Xxxxx

�

Xxx

xx

Xxxxx

Xxxxx

Xxxxxxx FESTIVAL OF VISUAL ARTS GALWAY 6th-�1st NOVEMBER

2009

Our need for consolation

is impossible to satiate

taylors hill road

salthill rd lr

st mary ’s

rd

the crescent

Fr Griffin Rd

Claddagh Q

uay

grattan rd

grattan rd

Henry St

shantalla rd New

cast

le R

d

University Rd

Dom

nick St

Mill St

Nuns’ Island

Dock RdMerchant ’s RdMiddle St

Fairgreen

Forster St

College rd

college rd

Prospect Hill

bohermore

lough atalia rd

seamus quirke rd

thomas hynes rd

siobh

an m

cken

na rd

upper newcastle rd

Dyke R

d

Headford Rd

head

ford

rd

quincentennial bridge

sean mulvoy rd

tuam rd

circ

ular

rd

Shop St

Long Walk

whitestrand rd

EyreSq

Eglington St

5

6

1

8

74

2

3

Venues

Fairgreen Building 1�pm - 6.00pm, Daily

St. Nicholas’ Collegiate Church Family Workshop 3.00pm, 7th NovemberPublic Workshop6.30pm, �0th November Installation9.00am - 6.00pm, Daily

Galway Arts Centre 10.00am - 5.30pm, Monday - Saturday 1�pm - 5.30pm, Sunday

1

2

4

5

6

73

Galway City Museum 10am - 5pm, Tue - Sat

Nuns’ Island TheatrePerformance�.00pm - 6.00pm, 8th NovInstallation 1�pm - 6pm, 9th - 14th Nov

University Hospital 10.00am - 6.00pm, Daily

Bar No.8 - Live@88.00pm, 18th November

1261.00pm - 6.00pm, Daily

8

This year TULCA is played out in the shadow of a tough economic climate, where the role of the individual and the community are called into question. The Board and staff of TULCA have enjoyed the process of producing this year’s festival with Helen Carey. It asks more questions than it answers, placing the viewer in an active position. We hope that you, the viewer, find this year’s TULCA engaging, challenging and enjoyable.

Maeve MulrennanChairperson, TULCA Board of Directors

Our need for consolation is one of the most defining traits of being human. Our ability to search for this consolation and the capacity to recognise consolation is a great human virtue. In including Annemarie Neary’s short story GUEST in this catalogue, it is how we dared to try and articulate the heart of the exhibition in words. TULCA 2009 is proud to present work exploring what it means to be in this world.

Helen CareyCurator

FESTIVAL OF VISUAL ARTS 6th - 21st NOVEMBER

2009

2

�

Guy Ben-Ner

Second Nature

Guy Ben-Ner born in 1969 in Israel is a video artist whose work represented Israel in 2005 Venice Biennale. He participated in Skulptur Projekte Münster in 2007. He is currently having a mid-career survey exhibition at MassMOCA and will premiere a new work at Performa Biennial in New York in November 2009.

Second Nature, 2008HD video, color, soundGalway Arts Centre10.00am - 5.�0pm, Monday - Saturday 12.00pm - 5.�0pm, Sunday

Photograph courtesy of the Artist and Postmasters Gallery, New York

�

‘How Do You Just Live?’, 2009Neon on BoardGalway University Hospital, Newcastle Road and Fairgreen Building12.00pm - 6.00pm, Daily

Elaine Byrne

‘How do you just live?’

In a short residency within the hospital, Elaine Byrne explored the places and the people who passed through the hospital: people who worked there, patients and visitors. In this work, she tries to express what she feels captures the experiences in common from this wide range of people in a place that is part of life but also has the character of being apart.

Elaine Byrne studied sculpture at the Kensington and Chelsea Art College, London and the Frink School of Sculpture, Stoke-on-Trent. Elaine has exhibited in the U.K. and in Ireland, most recently in THEY HAVE EYES, Leinster Gallery, Dublin, PUBLIC GESTURES in the Lab 2009, WHITE NOISE, Studio 6 at Temple Bar Gallery and Studios, 2008.

