This month I was mostly on the move from Malaga, to Gibraltar to Tanger and back to Malaga again. This entailed the use of planes, buses, grand-taxis and ferries, as well as a lot of walking. One of the things that struck me most, when sailing in and out of Algeciras (Spain) and Port Med (Tanger) was the omni-presence of massive ships carrying shipping containers. What's in them? Where are they going and who is going to receive them? The uniformity in scale and shape of these containers no doubt belies their contents and it begs the question why do we need so much stuff and why does this stuff need to be transported around the world? At home, I can buy avacadoes from Peru and asparagus from Mexico (if I choose to do so). I can also buy blueberries from Morrocco so it felt strange to be in Morrocco and actually buy the blueberries that were produced there. So much stuff and so much choice. Unlike shipping containers, people come in all shapes and sizes but we probably all want the same thing - comfort, safety and enough to money to eat and pay bills. Some people have no choice but to remain in their locale, while others (like me) are fortunate enough to have choices. How do my choices as a consumer and a tourist impact on those who produce the stuff that I  decide I need? Moving forward, powerless against those individuals whose personal wealth is that of a nation, I am going to be more conscious of my choices, in all things.

I was delighted to receive the news this month that I was one of the six winners of the Homiens Art Prize for Summer 2024. The Homiens  Art Prize is an international, non-acquisitive art prize open to all artists and art forms. It celebrates artists across all media, exhibiting their art online where it is viewed by artists and collectors in the United States and throughout the world. The work is selected by a panel of jurors and each round 6 winning artists are chosen.
The judges said of my work “ Gail eschews the sectarian tensions associated with her subject, the Troubles, by devising an ameliorative visual language: One that is suggestive of reverence and peace, without appealing in any identifiable way to a specific ideology. Instead of using colour to forge connection and create meaning, Ritchie uses symbols with a shared and well-established meaning (a wreath, for example) which precedes the Troubles, and avoids reference to more detailed symbols recognizably associated with either side of the conflict”.
Not only did it feel like a validation to win such a prestigous prize, it felt quite unusual and welcome to receive detailed feedback on the selection process from the judges. General feedback was made available to all those who had submitted work and it was a very generous enterprize on their part. Often, work goes out into a void and the effort one puts in to applications is often in direct contrast to the work that goes into the response once it has been received. So horrah for Homiens! More of the same please. For more information see:
homiens.com/the-homiens-art-prize-summer-2024/

Nothing stays the same for ever. This is not always a bad thing because it means that everything is fluid and changing, nothing is fixed. Just as a shadow seems to cast its darkness over us all, so too light will come and expose the shadow's immateriality for what it is - nothing. A mere bogeyman, the smoke reflected in a mirror. There will always be times when we can step out of the shade and into our own light. Of course, this way of thinking could be analogous to many things; the dark state of global politics right now, the doomsday clock moving one second closer to midnight, from nineteen to eighteen, and a general feeling of hopelessness as it seems the light will never come. Surely we are all desperate for sunlight to stream in to cob-webbed corners and into corrupted corridors of power? I know I am. Change is both good and bad, depending on how you view it. At QSS, we are facing change in 2025. Another move looms on the horizon. I thought about this earlier when I stood on the roof of our studios, looking at the view over East Belfast towards the shipyard and Cave Hill. It's winter and it's cold; but it is also bright and sunny. I chose to stand in that sunlight and imagine change as a good thing; a move into the light. I hope, wherever you are, the sun is shining.

At the start of December we said our goodbyes to Big Max, pictured above. I write this post four weeks to the day after he left us and two plus years after he first came to stay. December seems to be a time of beginnings and endings; the end of one year and the start of another;  one is  full of memories , the other full of hopes and dreams. The solstice marks the longest night. Slowly and incrementally the days begin to stretch and the darkness, while not in retreat, starts to delay its appearance by minutes every day. So much has been said and written about time and loss, less about what it means to live and die well when the time comes to go. Max lived well when he was with us and his last years were full of love and small adventures. Now he is gone, I seem to have a lot of time of my hands but I can use it to reflect on what we can learn from our more than human friends - stoicism, acceptance, letting go of the past and living fully in the moment, playing even when you are old and taking pleasure in the smallest of things. As we go towards  2025, ready to meet all that is known and unknown in the world, I hope we can all be more Max. I know I will try to be. Happy New Year all!

As part of our QSS 40th Anniversary celebrations, studio member Tim Millen kindly documented each of us in our respective studios, doing what we do. These images were used across social media to highlight all the activities taking place from now until Christmas and include not just the exhibition across two galleries but also talks, workshops and open studio days all of which are open to the public. My contribution was in the form of an essay for the exhibition catalogue. It was an opportunity to reflect (after Virginia Woolf) on what it means to have a studio (or room) of one's own during times of economic and political uncertainty. Next month, I will be part of a panel discussion which will interrogate the relevance of art in the present moment and how doing what we do impacts/collides with/or refuses contemporary geo-political, societal and environmental events. More on this in November. For now, if you are interested in any of our upcoming events, visit www.queenstreetstudios.net/we-are-qss-at-40/ and join in the celebrations! You can read my essay via the PDF link below.

