Tag Archives: Tenerife

Ignorant Hypocrisy – It’s Simply Mind Boggling

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Hypocrisy is an inevitable gutter that we all at time step into; however, ignorant hypocrisy is something far less palatable. I was recently present at – as oppose to engaged in – a conversation with two middle-aged English men, who were fixing my car. They were in some ways stereotypical of the ‘expats’ I described in my last post. However, they can be characterised as oblivious to learn about (not feeling superior to) the Spanish society they live in.

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Holi: A Festival of Rainbows & Love

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A time when we shake of the decorum and expectations of adulthood and re-enact what was once a simple weekend activity. The blissful simplicity of youth is reborn and we renounce expectation. Some Gulal power paint, cheap water guns and the desire to create a rainbow of anarchic revelry is all one really needs for the Holi festival. Its origins and sentiment are perhaps as beautiful as the vibrant crowd it produces.

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It’s been a while since I’ve posted and this period can only really be described as a creative hiatus. It would be wrong to call it writer’s block because the problem extended far beyond words on a page. It was more of a shutting down of creative thought. It’s curious that periods like effect more than just my writing and creativity. It – at risk of melodrama – corrodes the very sinews of the soul and chips away at my sense of purpose.

Writing and creating are towards the heart of my sense of being, if they are interrupted I feel lost.

Last year, I wrote an article about creating an artwork from chaos. I went to Tenerife’s Carnaval. It’s an event whose Christian origins are, thankfully, lost in a sea of beer, urine and colourful costumes, storming with the beats of Spanish salsa sounds. I arrived – as before – with a blank canvas, paint and colouring markers intent of creating another piece with the help of the masses.

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March 7, 2015 · 9:00 am

The Theatre of Tenerife South

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The buildings stand painted in motley – fair, auburn and white – as the curtain in rises on the Tenerife playset. Large hard-black railings protect them from ‘undesirable’ as the balconies exude pretention towards an apathetic cobalt ocean. The sun – our spotlight – disregards the seasons of the outside world and gleams relentlessly on our would-be players in their affordable ivory towers.

But, we don’t need to look far for the props to show and backstage looms at the edge of every corner. A cockroach scuttles under a buzzered gate and we follow him backstage and peer upwards at the prop houses.

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Nature of Youth and Experience

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The approaching summer always inspires in me the nostalgia of my spring. The days when me and my oldest friend would wander across the fields of his father’s farm. Meandering around cow dung, past brambles and frog spawn in search of nothing and yet with the unfaltering  purpose which comes with youth. We were in one sense adventurers & explorers and in another lords or all that we surveyed. The countryside was ours for the taking. We cared little for the path that we undertook or for the world that lay before us. And if the world failed to satisfy that thirst for exploration then our ample imaginations would naturally fill the void.

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Art as Communal Chaos

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I went to ‘Carnaval’ in Santa Cruise De Tenerife recently and decided to conduct an artistic social experiment. Art by its very nature, traditionally, – like writing – is a deeply personal, isolated and meticulous process. An individual, or group, sets out to plan, draft and perfect something that is then brought to the public for critique. My intention was to turn this concept on its head with a simple question: can art be created without a plan, talent or indeed any direction? It was with this question in mind that I set about preparing my ‘costume’ for the Carnaval.

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Life Without Seasons

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It’s a very strange situation living in a land of perpetual sun. Though it has innumerable benefits there is something elusive which islost.Thus, as the majority of the northern hemisphere goes into hibernation and the pangs of weather related depression, I sit outside a café by the beach in flip-flops and a t-shirt. Now, I am by no means advocating a winter in my native Ireland over one in Tenerife, or for that matter Moscow where I spend last winter.  Nevertheless there is anirksome feeling in my head that something has been lost.

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