My brain is leaking onto your internet screen.

This one time I made a video artwork

2011-12-09T02:51:00.001-08:00

Frighten the Horses from Aine Macken on Vimeo.

Here's a video I was asked to make for Frighten the Horses. It's a collage of my favourite youtube videos. It was used as a visual on the night and now is on the internet so that you may use it as visuals for your night. I'm sound like that. It's long, but I really enjoyed making it. I went to see Pipilotti Rist yesterday. She does visuals, she likes to put them inside things and make things look like periods, she then tries to make you fall in love with her and her beautiful grey eyes. I didn't fall in love with her. Somebody, very wisely, described her work as lava lamp art. Many have mentioned to me that I should like her, that we would have much in common thematically. Apart from self love and a sense of mischief, I'm not sure what. Video art confuses me. Hers is quite performative. I'm not sure I want to say anything else about it. Is that wrong? This doesn't really make me seem like I'm excited about visuals, does it? Hmmm, bhfuel, up there are my kinda visuals. I especially like the starfish and anything dirty. Have a lovely visual day with your vision, unless you're blind, but then you have a vision that I can't even understand and I'm doing that tangent thing again where I don't know when to stop typing. Kinda like when somebody swallows their own spit and flummoxes into coughs at the theatre. Mostly gin induced, let's be honest. Hey, drink gin and watch this! Later, naturally, not at 11am you lush! Byeeeeeeee!

NEGLECT TURNS PROSPEROUS (I HOPE)

2011-12-02T08:04:00.001-08:00

WELL. Much news. If you're not my friend on facebook then you'll know nothing! If you are, you won't be reading this anyway as you've already hidden my updates many moons ago. WHO CARES?! Why am I writing? Naturally, it coincides with a hangover and trying to overcome my crippling emotions by doing something 'productive'.

Firstly, I've moved to London to be a human bean! But LADS, it's not going well. My effort to avoid the nepotism of the hills of Ireland has entered into a brief (and when I say brief I mean sitting in a cardboard box for months desperately waiting for my beard to grow so that I can comb it) introduction to the nepotism and difficulty embedded in this London Lady Life. I've made over 50 job applications in arty places, EVEN UNPAID INTERNSHIPS, and nuffing. Not a thing. Zip. London says No. I did get shortlisted for a job in an art supply shop that would mean I would have about €12 a month spending money. Excellent. (NOT EXCELLENT, I'M LYING TO YOU.) And so, as I watch my savings float float away like bubbles containing monetary tears, I've decided to try to independently do something to gather some money, particularly at these opportunistic (To quote Mariah Carey "Festive") times.

And SO, secondly, I've launched a series of digital prints to sell to real human beans at real human prices that they can afford, so that I don't lose all faith in myself and my artistic career. See some of the images I'm making into prints below. They range from A5 to A2 and are priced between €10 and €25.

I also do portraits. Did you know? Is true.... Small ones are €60, biggies are €100.
All information, pricing and how to order, along with some real human lady paintings can be found on my Business Lady Facebook Page;
CLICK HERE AND CLICK LIKE IF YOU LIKE I WOULD LIKE YOU TO.

Gosh, is this like begging? I've never been vee good at marketing myself. But it's something I really enjoy, and I think I'm good at it, and people seem to like paintings when they buy them from me and so I'm just trying to be industrious and and and STOP JUDGING ME.

GAZE Film Festival; An uneducated review.

2011-08-04T05:21:00.000-07:00

Having traded a painting for free reign upon a film festival; well, not really (I was volunteering as emotional support for the management team, tears fell, upon my inner elbow.) I, however, felt it necessary to gift these management members with paintings due to how much I genuinely got out of the festival.

Firstly, I am as much of a film critic as I am an art one.

I remember strolling around the Southbank Centre with an esteemed postgraduate college buddy, and as we took in the huge painting show unfolding before our captivated eyes, when asked how I was enjoying the show, my response was "s'good." This postgraduate roughly qualified us to become "art critics"... IMAGINE LIBERAL HAND GESTURES AROUND THOSE WORDS.

I WAS COMPELLED TO BLOG, as a few of the films have had a particular affect upon me, akin to mucous caught in my throat reminding me how cool I am when I have had a drunken cigarette. Yes, indeed, an irritating afterthought to being deadly. (p.s; smoking, cool!) And similar to the sometimes unpleasant nature of smoking,( the SCHTINK and the PHLEGM), some films, for me, were a point of endurance. (God, I sound so cool, I might buy some leather trousers now. *Gazes into potential future cool-ity.)

Two of my HUGEST FAVES had to be Tomboy and For 80 Days. They are both completely amaaaaaaaaazing and I urge to watch them IMMEDIATELY!

There are two other films I can't stop thinking about, though, and which I believe deserve an HONOURABLE MENTION, for when I reread this to myself at a later date - (my public readership being pretty much juuuuuuuust meeeeeeee) lucky that as i'm about to throw out some very questionable opinions...which naturally are wrong, as yoooooooooosual.

One being !Women Art Revolution; a film by Lynn Hershman Leeson

I've never had a film rekindle passion and formulate a new vigour outside of my persistent disillusionment and frustration with my own art practice. It was refreshing, and yet strangely familiar. The familiarity came from fluffy flowery things where i was about to use the words 'journey to a feminist awakening' when i stopped typing as i'd realised i'd vomited on myself and on Oprah Winfrey who was permeating my brain THROUGH MY KEYBOARD. Evil Witch.

A brief, and electrifying history of early feminist artistic practice, it shocked me how little I genuinely knew about that subject, and for me, having studied art for such a long time, I felt ashamed and saddened that much of my research had not discovered a huge portion of that history. That alone, makes this film hugely important. And I never think anything is important. which means something. Or something. (SEEEE? Criticism? Noh for me.)

