Picture are forthcoming! Waiting for more reliable wifi!

The International Wall, which we saw during our Black Taxi Tour of Belfast, had a quote painted on it that reminded me of something I have seen throughout our time in Belfast studying the 1916 Rising: “About 90 women took part in the Rising.” The passage continued to saying to what capacity they served in the battles.  Because of my personal area of interest and study, which is focusing on domestic spaces during tumultuous periods (specifically WWI), quotes like this give me pause since they assume that a woman must be on the battle front to have taken part in the rising. Perhaps I am caught up in wording, since the writers of the passage very well could have meant solely military participation, but the reasoning behind my awareness still stands: where is the mention of what it was like to be part of the domestic life during the Rising?

Surely, women have been mentioned. We have seen dozens of instances where women fought alongside men in the battlefields, and many sections of exhibits are dedicated to women in the Rising. However, I am interested in what it was like for the women who were kept indoors—women like the mothers of the boys portrayed in the movie Bloody Sunday. It is easy for these voices to get lost in the chaos of a rebellion, and finding these voices and analyzing their words is something I hope to explore further in my essay for this class.

This being the last blog post, I want to take these last few words to reflect on our trip. Today, we had our final dinner together as a group, and while I am exhausted (!!!), I feel so fulfilled. This was completely different than my previous study abroad experience, especially with the opportunity to become submerged in the period and place. I especially enjoyed the diverse experiences we had: from museums, to walking tours, to pub crawls, to theatre. We were all really lucky for and made better by this experience.

An image will be here shortly…. Wifi problems!

The Giant’s Causeway tour was incredible. Each location superseded the last, and Whitney, Shanna and I were consistently blown away. After a quick stop at a 12th century castle along the Irish Sea, we got the opportunity to cross over the infamous rope bridge (which we thought had been closed!!). The experience was terrifying but still amazing and definitely unforgetable.

After, we made the short drive to the most breathtaking scene:  the actual causeway, which we learned is the product of ancient volcanic eruptions. However, local legends about the causeway claim that giants built the structures of perfectly squared, oversized stones stacked atop one another. Since science tends to be incomprehensible to me, both options are equally logical in my eyes. If I was to connect this scene to the ideas about “place” we have discussed on this trip, I would propose that this place is made meaningful by the absence of memories. Sure, geologists can pin down the origin on the stones, but the system through which they took on their unique shape is practically inaccessible; therefore, we are left to fill in the gaps with folklore and other made up tales that work towards explaining things beyond our understanding.

Whitney and Shana found themselves shouting random adjectives at the cliffs, saying “astonishing,” “amazing,” “spectacular.” And while all of this was in jest, I can’t come up with any other way to describe the experience of the causeway. All of us have seen beautiful beaches and shorelines, but something about this place stood out. We couldn’t pin down if it was the contrast between the deep blue water, the grey stones and the green grass or the magnificence of the stones overall—or if we were made privy to something special since the day had turned out to be so beautiful. For a measly 23 pounds, we got an experience of a lifetime, in places that we couldn’t have even imagined.

The highlight of the day was the Titanic Museum. Earlier in the trip, we discussed the idea that a place harbors memory. I had mentioned the text Beloved by Toni Morrison that I had been working with for the last few semesters, in which a character says “[the memories within a place are] never going away…and what’s more, if you go there…and stand in the place where it was, it will happen again” (Morrison 36). The Titanic museum achieves this and reminds its attendees of this throughout the exhibits.
For starters, the museum contains a thorough history of Belfast’s industries, going into detail about their rope and linen industries—so much detail, in fact, that by the time attendees make it to the first sign of ship making, they have a concept of the lives of Belfast’s people. This foundation in the Belfast industries also shows the interconnectedness of labor in the city, since the museum’s layout encourages attendees to make connections between the earlier two industries and ship making, where the ships make use of the ropes and linens. The foundation in what was occurring in Belfast culminates in establishing the amount of effort and Belfast manpower that was involved in constructing the Titanic, where all the major industries had a role, culminating in the Titanic’s fate being more tragic than I had realized before, since the Titanic was a symbol of Belfast’s abilities.

Additionally, throughout the museum, windows would make attendees privy to space in which the Titanic stood prior to its first voyage. After having seen who built the ship, models of the rooms that filled it and photos of the maiden voyage and its passengers, I could easily imagine the ship being in the empty shipyard—making the space in the shipyard a place.

I left with an eerie feeling about the experience. The museum disrupted some of my earlier ideas about the Titanic tragedy, but it mostly solidified the power of a space. While places like the GPO, St. Stephens Green and The Shelburne Hotel in Dublin all harbored remains of their extreme histories, I was mostly effected by the place of the Titanic. I think this mostly has to do with the response of the people who also inhabit the historic place. Whereas the Titanic Museum is soley dedicated to memorializing the ship and its passengers, Dublin’s historic sights mostly are part of everyday life for Dubliners: a post office, a recreational park, etc. I imagine in 15 years, when the shipyard area of Belfast is finished with its revitalization process (which it has posted plans for on the sight) that the place will become more like Dublin, where the memories will still remain but they will be slightly less intrusive—where it may be more difficult for them to pervade your senses in the way that the quote from Morrison’s text suggests.