Photograph courtesy of the Artist

5

R V B, 200� Digital Video Images Denis Connolly and Anne Cleary Sound Denis Connolly with DinahbirdGalway Arts Centre10.00am - 5.�0pm, Monday - Saturday 12.00pm - 5.�0pm, Sunday

Cleary & Connolly

R V B

Living and working in Paris and working frequently in Dublin, Anne Cleary and Denis Connolly’s recent ensemble of work ‘HereThereNowThen’, first exhibited at LCGA in Limerick, Ireland, regrouped at the Pompidou Centre in winter 2008, for an exhibition entitled POURqUOI PAS TOI?. Their work has been exhibited worldwide including at the Yokohama Triennial in Japan, the Czech National Gallery in Prague, the Museum of Modern Art in Marseille. They are currently presenting their interactive works at Sesc Pompéia in Sao Paulo in the exhibition SOMBRAS E LUz (Ombres et Lumières, Cité des sciences et de l’industrie, Paris ). In 2008 their work was featured at the Forum of Cognitive Science at the Cité Internationale Universitaire in Paris. Cleary and Connolly were awarded the AIB prize 2009.

Photograph courtesy of the Artists

6

Yellow, 2009Performance and InstallationNuns’ Island TheatrePerformance: 2.00pm - 6.00pm, Sunday 8th NovemberInstallation: 2.00pm - 6.00pm, 9th - 1�th November

Photograph courtesy of the Artist and Kevin Kavanagh Gallery

Amanda Coogan

Yellow

Winner of the prestigious AIB Prize 200�, Coogan has performed and exhibited her work nationally and internationally including Venice Biennale 0�, Liverpool Biennal 0�, PS1, New York, Galeria Safia, Barcelona, RHA, Dublin, Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, Asiat opia, Bangkok, Centre Culturel Irlandais, Paris and MARTa Museum, Herford. Curated by Marina Abramovic, Coogan took part in WHEN TIME BECOMES FORM at Artists Space, New York (September 2008). Her most recent exhibitions included participation Manchester International Festival (July 2009), the Dingle Film Festival (September 2009), NOUGHTIES BUT NICE, Limerick City Gallery (September 2009), VISUAL, Carlow, (September 2009).

7

Andrew Dodds

Adrift

Andrew Dodds has exhibited widely in major museum spaces, public galleries, artist-run spaces and sites beyond the gallery. He has received awards from, among others, the British Council, Arts Council England and University College London, which funded a research trip to the Galapagos Islands. Andrew Dodds is a Belfast-born artist currently based in London. Amongst his many commissions, his most recent includes ‘All things’ for the exhibition A DUCK FOR MR. DARWIN, Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art, Gateshead, 2009, and ‘Arcadia amongst the ruins’ for NEW SITES – NEW FIELDS, Leitrim Sculpture Centre.

Adrift, 2009Sound and AmplifiersGalway City Museum10.00am - 5.00pm, Tuesday - Saturday

Adrift. View from Connemara looking towards Shipping Forecast area Rockall. Photograph courtesy of Ceara Conway

88

American Theatre, 2007Slides Projection and AudioFairgreen Building12.00pm - 6.00pm, Daily

Photograph courtesy of the Artist

Maryam Jaffri

American Theatre

Maryam Jaffri , born in Pakistan, lives and works in Copenhagen and New York. She has participated in solo and group exhibitions internationally, including Neuer Berliner Kunstverein, Kunsthalle Helsinki, The Kitchen (US), Centre d’Arte Passerelle (FR) 1st Thessaloniki Biennial, Contour the �th Biennial for the Moving Image (BE), The Renaissance Society (US) and Salzburger Kunstverein.

9

Clare Langan

Metamorphosis

Clare Langan has exhibited worldwide, including most recently representing Ireland at SOUNDS AND VISIONS, ART FILM AND VIDEO FROM EUROPE, Museum of Modern Art, Tel Aviv (February 2009). In 2008 ‘Metamorphosis’ was exhibited in the Singapore Biennial (2008), curated by Fumio Nanjo, won the Principle Prize at the Oberhausen International Short Film Festival, Germany and was exhibited at the Lyon Biennale; Houldsworth Gallery, London; Loop, Barcelona; NCA Gallery, Tokyo; Pratt Art Gallery New York and the Miguel Marcos Gallery, Barcelona. She represented Ireland in the 25th Bienal de Sao Paulo (2002), Brazil with ‘Too dark for night’. ‘A Film trilogy’ was exhibited at THE INTERNATIONAL 2002, Tate Liverpool, The Liverpool Biennial.