The second one I can't shake was The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye. Which had a profound affect upon me. So much so that I went into a rage having walked out of it. I was angry. Hurt and upset. I felt physically ill. I was actually going to vomit. Everyone else had those "it was brilliant" eyes, and I had that "Oh Jesus my conventional tastes strike again and further alienate me from the cool people" head on me. To me a huge part of it was the wanky shite I've had to endure by having had the misfortune to have to study intelligent things, and listening to people talk in that alienating abstract way about things I couldn't possibly understand. I think I was angry, because the outcome and poignancy of the film had absolutely nothing to do with the film itself. It became a portrait of lost love, of mortality, of mislayed identities, as a direct result of the reality of the subject matter and nothing to do with Genesis, or perhaps more importantly, to do with Lady Jaye. Which I angrily and grumpily doubted was even remotely its intention. Oh I had quite the frustrafrown.

I think I was angry mostly because when Genesis discussed their combined performative act of surgically manipulating each other to become one combined person, I felt that either he/she was being hugely insincere, or that this art project had failed spectacularly. And, if you are to consider my work, I am hugely fond of spectacular failure. Which is confusing. As I was so angry! Have I mentioned anger? ohsure just a foo times!

I think I hated that the film had become about Genesis. Lady Jaye's sudden death during the filming of the documentary transplanted it into something else entirely. It was a film about Genesis. Who had surgically manipulated him/herself to become a failed attempt at Lady Jaye. Mimicking her, badly. I was so profoundly sad about it that I had become angry. It had become for me a devastating portrait of the danger and significance of momentous love affairs. Looking at footage throughout the film, of Genesis' past as a dynamic, hugely attractive industrial punk star, his dynamism had been almost entirely erased, and he had become a physical hybrid of emotional loss. There was a physicality to his/her love and pain that was excruciatingly unavoidable. Naturally, being the selfish dickhead that I am I had made my reaction to this film all about myself, and my own little crushed heart. Thus realising that I am the bigger asshole in all situations.

But it was only then that I realised, having had all of these violent opinions that I don't ordinarily permit myself to have, that maybe, it had been completely incredible, even though it made me want to puke. Good puke? Always end your blog posts on an intelligent note Áine Macken. Sigh. Footnote; *"The end of criticism" - taken from the memoirs of Áine Macken.*

Frighten the Horses

2011-06-09T02:34:00.000-07:00

HEY LOOK! I'm making some vidge yo art! Dig me. I blog, and now create videos. TECHNOLOGICAL PRESENCE BAaaaaaaaaAAABES! Next I'll have an iphone and wear silver (ON MY TEEF BLUD).

I was invited by the people who have organised Frighten the Horses to create a collage of youtubes, with hirarious arty results, yo! *please note i made up the result section of that sentence, and i'm not sure why i'm feeling so gansta on this thursday morning but i'm going to GO WITH IT. If I'm honest, I am more hoping to lean upon the hirarious portion of this invented sentence section, as my 'talent' for video work stems from my 'responding' to a reading on Luce Irigaray during my masters by doing a hula dance with a video camera in my garden. THIS IS GOING TO GO WELL.

I'll be sampling from this video, amongst MANY MANY others...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-fAKo-i4jpQ&feature=related

It's ten beans in, BYOB, eh, MEN ARE PLAYING!!!!!!, aaaaaaand it's not sold out YET so hurry hurry! See you there! We can kiss! On the mouth! With the love saliva! IT IS GOING TO BE WONNNNNNNNDERFULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!

My Hoe-pinion is WRONG

2011-04-19T04:11:00.000-07:00

Ah yes. Easter break. All is silent in the school for sinners. Leads me to think, as I no longer have to dole out detentions. And I've been thinking quite frequently over the last number of weeks, and in particular over the last weekend about my peers ideas of each other.... in particular the woman kind. You know, the ladies like. I exist in a realm of the world where I'm either consistently attending evenings where queer ladies and gentlemen boogie down with their bad selves, or else i frequent plenty of Burlesque events where both queer and bi and ghey and the heh-ero-sessssuals tend to at-tend in order to watch ladies get near nudey for their queerbigheyheherosessual thrills.

I've been thinking about all the stringent campaigns for equality that I've come across and taken part in, with regard to equal rights for all the sesssuals to love each other in their sessual ways, y'know? I've also been thinking about the contradictions I've then encountered in each of these worlds. Above board, these two worlds possess projections of addressing femininity and sexuality as something to celebrate, something to diversify, never to judge. What I've experienced has been somewhat different, however. Perhaps I expect too much from a country with foundations that are so completely conservative and unlike anything that I would accept in my own little mantra of my way of life, you know, of living and being nice and all that nice things and stuff, you know you know?(i fear i may be a little too ineloquent to take on the complexity of this subject matter, and perhaps should not have broached the subject whatsoever, as generally, i've found, my opinion IS WRONG. i'm ok with that, though.. i think. do you? oh no.)

Aaaaaaaaaaanywhooodle! Sure I'll power on with the opinions and all! Constantly in flux! La la la! (Read as: get out clause introductory portion of the paragraph, (SACH A WIMP!)). Friday evening, I attended a Burlesque event. I've become moderately less fond of Irish Burlesque if I'm perfectly honest. Perhaps, as my own experience of being part of that world, though it may have begun as a foray into projecting my own transformative self acceptance, it strangely led to an exodus in my own moderately successful introductory career (entry level tassle twirler, if you will) as I found performing at these events to be somewhat leery, irrationally competitive and I left with a general air of feeling hugely less confident and somewhat battered.

