The Great Blasket Islands 1937

Editor: Paul Henry's "The Great Blasket Islands," painted in 1937... It feels so still, almost brooding. The colours are muted, mostly greys and whites. It looks like you could get lost in the vastness of the sea. What do you see when you look at it? Curator: Funny you say that. I see a memory trying to surface, a whisper of wind and a promise of rain, even a reflection on islands that echo, and are nearly forgotten. Henry often used a limited palette, and here that monochrome evokes, I think, the very soul of the islands - a raw, untamed beauty facing relentless elements. The heavy sky seems to bear down, doesn’t it? Editor: Yes, it feels like the landscape is holding its breath. Do you think the lack of vibrant colours takes away from its impact, or adds to it? Curator: Takes away? Never! The greys aren't empty. They’re saturated with melancholy and fortitude. Remember, in 1937 the Blaskets were still inhabited, clinging to existence. Perhaps those very grey, muted tones were his way of showing life in a very remote, and sometimes harsh place? He doesn’t show us picture-postcard Ireland, does he? Instead, he gifts us something altogether more compelling: reality. Editor: That’s fascinating. I hadn’t thought about the human element. The islands don’t seem so empty anymore, but somehow more vulnerable. Curator: Exactly! A new story for our hearts! What’s better than that? Editor: Well, I know a lot more now. It's like the painting opened a secret for us. Thanks. Curator: Ah, the great joy of art, isn’t it? Unlocking stories we didn’t even know we needed to hear.