Metamorphosis, 200716mm anamorphic film transferred to DVD with 5.1 surround soundGalway Arts Centre10.00am - 5.�0pm, Monday - Saturday 12.00pm - 5.�0pm, SundaySupported by the Arts Council of Ireland, rish Film Board, Dublin City Council

Photograph courtesy of the Artist

10

location/ translationMixed Media Installation Galway Arts Centre10.00am - 5.�0pm, Monday - Saturday 12.00pm - 5.�0pm, Sunday

Dennis McNulty

location/ translation

McNulty represented Ireland at the São Paulo Bienal in 200� and returned in 2008 with the collaborative multidisciplinary project ‘Weightless Days’. He was awarded a residency at the Centre Culturel Irlandais, Paris in 2005. Recent shows include, THE SOUND I’M LOOKING FOR, Charles H. Scott Gallery, Vancouver (2008), LANDSCAPE 08, The Dock, Carrick On Shannon (2008). Solo shows include Dx/DT at VOID, Derry (2006) and most recently FRAMEWORK/RUPTURE at Green On Red, Dublin (2008), which was accompanied by the seminar AFTERTHOUGHTS.

Curatorial projects include Underground, Dublin (2008) and Volume at Temple Bar Galley & Studios (2009).

Photograph courtesy of the Artist and Green On Red Gallery

11

Orphanage II, 2009Oil On Canvas Galway City Museum10.00am - 5.00pm, Tuesday - Saturday

Paul Nugent

Orphanage II

Paul Nugent has exhibited internationally and nationally, with recent solo exhibitions including REMEMBRANCE Part I and Part II, Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin (2009), REMEMBRANCE, Kerava Art Museum, Finland (2009), VIGIL, Temple Bar gallery and Studios, Dublin (2007), He exhibited in TERROR & SUBLIME, Crawford Art Gallery, Cork (2009), ExPLORING A NEW DONATION, IMMA, Dublin. In 2008, his work was included in REPRESENTING ART IN IRELAND, Fenton Gallery, Cork, IN THE MIND’S EYE, a national touring exhibition, THERE NOT THERE, Crawford Gallery, Cork curated by Dawn Williams. Paul Nugent is a Dublin-based artist.

Image courtesy of the Artist and Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin

12

Kitty Rogers

Relic…Artifact

While spending time in St Nicholas’ Collegiate Church, Kitty Rogers, as the Artist in Residence will explore the roles of the ornamental and decorative in establishing the dominion of a spiritual space. Through the processes of drawing and research she will make a series of work reflecting upon the formation of spatial identity.

Rogers had her first solo show last year entitled ENCODE, ADORN in conjunction with Meath County Council Arts Office. She showed in WHITE NOISE, in Studio 6, Temple Bar, 2008. She conducts workshops with diverse groups in the Dublin City Gallery the Hugh Lane. Her studies include postgraduate degrees from NCAD, IADT as well as primary degrees from UCD.

Relic…Artifact, 2009 Multimedia InstallationSt. Nicholas’ Collegiate ChurchFamily Workshop �.00pm Saturday 7th NovemberPublic Workshop, 6.�0pm Friday 20th NovemberFor information please contact TULCA 087 069 �007

Between Here and the Sea, 2009. Watercolour on Graph Paper. Courtesy of the Artist

1�

Ann-Sofi Sidén

In Passing

Ann-Sofi Sidén is one of Sweden’s most prominent contemporary artists. She often sets out from extreme situations, depicting them in an undramatic way. Ann-Sofi Sidén has participated in major international group exhibitions, including MANIFESTA 2 and CARNEGIE INTERNATIONAL, biennales in Sao Paolo, Venice and Berlin. Sidén has held solo shows in Seccession in Vienna, Museé D’Art Modern in Paris and the Hayward Gallery in London. Ann-Sofi Sidén was educated at Hochschule der Künste in Berlin and the Royal University College of Fine Arts in Stockholm, where she is now Professor of Fine Arts. She lives and works in Stockholm and Berlin.

Photograph Jens ziehe. Courtesy Galerie Barbara Thumm, Berlin

In Passing, 2007� screen videoFairgreen Building12.00pm - 6.00pm, Daily

1�

Ken Fandell

Between Me & Galway Bay

126 is pleased to present new work by Ken Fandell. This is his first solo project in Ireland and in Europe. ‘Between Me and Galway Bay’ is an investigation of contemporary mythologising, commodifying and romanticising of Ireland, done from �,500 miles.