My personal opinion of the definition of Burlesque, as I have described before on this B to the LOG, (which of course you've been following BBZ!) is that of a subversive, coquetteish, playful method of utilising your own sexuality, taking control of it, and creating something be it beautiful, hilarious, disgusting, even outrageously sexy, but that it is your own, and is therefore empowering. My personal experience of Burlesque in Ireland has been disgustingly, outrageously... disappointing. The air of insecurity so palpable in my little experience in a certain London Burlesque club, is seeped throughout the Dublin Burlesque scene. I'm convinced I'll never be employed by them again, (eh NOT THAT I'D WANT TO REALLY, soz babes, I dumped ya firsty!) particularly after publicly projecting my disdain for how they have behaved in recent months. To say that they have treated me as a lower citizen as I am not a yoga instructor/professionally trained dancer/size eight is a complete truth. To say that I admired them all hugely is also a complete truth. To say that that admiration has dwindled is also, sadly TRUUUUE! Much as I admire what SOME of them do, I do not admire the way that they behaved. To me. And to others that I had the misfortune to publicly witness on Friday evening.

THAT SAID, there are a number of events which I fully support, such as Scarlett Nymphs wonderful work in making Doctor Sketchy's unmissable and the introduction of the heavily queer Black Rabbit Cabaret, and also, naturally, anything Bunny's Hutch does turns into a russian roullette of tentative mystery, being the only open-mic cabaret night I've ever witnessed... my attendance at other burlesque or cabaret events has completely dwindled... Reason being, I'm not sure I want to witness people performing who seem to have an ethic of marginilisation.........WHICH........brings me to my second IRK, of which I've been thinking...

The following article;

http://www.autostraddle.com/evan-rachel-wood-is-bisexual-85668/

is a sneering post which is everything I dislike about the judgemental capacities of queer women against each other. Particularly those who may have been slower to come out, and seeing as their curiousity is welcomed so warmly I can't see why they'd have any difficulty with that! No no. I am aware that bisexuality can be utilised as a marketing tool, that it adds intrigue and salaciousness to an interview, I am also aware that the response to people proposing their thoughts about bisexuality is completely undercut by appalling displays of discrimination such as the above post. Not that she's intentionally being discriminational(IS THAT A WORD?), I mean, it's amusing, as a post... but I feel being amused at things, unless you're laughing at yourself, can be a little naive, particularly when it places itself in the forum of being offensive to someone of a marginilised sexuality. OH I DUNNO. It's just so limiting. So tense. So completely judgemental.

Classification seems so necessary in a still conservative Ireland.... that I think I'm classifying myself as generally irritated by everyone at this point. Much as in my aforementioned quest for equality, I am EQUALLY professing my disdain for those people proclaiming to operate under an alternative form of sexuality, and yet coming across as childish irritants so insecure with their own status that they must belittle others. HOWEVER, perhaps I'm now completely contradicting myself by expressing my irritation at them via the W W W (worldwideweb babes!), perhaps I need too to be accepting of those who feel such an anxiety about their own sexual power that they must behave appallingly. NAH. Think I'll just glare at them in a silent disdainful cowardly way....IT'S MY ULTIMATE WEAPON. Dark. Mystery. Then I'll blog about them. LOOK. I'm so mean. And all because of baby jeeebus being a zombaby jesus and my having time to think. Bet you're sorry now Easter Bunny.

Employed Monkey seeks Creative Respite in Beauty.

2011-04-18T06:04:00.000-07:00

I have a job nowadays! Oh my. A vee biz job. So biz I now do things like go to bed at a reasonable hour during the week, my stringent binge drinking aerobics programme has decreased significantly, aaaand I am now in possession of DUCHESS THE BICYCLE as a result...

...is that a swoon I hear? WAS THAT JUST ME? I would happily lick her entire body she's such a ridebox is my Duchess. I do, however, feel a little silly on her sometimes. I fear she's a little TOO COOL for me. Such is life. Aim high and that. To be cool - live cool. La la la! loo! (that's a song I wrote there. to the theme of the fame soundtrack. all while smoking - did you hear smoking is cool? who knew? *sexy cough, followed by sexy spit of phlegm.)

My new job is an exceptionally busy administrational job (BBZ!HIGHFIVES!CU@DUNDRUMTOWNCENTREFORLATTÉS!). Not quite so busy today unfortunately as I HAVE FALLEN INTO A DEATHLY DEPRESSION. Clearly my lack of commitment to my binge drinking aerobical regime now lends itself to HEAVIER, MORE FEARFUL HANGOVERS. Not forgetting that I can now afford to buy double Gins, which is employment's primary downside, IF WE'RE HONEST.

Anyway, the inexplicably broken portion of my little heart which has plaited my intestines into beautiful intricate knots akin to those fetching dreadlocks I used to possess...(*gazes regretfully into misspent youth*)...have abandoned the glamorous world of filing, arranging pens and typing letters in an effort to seek out something beautiful.

Naturally I typed beauty into my gmail, as we all do in our quest for beauty..., by sifting through outrageous gchat conversations with my outrageous gchat friends... This is when I stumbled upon the following quote, which clearly I collected carefully and utilised wisely (siiiiiiiiiiigh, a youth, MISSPENT, dreading locks, typing irresponsibly...well. still do that...) it was untitled, in my drafts... and it is quite beautiful. I did a quick search in my GOOD OL' PAL JStor and discovered that it was from an essay by Alexander Nehamas entitled "The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters" on Francisco Goya's work. And I think it's a pretty accurate explanation of my frame of mind on this MONUMENTAL HORRIFIC AND YET WEIRDLY BEAUTIFUL DAY. (see me at my desk in image below as portrayed by my old buddy Goya.)

"Beauty is to be defended without social utility or moral improvement, without pretending that it is worth loving because in the long run it produces superior citizens, kinder individuals, or more skilled nuerosurgeons. Beauty, instead, makes life better - because it is an emblem of our inability to say in general what makes life better. Some might think of that as a weakness, but it is not. It is the other face of strength, of the capacity to bring new, unexpected, surprising and previously inconceivable goodness - which is not to say moral virtue - to life. Beauty stands and speaks for everything that adds to the complexity, interest, and range of possibilities of human life in ways that couldn't have been imagined before. It is a promise, and for that reason also a danger, and valuable just because of that combination."

