion, to stand up for myself or just to talk about my own issues that troubled me.

Silence is what allows shame to fester and grow. As I entered my twenties, I became very depressed, buckling under the façade I’d created for self-protection. Nobody knew how I was feeling and I did a very good job of pretending that everything was ok. I had a great set of friends, good job and was in college. Things were ok, but I wasn’t at all, really. The first person I confided in walked away, no interest in what I had to say. I tried to explain to other friends how I was feeling, and they listened, but were ill equipped with what to do with the information. I kept afloat with their enduring friendship, but also kept silent about my real feelings. I became very good at being the person I thought others wanted me to be, rather than just being myself. I threw most of my efforts into work and finishing my degree, which I achieved despite many missed lectures due to days where I couldn’t drag myself out of bed, amid tears and suicidal thoughts.

Eventually, enough was enough. After I graduated college, I began to experience panic attacks, which I feared daily. Going to public places were wrought with anxiety. I cancelled so many nights out and events with friends, as I couldn’t leave the house at times. I felt guilty for stretching myself too thin between everyone, and guilty for letting everyone down. Getting the bus was a huge feat at times and learning how to drive was a sheer test in my resilience. After a huge panic attack in my car, where I nearly crashed and then sat on the side of the road, hyperventilating, I knew it was time to do something. I sat in front of a doctor, sobbing uncontrollably and she prescribed me antidepressants and an antipsychotic (!) drug for when the panic struck. It wasn’t enough.

The week of my 25^th birthday, I treated myself to my first counselling session. Talk about a pity party! I smoked outside the building nervously, and gave a short, dark haired woman a light. I didn’t know she was the woman I was about to sit in front of and cry for 50 minutes with. Once I started talking to her, I couldn’t stop. I outpoured years worth of memories to her, things I thought never bothered me. I cried for the remainder of the session, left with my head down and my face streaked, and vowed never to go back. It was too difficult, I decided. I was better off behind the wall I’d grown to protect myself, despite the fact I was attacking from within.

A month or so later, I decided it was worth another try. I contacted another therapist and began my journey in therapy. It was difficult. My therapist, gentle and considerate, stayed silent when I resisted, prompting me to fill the void. It was a learning experience in many ways, but fundamentally, I learned how to talk for the first time, uncensored and unabashedly. I was listened to and felt understood. For one hour a week, I could say anything without fear. It poured out into what I call, the real world, too. I finally began to stand up for myself and speak out, hesitantly at first.

It ebbs and flows. When I have bad days or weeks, my first instinct is to retreat into myself and withdraw from the world. Sometimes this is a good thing, but I find it more beneficial to just talk it out with someone. I have created, over the years, a network of people with whom I can talk with. My friendships have grown in strength, and my new friendships are based on congruence and trust. I’m no longer afraid to talk about my experience with depression, or my feelings as they are in the present, or the worries of my future. It’s a constant learning process and I am constantly testing myself and challenging myself. Where I can’t talk, I’ll send that difficult email or text; not ideal, but it’s still words. The worst responses I could ever imagine receiving, I have only ever heard from myself.

I write this article, not because I have conquered my fear of talking about my vulnerabilities, but because it still sits beside me on a daily basis like that person on the bus you hoped would sit somewhere else.  On my first day in my Diploma in Psychotherapy and Counselling class I wrote, anonymously, that I was terrified of speaking about myself in front of the group for fear of being judged or that my experiences, issues and fears would not be taken seriously. I was not the only one in my class with that fear. I still see a therapist on a regular basis, as it is a course requirement, but I would still see her even if I were not studying the subject. My friend Roisin calls it “The Chats” and we believe that EVERYONE can benefit from them. It’s never a bad thing to have someone around that always has your back. It’s expensive but for me, it’s worth every penny.