Ken Fandell has exhibited widely nationally and internationally. Recent exhibitions include DEFINING MOMENTS IN PHOTOGRAPHY, 1967-2007 at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago; IN WORDS: THE ART OF LANGUAGE at The University of Delaware; ANTENNAE at the Houston Center for Photography. His work is included in the collections of the Brooklyn Museum of Art, Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago and the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

126 present, with the support of TULCA

Between Me & Galway Bay, 2009Mixed Media Installation126, Artist-run gallery, queen Street091 569871contact@126.iewww.126.ie1.00pm - 6.00pm, Daily

Live@8Video and PerformanceBar No. 8, New Dock Road8.00pm - 10.00pm, Wednesday 18th November

TULCA 2009

Live@8

TULCA places a high quotient on performance and live events. In homage to this and honouring the tradition of the highly successful Live@8, a marathon of projections and performance will take place .

Participating artists are: Martin Boyle, Patrick Corcoran, Tom Flanagan, Stephen Gunning, Tracy Hanna, Sarah Hurl, Austin Ivers, Aileen Lambert, Chris Leach & Lisa Flynn, Ciara McMahon, Katarina Mojzisova, Anne O’Byrne, Marie Louise O’Dwyer, Aine Phillips & Manuel Vason, Linda Shevlin, Berndnaut Smilde and Sean Taylor.

Photograph courtesy of www.bar8.ie

15

16

TULCA Talks

3.00pm Saturday 7th November 2009, Fairgreen BuildingTULCA 2009 MappedTour with festival curator, starts at Fairgreen Building.

4.00pm Sunday 8th November 2009, Galway Arts CentreAnnemarie NearyAuthor of GUEST reads her short story for visitors to the festival.

7.00pm Wednesday 11th November 2009, Nuns’ IslandValerie ConnorA New Terrain for the International Arena: biennales re-configured in a post-boom world.

7.00pm Tuesday 17th November 2009, Nuns’ Island GMIT Debate: What is an art education for?How relevant is an Art education within the cultural sector today?The primary focus of the art education system is to develop innovative, creative thinkers. With a panel made up of practitioners and students, the stuff of Arts education and for what it equips the Artist, is up for discussion.

Photograph courtesy of Maryam Jaffri

18

Guest

by Annemarie Neary

From the moment they arrived in Amsterdam, the Frankels took up too much space. Mama seemed too wide for the narrow hallway and Elsa’s limbs too unruly with so much china about. Aunt Hanne lost no time in getting everyone organised. She had lots of very neat friends with scrubbed faces and weak smiles. Friends who knew things. In no time at all, one of these brought news of the Kindertransports. It seems Elsa was still young enough to qualify as a kind even though she had been wearing foundation garments for two years at least. Elsa would go to Belfast. That evening, they all sat around the atlas. They looked for Belfast on the map of England. Elsa had never heard of Belfast before: no composer, no performer, not even a conservatoire. Mama drew a spiral around London with her finger then ran it up the coast to Scotland. It was a while before they realised that Belfast was not in England at all. ‘So, Ireland then.’ Elsa must have looked blank. ‘Come on Elsa, it’s just the next island along. The last one before America.’ Aunt Hanne’s friend explained that, though it was Ireland, it was a part that England still owned. Elsa was lucky, she said. Lots of open space. Good wholesome food. As for music, many people had a piano in the house. It should not be impossible for Elsa to keep up her music. The day of the journey was one of scuffed goodbyes. Aunt Hanne said she wouldn’t be coming along to the port. ‘You mustn’t take offence,’ she told Elsa. ‘It’s just there’ve been so many, that’s all.’ Papa was unwell again. There was dread in his eyes but he seemed unable to express it. He got out

19

of bed but Mama decided it would all be too much for him and sent him right back again. He clutched Elsa’s hand a moment, then slowly shook his head and walked away. As for Mama, she talked all the way to Rotterdam. Aunt Hanne had told her about the wedding of a distant cousin whom neither of them had ever met. Now, Mama discussed it as though she had seen it all with her own eyes; the Bruges lace in the girl’s dress, her shell-pink roses. Uncle Rudi said not a word, his eyes fixed firmly on the road. Later, Elsa sat next to a porthole. She rubbed at the glass with her sleeve to see out better but the haze and grime seemed to be on the outside. She imagined them on the quayside, their eyes straining in the morning glare then settling on someone in the same shade of blue. Nearby sat a girl of ten or so in a crinkly dress. She was sobbing, crunched up like a bonbon in its wrapper. For fear of being infected with such hopelessness, Elsa turned her back. When she could stand it no more, she went up on deck but the girl’s misery followed her like a fog. She knew she should have offered some comfort, but somehow she was unable. As she watched the flat coast slip under the horizon she began to cry herself and, once she started, the tears tripped over one another. She tried to be quiet, to avoid setting any one else off. She kept her shoulders set firm as a rack but soon she was howling into the North Sea. She leaned over the rails and shook her face back and forward into the sharp sea wind, tears smarting on her cheeks. When she had cried herself out, she walked along the deck and there she noticed others, wailing just as she had done. Some were no more than babies. One tiny boy sat with his face pressed into the barrier, his thin arm reaching for the retreating coast. ‘Mama’ he kept shouting ‘Mama’. Elsa tried to

