Cead Mile Failte

Cead Mile Failte, 2011, gouache, walnut ink and 23k gold leaf on watercolor paper.  @10 x 8"

"Cead Mile Failte"!  In the Gaelic that means "One Hundred Thousand Welcomes". Hence this posting in celebration of Saint Patrick's Day. I love working with Celtic influences in my art, weaving uncial letters with vines and spirals. Maybe it has to do with my Irish heritage, after all, my ancestors on both sides of the family stepped "off the boat" from the old country. I imagine them wide eyed, ready to start new lives in America, and am awestruck that myself, all my siblings and cousins have blood and dna that has travelled across the Atlantic. It warms my soul to know all that history has passed through hearts and veins over a century, shaping me into the person I am today. Add to that the lilting laughter, love of words and music that comes with the culture of the old country and you'd say I'm a lucky girl.

Being of Irish descent, however, brings a big bag of mixed blessings. Historically, the Celts have been cursed with a weakness for potatoes, melancholy and the tendency to imbibe in "the drink". So it seems I was destined to be touched by all three. Perhaps it's by divine will that potatoes have worked their way into, or should I say onto my bones. I love them fried, baked, roasted and of course, mashed with a little butter and milk. However my body does not approve, which brings me to the melancholy.

During my life I have battled bouts of depression. In middle school I had anxiety attacks whenever I took math tests. The births of my babies brought on postpartum depression and psychosis, a small price to pay for bringing two beautiful girls into the world. Menopause has given me much to panic about as hormones wreak havoc on me. All this has been managed with medications, which had the added gift of weight gain and the subsequent need for more potatoes. If I wasn't already affected by alcohol, I would have turned to the drink to deal with my moods. But that was not, nor ever shall be an option.


I grew up in the middle of a classic big Irish Catholic family, fraught with alcohol and the ups and downs that go with it. There was lots of song and drama juxtaposed with bouts of mayhem and madness. The thing about alcohol is that it seeps into the lives of the drinkers, then spreads through the family and into the community. No one is to blame. It's just the nature of "the drink". Though technically I am not an alcoholic, my "holic" is food and sugar, which brings on the melancholy, which in turn calls for a stiff drink. In my case the "drink" is in a Hershey bar or Potato Skins. Thus is the circle of addiction and the Irish. 


I wouldn't be surprised if we as Irish descendants have a genetic predisposition to react to starch in our diet. After all, potatoes are mostly starch, which manifests as sugar, which brings on mood swings and naturally leads to the tendency to "bend the elbow", so to speak. But if that's what comes with my heritage of celtic runes and knotwork, a loud, loving family in which cousins abound, sweet soda bread and Barry's tea, a fondness for little ditties and almost anything green, then I guess the sweet far outweighs the bitter. 


And so I wish you, "Slainte" or Good Health. May you enjoy today and all the rest of your days. Oh, and the luck of the Irish to you.


Thanks for looking,


Claire


p.s. Don't forget to check out my etsy shop.  here's the link,
http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164