Bloomsday in Sandycove was unforgettable. Besides the incredible location, being in a place where you can turn the corner and be greeted by hundreds of men in the themed hats and women in the early-20th century garb.

The extremeness of the costumes and celebration were all reminders of what this text has done for Irish identity. We have this St. Patrick’s Day, leprechaun notion of the Irish back in the United States, and with that stereotypical view follows ideas of binge drinking, loudness, crudeness, etc. This stereotype perpetuates the Irish identity propogated by the English, unbeknownst to the perpetrators. Seeing the Bloomsday celebration is a reminder to refrain from that crude interpretation of Irish identity, and also a reminder that the Irish are aware of this interpretation and cling to Joyce, and put him on a pedestal, in order to push back against these stereotypes.

Whitney and I stumbled upon the reading of Ulysses on accident–we were shushed on our way up the stairs because we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. The reader was spectacular, and the nuance of his reading makes me wish that he could do an audio recording for the text for the day that I decide to tackle Ulysses.

I found myself wishing that I had already read all of Ulysses (but if I had I probably wouldn’t be saying that!) because of all the festivities going on. However, during the time not seeing other Joyce related things, Shanna, Whitney and I interacted with some locals on the rocks, took photos on the waters edge, and were attacked by the scrotumtightening sea. 

Happy Bloomsday, all! 

I leave Howth with an overwhelming feeling of being part of a special place. I know that is a vague and sort of a cliche thing to say–“a special place”–but throughout our day I continuously was in awe. I’ve mentioned in a previous blog that Dublin is not what I had expected; I’m not entirely sure what I expected, but what Dublin is and what I imagined it to be are two different things. I had a romanticized idea of Ireland, though, and I imagined it as a place filled with greenery and, admittedly, sheep. Perhaps it was city fatigue, but satisfying my natural inclinations and my perception of Ireland in one day quenched a thirst that was created when I booked this trip.

I wish more people from the group opted to do the boat ride around Ireland’s Eye. It was remarkable. We rode past caves, puffins (!!!!) and cliffs. We were splashed by waves nearly as tall as the boat itself, and we were able to see a place in Ireland left relatively undisturbed. Ireland’s Eye is a non-inhabited island, where folks can go, free of charge, to explore. Access is only limited during nesting seasons, but otherwise the options on the island are limitless.

The caves on the island intrigued me the most. Since we did not have the chance to disembark due to waves, from the boat we saw two different types of caves: natural caves, which were deep and dark, and man-made caves, which were supported by a brick structure. I did some research on the island, but I couldn’t find anything about these caves, besides a shotty video of a person on a rowboat inside one of the caves on youtube. However, I did find information about the tower, called Martello tower, situated on the island. It was built in 1803 by the Duke of York (and is one of three in the Howth area) to prevent a possible invasion by Napoleon.

We’ve seen this location in Michael Collins, and we have seen many like it in countless other films, related to and not related to war. Because of this exposure and access to images of imprisonment, it can be argued that we have become desensitized to its effects. However, Kilmainham Goal’s history lingers. Our tour guide mentioned that disease and dampness sunk into the limestone walls of the cells, and I’d argue so did the place’s memories.

Shamefully, throughout the tour, I was distracted by the adorable, large-headed baby being carried by a couple who joined us. But, my distraction was still pointed towards our topic: imagine a child just a few years older than he being caged into these cells? being whipped by guards?

For obvious reasons, the place was painful to experience. It was jarring to peak into the holes for the cells, like the one pictured in this photo. Popular culture and representations of prisons caused me to anticipate something spooky to appear in the hole, while another part of me didn’t require spectacle to become uncomfortable with the space; the history we have been submerged in for the past week is sufficient enough to imagine what the walls of the cells contained and the importance of these bodies. Most of the tour guides have spoke of the “16 lives” highly, and boasted about the honor and bravery of the men and women who offered themselves and their children for the cause. These spaces contained some of these people, and peering through those holes, even while the rooms were empty, I could vividly imagine the bodies of the people we are coming to know.

I also wanted to include this link in our blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3xNfbXiUtw
U2 filmed their video for “Celebration” in the Kilmainham Goal, likely as part of the effort to raise funds for restoring the property after years of debate on what should be done with the space.

Dr. Richardson’s mention of tour fatigue this afternoon epitomizes my current condition. However, today’s 1916 Walking Tour, guided by Lorcan Collins was enough to pull me out of my exhaustion. For starters, he is hilarious, and humor will always pull me out of a daze. Additionally, his ability to find humor within such a devastating subject matter is amazing. He is clearly intimately attached to Ireland’s history but can recognize the power his message could have when it is made accessible through humor.