20

touch his shoulder but he pushed himself further into the rails and so she let him be. In her head were girls who hadn’t crossed her mind since the day she left school in Berlin. She could see her old classroom, that haze of heads in the rows in front of her, blonde and off-blonde. Gerda must be accompanist all the time now. She’d be pleased with that. Even Marti can’t have been too sad. Marti with her loose curls and her way of laughing with her teeth joined perfectly together. ‘After all,’ Mama said once, ‘her father’s made a fortune out of the boycott. They’re doing well now. You can’t expect Marti to be sorry things are as they are.’ The arrival at England took her by surprise. When she awoke, children were crowding around each porthole, the little ones hopping up on tippy toes to see better. When they docked at Harwich, there were lots of people, bright flashes. It seemed they were welcome. The thought was astonishing. ‘Here, Miss. A little smile for England. And again. Come on little lad. Lift Teddy up. Show him the camera.’ Elsa caught sight of the little boy she’d noticed on deck the night before. He came and sat next to her. Silently, he slid his hand into hers. When the women with papers came to divide the children into groups, they seemed confused by Elsa and the little boy. They conferred in whispers. Eventually, someone gently prised the little boy’s hand out of Elsa’s. He went off with a woman whose hat had cherries on the brim. He didn’t cry but his eyes stayed on Elsa until he was out of sight. A train ride the width of the country. All the way to Liverpool with just sugar-pink Lili for company. The mail boat to Belfast smelt of vomit and rough tobacco and there were so few other women or girls that Lili

21

and Elsa curled up together on deck, shivering in the rain and spray. By the time the boat docked, they were exhausted. The woman who met them on the quayside drew her hands over her mouth in a pleased little peak and called them darlings. She placed a hand on Lili’s wavy hair, picked lint off Elsa’s coat. Her dress was old fashioned, Elsa noticed, and she spoke with great articulation. Each movement of her mouth was exaggerated, allowing a thorough display of her large teeth. The woman explained that, normally, they’d both be going out to the Farm. Lili, she said, would still be going there. “I’m sure, Lili, you’ll love farm life. We’ll have you milking in no time.’ Lili looked horrified. ‘Elsa, you, being just a wee bit older, are going Elsewhere.’ There were some, the woman murmured, half to herself, said so what if she’s a bit older. She’d be better off at the Farm. Fresh air. Exercise. A tonic for lungs half starved in city air. The Farm sounded trying, Elsa decided, and she was glad to be going Elsewhere. Elsa was to be placed with a spinster in the east of the city, a Miss Baker. ‘No.’ the woman said, ‘Not as far as I know. No piano.’ Elsa gathered that, having the means and the space and being Jewish herself, Miss Baker had been prevailed upon to take her in. A woman whose face seemed to sink into her chin, Miss Baker showed little interest in what life had been like for Elsa. ‘A bad business.’ was all she said. Every day, a lady came to polish and shine, jiggling like a jelly as she worked. At first, Elsa thought the woman might have a persistent cold she seemed to sniff so much. Then, she came to imagine disapproval in those sniffs. One day, Elsa stood at the cupboard full

