a russkie in dublin

ART VS COFFEE

By Irina Kuksova

Last weekend Ms Luck brought me to Sligo – a town in the North of Ireland. "You'd better come with us for a pub quiz, that town is a kip!" – said a friend. I'm not sure if we can be friends any more. The guy was obviously trying to keep me away from this little gem, lest I should bring in more tourists.

As I had a full day of solitary incognito bliss, I made sure no time was wasted. All the feminine sentimental desires, previously blotted out by hectic city life, flooded my consciousness.  And what do you think? – yes, I gave a good rummage to every crafts store on my way. And my way was - from a crafts store to a crafts store. It took a good few hours to fill my eyesight – not my lady bag – with all sorts of hand-made cuteness. By the time my legs started to, as they say round here, "give out", I thought James would never speak to me again if I don't visit W.B. Yeats's – a famous Irish poet's - museum. Given how tired I felt, it was the last place to visit that day.

The museum – my alibi to cover all the window shopping -was closed. The plate at the door stated it's always closed on weekends. And so is the cafe. No caffeine to help me drag myself back to the hotel, so. What the plate also said, is that the building houses Sligo Art Gallery. "Last chance for a glimpse of culture before hitting my bed," I thought.

As I entered the gallery, it was a relief to see that I was not the only visitor on late Saturday afternoon. I'd have felt urged to leave if I'd been the only one. Instead, I took time to study a one-man show of an artist I've never heard of.  The fame didn't matter though. What mattered was the way small pencil drawings of a road in the woods grabbed my attention and ordered me to stay THERE – in those woods. Unlike bric-a-brac shop items, that make your eye jump from one to another, and scream "Hurry, hurry, look at me, touch me, me, no, me!" these black-and-white drawings were telling me that there is nowhere to rush and there is nothing to hear or feel – but calmness.

I left the gallery feeling refreshed. There was no need of coffee anymore on that day. Cool calm and collected, I wondered streets of Sligo till dusk, contemplating the possibility of all coffee houses going out of business if art was more accessible. That will never happen tough. All the "woods" drawings are sold out already.