There is always something to see in London and even a few days there is enough to sustain creative energies ahead of the dark days of winter. This time, as well as availing of all forms of public transport including river taxis, I also walked for miles. Perhaps this is the best way to see the sweeping vistas of the city along the Thames as well as the narrow lanes and paths off the beaten track.  The new installation on the 4th plinth at Trafalgar Square by Mexican artist Teresa Margolles (A thousand times an instant) was installed just a few days before I arrived. It was great to see these 726 facial casts of gender non-conforming people newly positioned in the square before they deteriorate over time. I walked along Whitehall, an avenue of monuments, stopping at the Women of World War II memorial.  Represented here through a mix of uniforms and helmets are the often over-looked war time efforts of millions of women. Going East to the Whitechapel Art Gallery, I enjoyed (if that's the right word given the nature of the exhibition) Peter Kennard's Archive of Dissent. In the West End one evening, I was entranced and frightened in equal measure by the theatre performance of Stranger Things. All of these cultural riches come at a price, of course, and although autumn will be quiet, it is not without cultural happenings closer to home. Tune in for October's post to find out!

This group exhibition, previously shown at the Olivier Cornet Gallery, Dublin (April – May 2024), is a response to the increasingly dangerous geo-political situation in the world today. It features the work of four artists (clockwise from top left):   Tom Molloy, Jill Gibbon, (me) Gail Ritchie and Eoin Mac Lochlainn. Conceptually, the exhibition blends history, memory, reality and imagination. Temporally, the work on show forms an arc that connects early 20th Century conflicts to the present day wherein war, through the faux respectability of the international arms trade, is exposed as a commodity. Ironically, we had to shift the preview time to earlier in the evening so that those coming to the opening could get home safely. Why? Because, the previous night the streets around the gallery were the sites of sporadic rioting and anti-social behaviour i.e. burning stuff and throwing stuff. This was part of wider violence directed at 'immigrants' over the preceeding nights and tied into shocking violence and rioting on the mainland by 'concerned citizens' many of whom are now being given jail sentences. What impact, I wonder, would an exhibition like this have on those who prefer violence to dialogue, hatred instead of compassion and understanding? Ireland has always been associated with hospitality. Is it hospitable only to those who are not overstaying or those whose skin colour is the same as our own? We assume we will be welcome wherever we chose to go but what about those who come here because they have no choice? Céad Míle Fáilte - is one hundred thousand the limit of our welcome? 

Evening walks in May have provided a peripatetic contraposto to current geo-political events. Light and shade, the circumstances that allow me to be here rather than elsewhere, the space to think and breathe. Nature left alone costs nothing but it means the world. In Ireland, we love to complain about the weather and the lack of heat and sun in what is meant to be summer time. Everywhere, the fabled forty shades of green. We yearn to feel some warmth on our skin. But how much is too much? In other places, on other continents, it is already too hot. For some people there is no respite from temperatures that test the limits of human endurance. In other places still, shelters are on fire and there is no refuge in the shade because all of the buildings have been bombed and reduced to rubble. For both, where is the respite from such heat? Here, in the North, we are more fortunate than we think to have such weather, such 'soft days' where others know only daily hardships. As I walk, and think of the present moment - my feet on damp grass, my head covered by a soft grey sky - I take a moment to acknowledge those who can only dream of such things. I include them as part of my journey.

What Do We Want is a four person exhibition which opened at the Olivier Cornet Gallery, Dublin earlier this month. It featured yours truly, Jill Gibbon, Eoin MacLoughlin and Tom Molloy. Each of us showed work which reflected our own responses to the current political and environmental crisis now facing the world. What do we want? This phrase is associated with the call and response of protest marches and demonstrations. So, what do we want? Peace? Equal Rights? An end to genocide? The promise of a better future? When do we want it? Yesterday, because 'now' is already too late for many. Collectively, the work in this exhibition addresses the corrupt facade of international arms fairs,  the legacy of historical conflict on a divided island, the surreal impossibility of war ever ending (and of distinguishing between all their horrors) and the irony that fighting wars is futile without a plant to fight them on. What else do we want? An end to the current insanity but when was the last time the world was sane? What power do we have left but protest and the possibility that by working through all these troubles, we might arrive in a better place. To get there, we need better people, with less power. When did we need it? One hundred years ago, seven months ago, yesterday and tomorrow.
Clockwise from top left: Gail Ritchie, Doomsday Series; Jill Gibbon, Woman with missile, sketch drawn at an international arms fair; Eoin MacLoughlin, Wall of Tears (installation); Tom Molloy , Contact. The exhibition runs at the Olivier Cornet Gallery Dublin until  31 May 2024.

March was a little busier than usual. I was back in Cork to give a talk about my practice , alongside fellow artist, Joy Gerard. The following week, I was invited to participate in a panel discussion at Belfast Exposed Gallery in Belfast which was hosting Gwen Stevenson's Memorial/Unmemorial exhibition as part of the Imagine Festival of Ideas and Politics and finally, my extended interview for the Talk 4 Peace initiative was made available online. So much talking about memory and memorials made me reflect on the different aspects of commemoration - the public and private faces of remembering. How do those we remember privately become entangled in our wider understandings (or performances) of remembering the dead? How much is too much and what should we hold back of our own grief less we trigger another? What arose out of all of these discussions, for me, was that if one speaks authentically and with empathy then the experience of mourning can be shared and expanded beyond the personal into wider political domains. This March, I remembered my mother who passed thirty years ago.  She never saw the political changes here, she only knew the Troubles. The legacy she left with me is how to endure them with hope. Therefore I hope that everyone has someone, or the memory of someone , that can sustain them through difficult times.