22

of cleaning substances and tried to work out what each was for. She tried to remember what Beate used to do back home in Berlin before she decided she need no longer take orders from Mama. Elsa adopted the cleaning of the brass on the front door and the broad plate that splayed over the threshold. Each morning she would stand there, clutching at the doorknob with a soft cloth, rubbing a little, watching the distortion of her own reflected face. This position, half in and half out of Miss Baker’s house, seemed to suit her. She was always first to see the postman, a little man with two stripes of hair plastered over his pate. Mama’s letters from Amsterdam were written in tiny handwriting on fragile paper. She talked of the weather, the flowers in Aunt Hanne’s window boxes, Papa’s bronchitis. Uncle Rudi played chess with Papa, she said. Elsa wondered if he let Uncle Rudi win. ‘Papa is very hopeful that soon we will follow you to Ireland’ she wrote. ‘Our application should be considered soon’. Later, she stopped mentioning the visa application. Instead, she wrote about the canals, the pretty houses and Aunt Hanne’s talent for home-making. She mentioned no feelings of her own. There was never a word of Berlin. When she wrote back, Elsa invented a beautiful Bechstein. In her letters, Miss Baker was only a few years older than Elsa, a musician as well. She had glamorous friends who danced and told wonderful stories. Together they went to the theatre. The weather was not good; that much she admitted. No skating, of course. But the music, the piano. The opportunities she had to practice, to accompany Miss Baker on the violin. She was building herself up, getting stronger. Soon she

2�

would be able to try more muscular music. Maybe, one day soon, her first concerto. On Thursdays, Miss Baker and Elsa were driven into the centre of Belfast to a room of gilt and mirrors where elderly women in hats took afternoon tea, their chicken necks choked with pearls. The ladies would make polite enquiries as to the state of knees and hips before a hush fell on the room in readiness for the entry of the mannequins. On Elsa’s first visit, the ladies ignored her save for an occasional nod. She overheard one of them ask Miss Baker who her wee guest was. ‘That’s my refugee’ Miss Baker corrected her, and then a mannequin swept past the table and that was that. Elsa felt their eyes on her and after that she was never quite sure how a refugee was supposed to behave. After a month without a piano, Elsa’s head was so full of notes she felt it might burst. Her fingers ached for the cool precision of the piano keys. The only music in Miss Baker’s house was the ticking of the many clocks. They made time stretch through being so marked. Elsa took to sitting at the polished table in the empty dining room. She would sit there for hours with her eyes closed playing things like the Kinderstucke, little pieces that required no concentration she knew them so well. Her fingers flew across the table or sang out a melody or plunged deep chords into its surface until it seemed as though the wood itself began to yield, as though there was some faint reply from the living tree it had been once. Before long, she could tell immediately that she’d played a wrong note, hear that a thumb was thudding in among the runs of notes. For all that, she found that she couldn’t play her favourite things. A single phrase of Chopin tore into her heart like ripcord. It made the walls of the little room dissolve and the music slide away from her. It made her see the world

2�

from high above her own head. Beneath her was this windy island, the grey corner into which she’d been tucked. Far over to her right was Berlin, where Marti and Gerda would be at the lake or having dancing classes with Herr Schreiber whose hair gleamed like black satin. Somewhere in between was Amsterdam, flat on its back against the sea. This view of far distant things brought too much pain and so she avoided Chopin. Her practice finished, she would take a soft cloth from the kitchen and wipe away the music from the surface of the table. One Thursday, as Elsa was returning from the Ladies’ Powder Room just before the mannequin parade, she overheard Miss Baker mention her name. ‘You see, she’ s been spoilt rotten. Doesn’t lift a hand. You do something out of the kindness of your heart and you get nothing back. Hours she spends, sitting in the dining room. I know, now, she’s had it hard but you’d think the child could show some gratitude. If you ask me, a guest should behave like one.’ A few days later, war broke out. Everywhere, the newspaper boys were yodelling about it. Miss Baker and the ladies at the mannequin parade seemed amazed by the depth of Elsa’s shock. While they were kind enough and kept refilling her cup with the dark orange tea they all drank, she saw them exchange glances when she muttered that she’d never really believed that this would happen. Miss Trimble placed her hand on Elsa’s and told her not to worry. ‘There’s no war in Amsterdam, love.’ she said. ‘They’ll be right as rain over there.’ One of the other women said it might do no harm to blend in a bit. Become Elsie, maybe, rather than Elsa. The next morning, it was raining when Elsa left the house to collect Miss Baker’s pineapple creams

