There is a myth associated with the village we live in (Annascaul) and, like many Irish myths, it has to do with bloodshed and getting the upper hand when all seems lost, or perhaps finding it’s more important that if you die, you die with honor, because that goes a long way in mythology.
The myth in question took place up above the village of Annascaul. About four kilometers from the village and surrounded on three sides by mountains is a beautiful lake. The lake itself is haunting. No one that I know swims in it; maybe they dip a toe, but it has a dark tale to tell and people around here mostly avoid plunging in. The myth goes something like this . . . There was a very beautiful young woman named Scaul, who from time to time would bathe in the lake. From one of the mountains a giant appeared and decided to have his way with her. She began to scream and from the opposite mountain her lover, Cú Chulainn, appeared. Now Cú Chulainn pops up in many Irish tales and was a formidable warrior. Seeing his love Scaul being threatened, he picks up a very large boulder (he being pretty big himself) and flings it at the oppressor, who does the same back at our hero. This goes on for some time until the giant scores a direct hit on Cú Chulainn who falls and appears dead. Scaul sees this and overcome with grief, she throws herself in the lake and drowns just as Cú Chulainn wakes. He sees Scaul floating face down. He, now filled with rage, takes another shot at the giant, this time his aim is true and the giant is no more.
It was this myth that formed an idea for Pat and me. We decided to make a work of art dedicated to Scaul, the woman who drowned herself for love. The name “Scaul” in Irish can mean a few things: shadow or veil, mist/fog, all of which leads one to believe that there is mystery here. So in 2021, the year after we in Ireland found ourselves locked down because of COVID, we mounted an exhibition for Feile na Bealtaine (May Day celebrations). We got permission to place our work along the Scaul River in the village. We called the piece Scaul’s Hope and in a sense it was dedicated to the people of Annascaul, who, like us, were emerging from lockdown, and what we all needed was hope, hope that life would go back to something that felt normal again.
Tony Owen, Scaul’s Hope.
The artwork itself was large, a bit over six feet high and about three feet wide, constructed from found wood, large beams, and old planking. Near the work we placed a box on a post. Written on the box was the word “OPEN.” We felt that the word would conjure up a form of mystery, a mystery that was elemental to the lake and the river itself. In the box we placed a stack of blank index cards, a pen, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer, as we were still in the throes of COVID. On the inside lid of the box we placed a sign, asking people to take a card and write their hopes and or wishes down. We also asked whoever took a card to do so anonymously, no names please. We saw this as a way to elicit honest responses. We had a small slot cut into the sculpture, with arrows indicating that this was where they should drop their cards.
Tony Owen, Cards from Scaul’s Hope.
The artwork was kept in place by the River Scaul for five days over Feile na Bealtaine. The weather was good those five days, people were moving about the village in small groups. Because of Covid, the pubs were closed and had been for near on a year. There were no tourists about; it was just us who lived here in this place. Everything moved in slow motion with a sense that we were all in the same boat and that the boat was drifting along the River.
When the Feile was over I borrowed a van and we got the sculpture back to our house. I undid a few planks from the piece and retrieved the cards that people placed inside. We were amazed: there were over seventy cards in the body of the work. They told a story of Covid, of family, of love, but more importantly, those cards created a portrait of the village itself, a clear picture of what people most wanted from life. Those cards became a still life, a portrait of a dark time, a time that the people of this village wanted to forget, a time to breathe again.
Pat and I didn’t expect any of this, at least we didn’t see the outcome as something frozen in time, a snapshot, the portrait of a village trying its best to break through the unseen adversary that was Covid. But of course, like all art projects, what you begin with doesn’t always work the way you planned. There is always the honest element of surprise. It is that unexpected element that we find hidden behind the eyes of the sitter. It is that unexpected ingredient that becomes fundamental to the portrait, breathing life into the work, becoming a myth unto itself.
I can honestly say that we all looked in the same mirror, Pat and me, along with seventy or so others who hoped and wished for all of us.
All the Best, From the west (of Ireland)
Image at top: Tony Owen, Annascaul River.