I have been through a turbulent and unforeseen period in my life. It changed my outlook on life and, over time, my art. These three works represent the change.
Author: ptmcdonagh8
Artist, Photographer, Socialist, Republican and Rebel. Protester against environmental destruction, corporate greed and social disintegration. Realistic reproduction is talent but true art is about opening peoples' eyes so that they can truly see.
Jervaulx Abbey
I thought twice about posting this painting as it was destroyed by someone at a time when life was difficult. For me, this act marked the beginning of the end. I am now, however, at the end of a new beginning. I thought that people might like to see it.
The Tempest
I recently revisited an old painting of mine as I wanted to make some changes to it. It is something I normally avoid doing but this particular painting will be left to my daughter.
Come Fly With Me
The last two years of my life has seen immense change and heartache. I realised during the worst of these times that my art was reflecting my personal life, insomuch, as it saw only things that were wrong in the world. Since rediscovering myself, I have again opened my eyes to how beautiful life can be. Now I feel that I am entering a new phase whereby my art is once again more aesthetic. I am at peace.
Gaza
In a land lost to passing years
Who counts the drops of mothers’ tears?
When leaders break with the other side
How many more sons of those who’ve died
Must live to die in apartheid?
Gaza!
Resist
The misplaced hubris of narcissism
Beguiling cloak of pious fascism
Fundamental rapture revealed in racism
Vanity, insanity, profanity
Fake false prophet of the deluded
Putin’s pawn with whom he colluded
The Emperor’s new clothes lay bare
Not the hope but the despair
Beware!
We must continue and persist
Resist!
Aleppo
Bury Me In Aleppo
Bury me in Aleppo, for my children lie there
Carrion for the hawk, eagle and bear
Bury me in Aleppo, for my wife lies there too
Hope is the preserve of those such as you
Bury me in Aleppo, for it’s death I now pray.
I have no tomorrow, don’t let this be your day.
Peter McDonagh
Famine
Famine
Barren breast in empty promise,
Proffered to distract not deceive,
Unlike the lens, the Judas kiss,
“Nature’s Way!”, would have you believe;
“God’s will!” in tabloid,
Charity to avoid
The truth, we continue to thieve.
by Peter McDonagh
Art Should Speak!
The Odyssey (2016)
A painting about the terrible endless plight of Syrian refugees.
Help Me!
Is the sky above me so diff’rent to yours
that you would turn me away from these shores?
Is this the face of a migrant you see?
Does a migrant flee or a refugee?
Help me!
Peter McDonagh (2016)
Art should speak. To have a voice and not shout about issues is to gesticulate wildly to others in a very dark room. Art should ask something of the audience – to question, to disagree, to understand better, to feel, to inspire. Mime is the music of people who have misplaced their creativity and who rely, instead, on the aesthetic, the proven formula, the well trodden path, the commercial route to success. Over the years I have appreciated the talent of many artists if not their art. A boundary can be moved as far as one is willing to push it. Some, however, are content in their own comfortable space. To me, that is talent, not art. It is talent wasted. At at time when the World and its people are facing terrible issues, when people want to understand but are prevented from doing so by a corrupt media and people of influence, it is to the arts that people must turn. They cannot turn in our direction and be met with silence. Art should speak!
This painting is entered in the Artwaves Festival Open Exhibition being held on Saturday 14 and Sunday 15 May 2016 at The Spa Bridlington where it will be available for sale. Artwaves Open Exhibition
While Petals Furl Under Evening Dew
I have always loved being outdoors and close to nature. Despite my predominant interest in photographing people, my interest in capturing nature and the seasons has never waned.
While Petals Furl Under Evening Dew
Crystals of ice from frozen frosted breath,
Embrace the pallid flowers budding forth;
Heathers reach for heaven from frozen heath,
Curled in cold caress bleak blown from the north;
Blossoming blooms of crisp efflorescence,
Reach out to embrace a motherly sun,
And share the sweet scent of their fresh fragrance,
Before creeping shade commits the day done;
Then flushed palette paints a glazed rosy hue,
While petals furl under evening dew,
Till dawn whistles a choral performance.
by Peter McDonagh