Editorial by the Macken Monkey about the Mammy Monkey and all those other spas.

2011-02-28T11:22:00.000-08:00

This is a short editorial I wrote for Never Never and Elsewhere Volume II. Available to buy at www.neverneverandelsewhere.com It's a beautiful collection and I recommend it not only because I helped to make it BUT ALSO as it is just really funderwol and includes one off imagery from each of the artists mentioned below combined with some incredibly talented authors.
I think it's my proudest ever project;

______________________________________________________________

My mother’s wrists have always fascinated me. Ever since I was a girl, watching her fingers caress the edge of a wine glass or the curve of her wrist as she would rest her head upon them regaling guests with tales of her youth in Paris. She’s always been the epitome of glamour to me. She has a way of looking at me with such love that I can smell it in the pots of moisturiser that I pilfer, in the hairspray that crunches upon my head. There’s a visuality to her love for me and my love for her that, being primarily a visual artist, I can only describe obscurely, and clumsily, through paint. The fragility of her health in recent months has made me savour these images, try to express and savour them. Record something. Keep it. Not through photographs, but through the visceral quality of sight, through the intention and emotion that can be manipulated by my hand; I gush.

Approaching Memoirs of Youth, as a publication, I wanted to respond, in kind, to the beautiful written works within this journal, in my own, that being visual, language. Having read each of the works I chose a series of artists, whom each in their own way, have agreed to create works for the launch of this publication with an exhibition and a series of printed works within the journal itself, thus creating not only a written, but a visual memoir. These will include;

Caroline Campbell and Fionn Kidney, who have been working together as Tu Me Tues since 2009. Their current practice explores the intersections and boundaries between accepted fact and constructed fictions. Old formats are re-imagined; the fictional is inserted into the documentary.

Peter Fingleton who has the ability to capture your best happiest youngest freshest self, a self you never knew existed prior to his creation.

Catherine Harty who's way of seeing the world, dominated by excitement, cinema, and seemingly having knowlegde of everything... (She has been an unpaid educator of mine for some years now)... is something of a marvel. Her visual knowledge and agency results in astonishing, and many times hilarious, but always supremely delicate and touching art works.

I admire Gerry Lee. Not only as a generally splendid human being, but I feel that the intricacies and visual language he possesses are simultaneously delicious and indulgent but also terrifying and threatening. He has a way of frightening me in the most wonderful way.

Kieran McBride who seems to be a collector. He collects images and somehow they manage to resonate a subjective memory from myself. There’s a thought process to his eye that allows for recognition. He seems to be able to recognise the tangeable traces that make images familiar, upsetting, absurd and at times just generally funny.

Katherine Nolan who is known for her captivating performative works. For Memoirs of Youth, she will perform a brand new live piece on the launch night in collaboration with Eleanor Lawler. Katherine has a visual presence to her, a palpable consciousness of the intentionality of that presence, and a gentle yet savage interrogation of the politics and ironies of desire.

Here's some images of Launch Night by The Woman of the Moment herself, my mother, Máire Uí Mhaicín;
http://www.pbase.com/maire/memoirs_of_youth

Infotainment

2011-02-13T09:58:00.000-08:00

So you know the way I MAKES THE EXHIBITIONS AND ALL? Well people have been asking me THE QUESTIONS... and I'm going into the gallery tomorrow to use my G U N S to get the art upon the wallball...

SO HERE'S SOME INFO FOR YOUR INFO TO HELP AND BE HELPFUL AND ALL THAT STUFF! (I'm nice like that)

All the art will be up and Loveleeee by Wednesday the 16th of February, and you may peruse AT WILL. Gurryloo will be doing an art therapy funshop on Wed 5 - 7. The main event will be on Saturday the 19th when there'll be performance art, readings from the journal, and compulsory BOOBIE BUNS. I'm reel nerveballs, but happy and cited and would love you to see all the amazing talent that'll be happening over the week. Especially from me. I'm so talented. Good. To. Be. Me. Onry Messing. I'M A MESS. Still in bed. Should be painting. I DID MAKE A ROAST THOUGH. Slump.

Never Never and Almost there...

2011-01-25T02:21:00.000-08:00

Soooooo, fast approaching is my next show. Seeing as I'm sending out the press release to the earth and it's mother I thought it apt to add it to the blogroll FYI (that's short and speedy for ; FOR YOUR INFORMATION... just.so.you.know.) Also attached see a preview of the cover of the publication which will be available for sale at the venue all week. I'm co cited!

Never Never and Elsewhere is an Irish literary journal dedicated to publishing creative autobiographical and memoir writings by lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer and trans writers. The title of Volume II is 'Memoirs of Youth' and includes writings from Senator David Norris, Ailbhe Smyth, Ciarán Rua, Stephen Quinn and Gillian Watt, amongst others.

Working with curator and visual artist Áine Macken, 'Memoirs of Youth' has collected imagery from seven artists. Facilitated by Exchange Dublin, there will be a dedicated location to launch the limited edition publication with exciting new work both being exhibited and within the publication itself.

Artists include Peter Fingleton, Catherine Harty, Gerry Lee, Kieran McBride, Katherine Nolan and TuMeTues, along with a new body of work from Áine Macken's own practice. There will be workshops and events occurring throughout the week including a special workshop from Gerry Lee (a recent graduate with an MA in Art Therapy) on Wednesday at 7pm. The night of Saturday the 19th of February will see Katherine Nolan perfoming a brand new piece along with selected personal readings from the journal from 7pm.