25

from the baker’s shop at the end of the road. Each day since war broke out, she’d written a letter to Mama without knowing if it would ever arrive though the little postman assured her that ‘so far, now, neutral places is fine.’ She was clutching the latest in her hand, had barely strayed beyond the garden gate, when she heard the ping of something hard against the railings beside her. A sharp stone hit her in the calf and she gasped and jumped to one side. There were just two of them; little boys, no more than seven or eight, tongues out, thumbs waggling from their ears, shouting nonsense as incomprehensible as the newspaper boys on every corner. Then they started goose-stepping towards her, their fingers laid under their noses, their hands jutting up in front of them. At first, she couldn’t believe that this was meant for her but realisation streamed across her mind like ink. The children were right up beside her now, their faces scrunched up into ugly little balls. She opened her mouth to scream at them but no sound would come. Sensing her defeat, they stepped up their insults. They walked round and round her but she’d plugged her ears against them. They came closer still, circling around her like Red Indians round a totem pole, dancing their war dance. One of them took a sharp pebble from his pocket and skimmed it towards her but this time it just glanced off the toe of her shoe. They seemed to lose interest then. Without another word, they ran off in the direction of the shop. When they were gone, she found she was crying and that seemed more shameful than anything else. In her head, she saw Papa with his head bowed and spit down the back of his coat. When she went back to the house, Miss Baker was waiting at the door. ‘Come in out of that, child.’ She must have seen the tears but she said nothing. That was when Elsa

26

realised that Miss Baker knew only as much as she wished to know. She longed to have someone to talk to. Even Lili, out on the Farm, would be better than no one at all. Her longing for a piano was stronger still. That night, Elsa read all Mama’s letters. For the first time, she noticed that they always began the same way. ‘My dear Elsa, I am so glad to hear that you thrive. We are fine here.’ The first few letters were practically identical, in fact. Elsa began to read them more carefully, to see if she could find something true amongst the flowers and canals. The real Uncle Rudi, perhaps. The Uncle Rudi who had begrudged Elsa the daybed in the living room. ‘I’d like to bake more, of course,’ Mama had written, ‘but I must remember that we are guests here. A guest, Elsa, must never be an inconvenience. She must echo the needs of her host and place her own desires second.’ That night, Elsa resolved that she would not become Elsie. She would let them all know that she was Elsa, who belonged in Berlin with her own piano. Elsa, who liked to skate in winter and picnic in the Tiergarten when summer came. Elsa, who once had friends. One of the Thursday ladies must have a piano. She would find a piano. When she did, she would play it so that they would, all of them, understand what it is to be a guest.

Copyright © Annemarie Neary, 2008

Winner, the Bryan MacMahon Short Story Award 2009

Photographic still from video RVB by Cleary & Connolly

28

Acknowledgements

Board of DirectorsMargaret FlanneryDenise McDonaghMaeve MulrennanDeirdre O’MahonyJosephine VaheyOllie Walsh

Curator Helen CareyManager Ceara ConwayPA to Curator Annette MoloneyHealth & Safety Consultant Mary MolloyDesign Design AssociatesPrinter i-Supply

Technical TeamTony CordingMike O’HalloranJim RicksCathal MurphyTom FlanaganJohn Forde, UCHMarko Kivelä, Pro Av Art Oy

InternsRoisin O’Sullivan - GMITMarie Dollard - GMITAlison MathewsSiobhan McGibbonsSusan Lynch

Thank you to the artists, Judith Manzoni of Galerie Barbara Thumm, Berlin, Postmasters Gallery, Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Green on Red Gallery, Edward Holdings, Douglas Newman Good, The House Hotel, Messrs. D. & G. Barrett, James C. Harrold, Maria Cunningham, Chris Coughlan, Martin Crosbie & Tom Sheridan, James Reynolds, Mary MacCague & �rd year painting students of GMIT, Catherine Moore-Temple, Tulca Invigilators

All images copyright © the artists.

TULCA Festival of Visual Artswww.tulca.ie087 069�00

29

Sponsors

Paul Nugent ‘Orphanage II’ (Detail), 2009, Oil On Canvas Image courtesy of the Artist and Kevin Kavanagh Gallery, Dublin

Notes

�1

�2

The art of hospitality in the heart of Galway

The house hoTel spanish Parade, Galway City Centre, Ireland

info@thehousehotel.ie www.thehousehotel.ieTel +353 (91) 538-900 Fax +353 (91) 568-262

EDWARD HOLDINGSWISH TULCA 2009 EVERY SUCCESS

WITH THIS YEAR’S EVENT

Edward Holdings Ltd., Kitty Hall, Edward Square, Galway, Ireland. T +353 91 865 400 F +353 91 865 444

E info@edwardholdings.com

A luxury boutique hotel in Galway City Centre

translated exhibition title from Vårt behov av tröst är omättligt by Stig Dagerman