The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Thursday, August 11, 2016

ars gratia arses

Wandering down Nassau Street, Dublin.
The Paddies have blocked most of the road for some interminable tram line construction.
Let's just say the work is proceeding at a leisurely pace.
Amid the pulled up paving stones and piano wire, I spy the entry to the Sol art gallery, veritably surrounded by ye road works.
And lo!
The gallery is open.
I'll go in and have a browse thinks I.
I march through the wide open door, up the carpeted stairs and straight into the wide open gallery.
A few owlish old guys are pretending to sketch something.
In the centre of the room, a beautiful mysterious girl, that old stalwart of dramatic fiction and my life, is standing statuesquely.
She ain't wearing no clothes.
Her lissom form curves towards me.
A tress of glistening black hair falls over her shoulder.
Well, well, well.
I haven't seen one of those in a while.
Quickly I pretend to look away.
A hoary old goat approaches from behind his sketch pad.
"Can I help you?" he says.
I am very much inclined to answer: "She wants me Beavis."
Instead I just smile, shake my head and make an about turn.
I pretend to be exiting hastily while pretending not to be looking at the girl.
I wonder if I pretend to stumble and pretend to have something in my eye, could I get a better look.
Presently the pretense is reality and I'm back on the street.
Well, well, well.
The gallery's street door wide open, the gallery itself wide open, and a naked woman standing front row centre.
Mother Ireland you're rearing them yet.
In the cool light of evening something touches my heart.
I see things.
The universe.
At last I understand.
Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Leonardo Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Titian.
Particularly Titian.
The whole call to art.
It's all about finding an excuse to look at naked chicks.


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