All contributors are responding to the theme of the collection and viewers can expect both written and visual works operating within the complicated sphere of the memoir, the record, and the creative response to one's influence and history.

"All profits from sales of 'Memoirs of Youth' will be donated to BeLongTo. For more information about the launch events, the publication and how to purchase it, visit www.neverneverandelsewhere.com."

New Arty Bitznitz

2011-01-18T02:49:00.000-08:00

new artypoo by memememememe

Hello Blog!

I know, I've been distant. I recently suspended my Facebook account and have started living a real human lady life. It's very exciting. I eat a lot of Pork. I've also been obsessively painting and am indulging in this new found private life by being somewhat productive. I now read too! Not that it will expand my vocabulary all that much, I suspect when I detail you with my next exhibtion (below) I will use the word interesting at least twelve times. But if Máire Macken is correct... I'm adorably inarticulate, and my Mother loves me for it, and she doesn't lie to me.

This penchant for adorable inarticulation has clearly led to a flattering invitation to design the cover, and curate a show to coincide with the launch of Never Never and Elsewhere Volume II. This will take place in Exchange Dublin from the 14th to the 20th of February. I would love you to come I would. (I am conscious I am really inviting myself here as I doubt anyone else is reading this, but me and me are gonna have a faboo time, might bring the mammy too!).

Never Never and Elsewhere is a beautiful queer publication of short pieces from contributors such as Ailbhe Smyth, Ciarán Rua Ó Néill, Senator David Norris and Gillian Watt amongst others. Having consulted with the editors, I had the opportunity to read all of the pieces before embarking on creating my own response to this publication's theme, that being 'Memoirs of Youth'. The standard of written work is phenomenal, (I GOT EMOTIONAL DOODS, there were TEARBALLS FALLING FROM THE EYEBALLS) and with all proceeds going to BelongTo, I felt that it was important to add a visual dimension, not only from the cover, but from contributing artists that I deemed apt as respondants. I then embarked upon inviting some of the artists I most admire to create work for the show. What has resulted is something I am brimming with delight, anticipation, pride, terror, (ALL THOSE BIG EMOTIVE WORDBALLS) over.

There will be a reading evening from some of the written contributors, along with a live performance from Katherine Nolan on Saturday the 19th of February from 7pm. Sneak peek an image of hers below!! WEEE!

Here's a brief look at some other examples of the imagery to expect! SQWEEEEEEEEEEEEE, excited juice pee pees EVERYWHERE. Have to leave some surprises, though! But other artists include Kieran McBride, Tu Me Tues, Peter Fingleton and a whole new body of work from lil ole Macken.

Gerry Lee

Catherine Harty

If you'd like a proper real human lady invite to the show send me your email address at info@ainemacken.com

Prodigal Macken

2010-12-06T03:25:00.000-08:00

All photos courtesy of the beautiful lift fearing Karin Albinsson

I don't know if you know this about me, but I was once a performance artist. Just once. (I mean, I'm so private about my life, what with blogging, constant forceborking and the stupendous words that I string together when I... *groan*... "tweet".) Well now, when I say a performance artist, I was more of a tool for a performance artist to appropriate his work through me. Shortly after I completed this piece I was invited to test out some performative work at a performance art showcase and I froze. Intrigued as I am by performance art, it is, in fact, the art form which instigates the most violent responses of anger, frustration and irritation in me too. There's a level of attention expected from it - that is a societal and cultural attention - which is depicted through courtesy, decorum and consideration. There's a constant anxiety within me of being considerate when making work, of if i am making someone uncomfortable that it is for a legitimate reason. Self satisfying as creating art can be, I have sat through 30minute performances where a person preaches their opinion at me whilst doing something ridiculous to satisfy their exhibitionist desires, and I am trapped, out of politeness, to listen to them, as they present me with ill informed, under researched, casual opinions which I am supposed to accept as an unpleasant artistic comment on the world. AND. TO. THAT. I. politely. FUME. FOR. HOURS. AFTERWARDS.

Although, when I list my favourite artists, to a majority they are surprisingly not painters, but rather performance artists. When done (to a level that I consider) well and WITH CONSIDERATION, even if that consideration is towards being inconsiderate, it can be wonderful (obviously entirely objectively OF COURSE! cough). Qasim Riza Shaheen is one such artist. I once got an opportunity to paint his portrait in a hotel in Dublin. There's a presence that Qasim has, an insatiable one. Not only is he a handsome figure, but there are such gentle qualities to his character that encouraged me to become confessional, and speak about my admiration for some performance artists. Obviously, I've toyed with performance through a more commonly accepted forum, that of cabaret, but somehow, I found myself on a plane on my way to the mac in Birmingham to take part in Qasim's most recent show there entitled Prodigal Son; Traces of a disciple astray.

After two days of extensive discussion and workshopping I found myself performing, in an emergency exit hallway, at the back of a theatre. It included 5 records from the 1960s each telling a different nursery rhyme/fairytale. In a simultaneously exhilarated and cripplingly terrified state, I found myself repeatedly performing five poses over the course of the six minute nursery rhyme for over 30 people, one on one over a period of three and a half hours. The vulnerability I feel when I perform ordinarily was magnified as it became a consensual one-on-one dialogue between the viewer and myself. A camera was placed where they were seated, and the public could not see me, but could only view the responses of the viewer which were projected throughout the building on large plasma screens. The vulnerability I felt was mirrored, if not surpassed by them, as they became self conscious of the voyeuristic role in which they had placed themselves. I had a sense of responsibility of wanting them to feel comfortable, to enjoy the experience, to enjoy looking at me.... It sounds pathetic when I type that out. I wonder why I desire to be looked at so much. vee vee vee vee VANITY. (WELL that was an embarrassing tangent!?!) What resulted were fits of giggles, awkward whistling, many smiles, outrageous displays of awkward hand movements, one come-on, and a large graze on my right arm where some skin used to be.