Besides his humor, he was loaded with information made even more compelling when conveyed in person and in the places he writes about. The most memorable moment for me was when he pulled out the bullets recovered from the battle and placed them in the openings on the columns outside the GPO. We’ve walked past that place half a dozen times since arriving in Dublin, but never had I felt the volume of history resting in that place. Additionally, his detailing about how and where the soldier’s concealing themselves and awaited the Brits arrival added depth to a place that I was struggling to imagine as war torn. In fact, I’ve struggled entirely imagining the Dublin that Joyce and historians described to have existed at the turn of the century; there is little left in ruins, as is typical in most European, previously war-torn countries. In the article links here (https://www.irishcentral.com/news/dublin-still-bears-the-scars-of-the-1916-easter-rising-almost-100-years-later-170010346-237576791), one can see images from the battles that we have been discussing throughout this trip. Modernity, economic success and (most importantly) freedom (!!) has allowed Dublin to move forward from its history. I was surprised to find the Shelbourne Hotel in the article above. While one of our guides may have very well mentioned this place, and I just as well may have lost it in the loads of information we have consumed, I was excited to learn that the exterior remains as it had when the battle took place from its windows. Driving past this building throughout our time here, I always notice the beauty of its exterior and the traditional aspects of the doorman and bright flowers. I’m eager to examine it more closely for evidence of the battle concealed behind its beauty.

Afterwards, a few of us made our way to the Chester Beatty Library, and it exceeded my expectations. We were in awe of the sheer size of Beatty’s collection. The guide at the entrance explained to us that what is showcased is only 1% of Beatty’s collection, which was overwhelming for us, especially since we couldn’t even comprehend the concept of building a collection the size of what was shown.

Because of my lack of exposure to Islamic histories, I was captivated by what I learned from the Islamic collections (Here’s a link since we could not take any photos: http://www.cbl.ie/Collections/The-Islamic-Collection.aspx). Specifically, I was interested in the writing styles used. Besides the beauty of their script, one piece commented on the layering technique often used in published pieces, where readers would look to certain features in a specific order to find meaning. The bit of a time we had to spend did not allow me to completely internalize this concept, nor would even weeks with works, but I was fascinated by this alternative form of communication that I had never come into contact with before.

Once I saw Micheal Farrell’s “Madonna Ireland or the Very First Real Irish Political Picture,” or “Madonna Ireland,” I couldn’t look away. The picture has so much to take in, with the starkly naked angel, to the peeling paper revealing a second face, to the contorted depiction of the infamous Leonardo da Vinci’s Study of proportions.

I think the da Vinci illusion is the most striking, considering that his work is meant to convey proportion, whereas Farrell’s piece does not. Most notable is the altered face in the da Vinci photo, offering a much more disturb figure with contorted features. Additionally, instead of portraying balance, the figure is concealing its genital. The figures acknowledgement of the exposed genitals reads as him attempting to conceal them from becoming sexualized and acknowledges a vulnerability in nudity. If this is true, what does it mean that the angel is also nude?

While I do not have training in theories surrounding art, the chaos depicted here rests in the space’s inability to find balance. For starters, we have the mess surrounding the naked angel. My immediate impression upon seeing the angel is she is out of place; I anticipate an angel being in a pure space, without the clutter and disarray–and especially without the intrusive face in the corner, looming over her. To an extent, though, she appears trapped in this chaos, seeking an pseudo-escape by looking out the small opening in a window.

Another feature of the Hugh Lane Gallery that I loved was the quotes about place in the Bacon section. He says:

“For some reason the moment I saw this place I knew that I could work here. I am very influenced by places – by the atmosphere of a room…”

“This mess here around us is rather like my mind; it may be a good image of what goes on inside me, that’s what it’s like, my life is like that…”

Because of the conversations we have had about place in our class, I appreciated Bacon’s acknowledgement of the role of place in the creative process. Interestingly, he acknowledges that a place was essentially waiting for him, but that it also was able to be molded into being his, with him adding a mess to it–making it his own.

Dubliners has consistently stood out to me as one of my favorite modernist works. And while I was excited that we were going on a Joyce-themed tour, I became even more excited when our guide let on that the tour would revolve around Dubliners. 

I couldn’t believe the knowledge she had about the stories–how she knew which protagonists walked where and what Joyce thought of particular locations. Even though she mocked the folks who installed a plaque for Leopold Bloom (the fictional character), her connectedness with the texts and her ability to convey such memorializes the fictional characters in an equally significant way–which I do not find silly in the least!

I found what she said about unreliable bystanders particularly interesting.  To me, it conveyed the desperate nature of the Irish people and their desire to be connected to success, even if that success portrayed them negatively.

My favorite part of the tour was the readings in front of the locations depicted in the stories. Specifically, standing in front of “The Dead”–a story that maintains its emotional appeals for me–helped me connect actual Dublin to the Dublin I imagined while reading the stories. I hadn’t realized that those connections weren’t made for me until I was on this tour; perhaps it is because I have not been inundated in Dublin history or exposed to images of Dublin, but I was able to depict my own understanding of the city from the literature sans outside influence. Being here, and being in the places Joyce was influenced by, though, allows my understanding of Dublin to develop.

(Also, the pregnant lady lingering in the background, beating her husband added a nice touch to the meanness of Dublin that Joyce was trying to portray. I image she would have had a story in Dubliners if Joyce had been on the tour with us today.)