Vanston

🐞

I’m just back home after being in LA for a week… The food was fast, little robots ran about like dogs, neon lights and billboards wrestled for your attention, and the next place was always the place to be. A dramatic pace change from rural Ireland, but one that excited me tremendously- I’m working on my own music everyday, and with furious determination, I can’t wait to share it with you all soon <3 ARTS IT TO DEATH I know it’s called ‘The Summer Arts Show’ but for Christ’s sake don’t answer his questions. Play your music. It is wild, untamed and fills me full of crazy fire. Ignore his questions about finger styling and phrasing. Tell him to go and dismantle a refrigerator. Tell him to analyse a plastic dustbin. Tell him as quickly and briefly as possible. Then play your music. Play it. Celebrate it before his six-inch questions nail it to the floor. - Pat Ingoldsby #explore #musician #irish #nature #artist

This day last week I played my first ever London show… Extremely grateful to have been apart of such a wonderful evening of music! @communion.one I’m very excited to begin sharing some snippets of my own music very soon <3 Go raibh míle maith agat for all the support x Photos by @forever.never.fades

1 RAIN CLOUDS & BOG BODIES The sigh of a drowned bog All work comes to a hault The prudent patience of a saint Couldn’t outweigh this building rage The squelch of wet peat at her feet With each step repeats and repeats and repeats “Good for nothing, fuck up, he was right” Those rain clouds, a sore sight Now the sod, the back bones of a bog Have been freshly varnished Their dark darkened Like a rott-wilded bold barkin’ Of a tree’s repurposed body Her heart heaves Slowly, she begins sinking to her knees The bog’s body weeps The thought of “I told you so you stupid bitch” Instead of a forgiving kiss The urge to kill filling in her fists Heavy, her hands pressed into a plea Head straining towards the heavens “God why me?” And he - the devil - will find a way to blame, But no longer her; By the bog she has been claimed. Her goodness preserved, Resting, at peace Her plea to God was heard. Years later she will be unearthed And the ‘he’ will look to this face Worn with pain, and say: “Boney-bitch, wasn’t even strong enough to move some clay” 2 SKIPPING STOMES FOR SKIPPING I spent my day knee high in water skipping stones in Glendalough It’s helpful that I don’t get attached to stones I found so many amazing stones for skipping Each one I had to let go And just when I thought I ran out of good ones A moment of standing still Allowing the water to calm And my eyes to scan Would find me another Beautiful stone for skipping Finding good stones often became more exciting then skipping them “This one is too good to skip but unless I do I will never know that it was” The best ones put me under pressure “I have to make the most of this” And when I tried too hard To get a good strong skip I never did You have to be really good at letting go if you want to skip stones 3 OUR FATHER “Our father who’s art is torture hollow is his name his time will come and he will be shunned by all goodness woman gave him, rid him of his daily breath and free his missus, as he hurts those who try their most to help him; He’ll be led into temptation so deliver her from evil Aman” #poetry #originalwork #irish