I'm still trying to figure out what all of this means. It wasn't my own piece, and Qasim had his own intentions for it, but it did become my own experience with each viewer, and the environment and memory and pain and joy that I brought to the space was my own. I'm unconvinced I can be a performance artist. But I am intrigued. And I'm heartened by the positivity this experience brought me. If I do something in future that is in the medium of performance art, it's not that I want it to be a pleasant experience, but I want it to be a significant one.

Qasim's work will be on show at the QUEER NOTIONS FESTIVAL this week. I strongly recommend you have a look at his work. It's booful.

SHE'S THINKING - OUT OF BOREDOM. This won't turn out well.

2010-11-23T07:12:00.000-08:00

As I swivel my life away in an office chair awaiting training in something I will never use, amidst dramatic sighs, and soft silent wails, I like to consider the level of dialogue which swivels simultaneously within my cranium. I'm at an impasse, you see. An impasse of being idle, yet receiving monetary embellishments for this lack of activity. UNTIL THE END OF THE YEAR. When they uttered this extended temporary fact to me, of course!, I should have rejoiced! Hurrrrrah!!! FREE MONEY YOU SAAAAY! Free money to sit in a swivel chair and gaze at a computer screen and learn about things through witty links on twitter, and watch Samantha Ronson turn the girls ghey, and eventually read newspapers when the witticism and the gateway lesbianism-ism becomes tiresome.

As I was writing this initial self indulgent paragraph, (primarily as a method to make the time pass via public moaning, of course) a 21 year old Romanian woman, who cleans the offices here at my temp job, was asking me if I had any children or a husband (she has two - children, not husbands - only one of those), she was then talking to me about the fact that she is the only one in her family who has a job. I'm here. WRITING A BLOG. Getting paid to become frustrated and have an existential crisis, and she's hoovering around my self indulgent feet.

I've been most pensive since I became "aware"/read as; "started up a twitter account". The addition of reading the newspaper, particularly at a crucially volatile point within Irish politics and economics is that I've realised I'm a spa. ("Finally," I hear Samantha Ronson tweet.)

Now many of my closest humans have often told me this. MANY. REPEATEDLY. And this new clarity, awareness, and time wasting drivel i'm typa-typa-typing is proving them quite right. I've always had a sense of the greater good for myself you see, inside this ROUNDY young lady lies all the cliches of one Leona Lewis (minus the talent of course, and perhaps with a more colourful use of language - soz Leona). Many pipe dreams I have, horrendously embarrassing pipe dreams, never really involving the impending training on Oracle (an accountancy programme) through which i am now living... I've always expected more for myself. Even though I barely have the stamina to fully commit to the book Freakonomics in favour of the trashy erotical delights of one Immodesty Blaize's second book "AMBITION", (oh baby...), and yet here I am, 7 years an artist, 5 years an administrator(soon to be adept in accounts, BABES), 1 year a cabaret performer, 1 win at a sean-nós festival under my diaphragm (I was 9 and, at that point, had never smoked...) and never having championed myself as a human bean bearing a political opinion. However, perhaps, with all of these *cough* astouuuundiiiiing achievements under mine diaphragm, if i had been more committed to training into things like Oracle, and maintaining a job, which paid me, I'd possess NOT ONLY no debt, but also, perhaps, independence to the degree of not living with ME MA. Much as I covet the earth for bestowing me with the most wonderful woman in the whole universe as my mother, I feel, at 27, somewhat ashamed to be living at home.

I blame the pipe dreams (what does that even meeeeean! - A pipe dream is a fantastic hope or plan that is generally regarded as being nearly impossible to achieve, originating in the 19th century as an allusion to the dreams experienced by smokers of opium pipes. - oooh, thank you Google!) So, essentially, I need to give up the opium and become comfortable with being miserable in order to obtain possessions such as a home, and perhaps a kitten, maybe some self respect too, so that I stop blogging.

buryuckes

2010-10-08T04:10:00.000-07:00

I went to my first ever burlesque show in London last night. I was zooper cited. And even wore a hat! A vee pretty green hat with a netted veil.. A NETTED VEIL!

Billing itself as a nightclub with daily cabaret, comedy and burlesque, something was immediately disjointed as I entered the club. Mirrored walls, black chandeliers, suits - (not nice vintage dapper suits mind you, CORPORATE SUITS) - an all female bar staff very slow to serve, all in matching Agent Provocateur panties (I COULD SEE THEIR BUM BUMS), and upon serving you informing you that a bottle of beer was £6 - as of today's currency conversion that is €6.85 in Irish euro money for 330mls of beer!!! I was not best impressed. Even one of the headline acts was saying that this was more of an Ann Summers strand of Burlesque....

ANN SUMMERS STRAND I ASK YOU!

I then discovered whilst auditioning for performers/bar wenches they were not interested in anyone over a size ten. There was an air of insecurity about the place that was palpable. I felt insecure. I overheard one of those extremely distasteful conversations in the loos where two women compliment each other through outrageous displays of a lack of self respect - "I do yoga for hours to even try to get a body like yours!", "Oh but I wish I had hair like yours mine is so limp", "YOU'RE ALL BORING" - oh that last quote might have been me...

There's a depressing self consciousness to so many beautiful women that I find, not only distasteful, but wasteful, irritating and entirely unnecessary. Of course I fall victim to many moments of doubt about myself, but then I GET OVER MYSELF, recall that I do not have a second nose on my forehead and get on with my unhealthy, hedonistic, joy filled life. For me, it's nightclubs such as this which fully endorse and support this mindset.