Give it a try. It doesn’t matter if you think others have more important things going on, or bigger fish to fry; if it’s worrying you, or important to you, then say it. Find someone whom you can trust and share what’s on your mind. Ring the Samaritans or email Aware, contact Pieta House, or the countless other organisations that offer support and information. Talk to your GP. Counselling services are out there, and they are not just for those who have been bereaved, or have experienced a significant trauma. It’s good to talk, those BT adverts have told us, but you have to listen too- to anyone who chooses to confide in you and to yourself too. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you that you aren’t enough and don’t be afraid to talk, be more afraid of staying quiet.

- Ana Reynolds

As the days go on new works make it to the walls when the featured artists get them organized, as the stencils get cut, or the cans are picked up, designed on desktops in studios elsewhere or they answer their phones and the words come together on a simple sheet of paper, the process is good for everyone and the story gets told.

I had an interesting conversation recently whilst talking about the aims of FirstFortnight in which a good friend said how great the idea was but how theatrical it all was, that we were using the walls of the city to say what we wanted to say, that the walls of Dublin could be used to shout about ideas like theatre did back when there wasn’t as many distractions. Very interesting idea.

There’s no better theatre than Morgan’s ‘You are Every Thing’ stretching across a couple of metres black and white simple and striking. Morgan wants to get under the skin of this city he does this by being allsorts, part graphic designer, instagram nut, photography music stickers and full on vocal about everything till it’s fixed. We agree as much as we disagree and in this strange time that counts for a stable relationship, he’s a good man in a bad town.

Looking like everyone has turned up on Temple lane south for the install including Lollie my  Cavalier who acted as project manager instead of Miko the pasting commenced and Will St Leger was on hand with his skills as a poster boy for Greenpeace. What most of us didn’t expect was the overall size of the work and its pure graphic. If theatre was what you want then this was Act one. Act two to commence in The Workman’s club during the actual festival or just before it with a completely hand painted ‘CHIN UP’ for their outside area. Have a look and I dare you to resist taking a photo of it as you pass.

Aidan Kelly

Morgan Interview

We’re not great with heights but the job distracts us and thankfully the ladders are big enough to get us up onto a rooftop which is right at the Luas Line on Aran street east, Northside of the city. It’s a fairly large wall that ADW has gratefully accepted for his ‘Hold Fast’ piece but getting eight to ten feet stencils up there was a challenge, and… up one ladder, never mind ourselves and the bottles of fizzy orange and chocolate to keep us going. What is it with street artists and vertigo?

ADW agrees its cold and we try to get started quickly. What becomes apparent is that the Luas is a great deal more frequent than we thought, this means we start to notice people paying attention to us up on the roof, as the piece grows some on bikes stop and take photos with their phones, barristers in their superman cloaks stop stare and shrug their shoulders – we are causing a distraction which is what we’re in the business of doing. And soaking wet stencils.

ADW is joined by Morgan for the continued laughs and moral support, It takes us a couple of layers and filling and only four hours to complete the large piece just before the light goes, there’s no way I’m getting back onto this roof so I scramble everyone to get the area clear and take a decent shot with the four courts in the distance.

We think it’s a long day but it really isn’t, we wrap up and get some noodles, at least we’re in a warm place and as if we didn’t do enough an hour later we get to Moxie studios and I cut down Gerry the spider and have them all ready for the pasting next day. Talk about a full on day.

I think JP’S drop off of fizzy Orange did the trick.

Talking to ADW

Aidan Kelly

The more I meet artists the more it appears that their work embodies everything that they say, this seems obvious to point out, but in the case of Solus it’s less about being the flavor and vocally telling all and sundry why he exists but more about letting the results say what has to be said. This fits rather well with his demeanor, he’d be a great driving companion as he’s actually quite quiet. He gets on with it, does the hard work without being distracted except for the odd cigarette and coffee and does the job quickly.

In your mind you let him get on with things, you don’t want to distract the process, he’s working it out he’s drifted off and daydreaming about how he got here. Then this piece is close to the bone, he lost his sister only a few years ago and you can hear it in his voice, it helps that this work comes up and that he has the chance to do it for us, but then to think it through, because whilst we gain direct benefit from a strong piece and his calm completion of the message, we shouldn’t forget it has helped him a great deal more.

Aidan Kelly

Interview With The Artist