Later in the night, I discovered that City Burlesque was formerly a "table-dancing club", and it made a lot of sense.... there was nothing remotely empowering, intriguing, subversive or new about this club, and it would be AT BEST described as a contemporary version of a Playboy club, most notably grasping on to the values of those 1950s clubs in relation to objectifying the female through social norms of beauty with talent being listed as a nice pair of tits and how you've dieted yourself to the point of looking like a boy.

Now I left early out of irritation, and with the exception of Lydia Darling, Miss Banbury Cross, and from what I hear Luna Rosa, who are all of major merit in their own light... Lydia Darling was prevented from using fire in her show and seemed puzzled as to how to adapt her performance through creative limitations...it was all very depressing. They were there to be pretty. That seems to be enough to impress them, but it certainly wasn't enough for me. AND DID I MENTION THE PRICE OF THE BEER? Incidentally, the sad appearance of a young Winehouse woman was also pretty upsetting. BUT LETS NEVER SPEAK OF THAT AGAIN.
Yes, I'm talking to you THE SUN.

Work of Fiction - The Next Top Áine Macken

2010-08-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

Sooooooo I'm not sure you're aware, but, I, Áine Macken, have appalling taste in television. When I say appalling I obviously mean in relation to the judgement of others as to what I allow unfold before my eyes whilst ballooning into a blimp, when really I should be lunging to validate my burlesque career so that I'm no longer referred to as brave but rather as sexy... (give that lil tangent a wave! hi bitter tangent, are we feeling a little insecure this morning, hush now and take your clothes off, twill be very brave of you).... This appalling taste includes any Next Top Anything, the delightfully obsessive cocoon of big brother, Tyra Banks and her upper lip, expanding my vocabulary through watching Lauren Conrad dispense wisdom (MARRY ME.)..., however I'm not so fond of the singing ones, my distaste is akin to my morning breath for their DISARMING and HEARTBREAKING tales of bore involving their failed careers, dead family members, and crossed eyes, and the SONGS, oh do be silent and dispense wisdom in a condescending fashion like my two favers up there.

When I accidentally stumbled upon "Work of Art - The Next Great Artist.", (yes, it was whilst going to stream The Real L Word... I'M NOT ASHAMED), I thought... ooooh! OVERLAP, my serious life, and my boldie avoiding serious life combining in a reality televisual tantric orgasm of splendour! Wonderful! Well letmetellyouthis! Not only did this assist in future blimpage, but it ALSO, yes also, contributed to the fact that i am AGING, by furrowing my brow and having further necessity for those anti wrinkle creams my mother keeps giving me. How very dare you Bravo, how very dare you indeed.

Launched by Sarah Jessica Parker, (Yes, CARRIE, squeeeee, screeeeeam, everybody paint your nails, start getting-to-wonder, be a sexy horse, neigh for me.) as she is EXECUTIVE PRODUCER of the show.... widely known as a conceptual artist Sarah Jessica Parkers work lies mostly in dealing with socio-economic... oh no, wait, she has NOTHING to DO WITH ART, except for maybe having extortionate amounts of money to buy it, (which if you're reading this Carrie, which I'm sure you are, I have plenty of paintings for sale... CALL ME!)...

We are introduced to an array of KOOKEE KARACKTERS, lots of shexshy wimmin, a couple of weirdos (see below); some anti establishment i'm-a-builder-but-i'm-just-magically-good-at-art-stop-judging-me-or-i-will-flatten-you-with-my-expansive-chipped-shoulder, already 'established' artists, and a host of dubious judges from the art world in New York.

(now I'm most aware I'm a huge weirdo, and I adore weirdos, I did sense a sensationalist aspect to the "weirdo" here though, where it seemed somewhat exploitative and unconscious, particularly in relation to Nao, a literally shit artist, not that she's literally shitting, just simulating shitting of course, CANT GO TOO FAR.)

What irked me though, as I was indeed quite substantially irked, was that their final sentence upon awarding an artist as being the 'winner' from each challenge was that China Chow, the host, would repeat weekly "You really made a true work of Art". Now, though I did admire some of the art on display, (well when I say some, I actually mean only one artist, that being Peregrine Honig, (featured below)

she does some delicately touching and twisted imagery of which I am most fond. Check her oot.) UNFORTUNATELY FOR MY LOOKS, to a majority it was largely underwhelming, half baked, insincere work, and the eventual winners own work was condescending to the extent of my having to wince when hearing him assert his opinion on our socio economic condition through repetitive use of the word CRAAAAZY. Growl.

I'll stick to the High Art in Reality Television of Project Runway then... what would Tim say? THANK YOU MOOD.

Pen Pal Pear Project

2010-08-05T02:24:00.000-07:00

My work is involved in the Pen Pal Pear project at the Little Ghost Gallery in Kilkenny, opening this Friday the 6th of August to coincide with the Kilkenny Arts Festival.

This was a project where selected artists were combined in a visual pen pal partnership. We were encouraged by Anne Keenan and Mick Minogue (who run the gallery) not to do google searches, or email, or phone the other artist, and to literally post imagery to each other in order to create a piece for the eventual show.

I was placed with artist Stacey Shine, whose delicate insightful drawings dropped into my letterbox like little droplets of joy. I struggled a lot with the project as, though the materials with which we work are somewhat similar, I thought our concepts were vastly different.

It was when she sent me this image, that something began to resonate and I could see a language and dialogue with which we could begin to visually combine.

She didn't send me details of what was happening in the work. And this, for me, meant I could view it as an objective source, i.e. as a viewer, but the fact that I could respond to it, as an artist, meant that the project began to escalate. I addressed it as a young boy, smiling strangely and carrying a log. I found it curious and the children's illustrational style to it almost gave it that sumptuous play of being disturbing, which is integral to my own work.

My own work operates mostly within the tension between flattering portraiture, sincere emotion, the difficulty of depicting that through a liquid substance and to a majority, all of my source imagery originates from internet imagery. I'm interested in extremes, I'm interested in the horrific, I'm interested in the titillating nature of the eroticised image, I'm interested in genedered imagery... you would think all of these interests would make me interesting... at least my vocabulary is vast... at least I HAVE THAT.

Well, anywho, if you're INTERESTED! (yep, she uuuused it again) in seeing how we combined our work to create a finished cohesive piece - it actually only fell into place when we met up in Café Irie on Thomas Street and worked through everything we'd sent to each other - after the initial weird, oooh are you Stacey? moment... my first blind date!... the show runs until the 14th of August. (Incidentally it turns out that little boy carrying a log was a female construction worker from the second world war. Excellent!)

Here are two examples of pieces we sent to each other that may OR MAY NOT be in the show...;

Murder she rode... Ridey Angela Landsbury WHOO KNOO?

2010-08-04T00:54:00.000-07:00

Bunny's Hutch and Mackey being INAPPROPRIATE

2010-08-01T06:59:00.000-07:00

I suppose bloggling forces you to be opinionated about certain things, to write out your ideas, and to eventually allow people to read these ideas... makes me feel a lirrul exposed, but sure who gives a fuck about my feelings.

Fast approaching is the first anniversary of my first ever 'burlesque' performance. I suppose what I do could be classified a lot more as cabaret, but I think I'm fascinated with burlesque, and not just for all the bootiful boobulars, but for the glamour, potency, subversion, titillation and intelligence that comes with it as an art form. It toys with the objectifying eye and subverts yet celebrates it. It's a duplicitous confusing form of performance, which, for me, makes it all the more sumptuous and intriguing.

Something I've always struggled with is my consistent inner dialogue of whether to suppress my narcissism and to maintain, nurture, and add fuel to my flaws. I really love this quote from Luce Irigaray, MY TOP FAVE PHILOSOPHER BABES; (I think she'd appreciate that eloquent introduction)

"...more than other senses, the eye objectifies and masters. it sets at a distance, maintains the distance. in our culture, the predominance of the look over smell, taste, touch, hearing, has brought about an improverishment of bodily relations...the moment domin ates the look dominates, the body loses its materiality”

There's something about the experience of performing that is equal parts objectifying and subverting, exposing and hiding, glamourising and de-mystifying yourself. It's simultaneously the most exhilarated and terrified I've ever been. I agonize and question myself and my motivations for putting myself in this position, I curse myself for not being thinner, not making my face look nicer, I CURSE FACEBOOK PHOTO TAGS. But I'm also weirdly impressed with myself for being so brazen... for just saying fuck it so I'm a bit fat, I'm still ridey!

I'm going to be introducing a brand new performance at Bunny's Hutch in Panti Bar on Capel Street on Tuesday the 3rd of August, that, for me, expresses all these discomforts, subversions, and sumptuous elements of narcissism, over indulgence and PROPRIETY with which I struggle. Come seeeeeee. The Hutch, for me, is one of the most interesting new platforms for young performers to test out new ideas, and it's potential has been far surpassed by the wonder of the displays of talent there each week. It's bahrillo, totally free, and I'm in love with it, and with Bunny.

She's beyooooteeeful! LOOK!

MORAN MACKEY BIRTHDAY FESTIVAL 2010

2010-07-26T12:09:00.000-07:00

GUSHING BIRTHDAY LOVE

I am most honoured to share a birthday with this young man. A fine pair of arms he has, young Padraig Moran, quite the penchant for midweek pints and midnight charlies, and oh, yes, the best writer I know. (Don't tell him I said that though, his big head may spread to my boobs. I'm keeping it high brow don't chew know...) Here are some ridiculous posters I made for him as a thank you for him filling me to the BRIM with meat, and I don't mean in a sexy way, I mean in a BBQ way - YOU DISGUST ME. Do have a goo at his blog by clicking on his name up there. It's mah fave.

Still moderately inebriated and having experienced the worst hangover in my existence, (I SHAKE AND I SHAKE BUT IT WON'T COME OFFFFFFFFF). I can safely say that my birthday was THE MOST WONDERFUL DAY, including midnight crowd surfing, two morning Mc Weeney fries(or is it frys? oh lots of sausies and puddin's anyways, nom nom), missed flower deliveries, wearing life jackets (swooning at Lorna Mc Weeney's HUFF in a lifejacket), canal cruising in aforementioned lifejackets, bar bee que ing with copious champagne, a disconappy costume change, THE WORLDS MOST WONDERFUL CABARET SHOW, and dance dance dancing till I pass pass passed out.

A huge great thanky warmy snuzzley spooney hug first and foremost to the wonderful Mimi Rouge, then of course, Peter Dunne, Fanci Shmancy, Ian Finnerty(THAT CAKE OHHH THE CAKE!), Richard Conway, Lisa Connell, Ciarán Rua, Stephen Quinn, Neil Watkins, Paddy Fagan, the Frenchies for my Spicey Flower, Lorcan Devaney for that tremendous cáca milis, Gerry Leeleeeleeee for coming all the way over and creating such a lifelike image of me in his fancy dress gown, Lorna Mc Weeney for treating me like a Mc Queenie, and of course Not Forgetting Padraig Moran, whom I FORGOT to sing Happy Birthday to as I was far too busy singing it TO MYSELF in a breathy Marilyn accent(Hi FEAR! taaaanks for reminding me!) Obviously it was amazing to have so many of my lovely friends there too, and I weeally approssiotod it SO I DID. thankthankthanks. kay i'll shurrup now. x

Full photos here;

http://bit.ly/d7upX9

aaaaaaaaaaand HERE;

http://bit.ly/d7hDVT

and here's a few of my most faves if you're too lazy to click the linkies!

GAZE After Party

2010-07-26T06:25:00.000-07:00

Mimi by Laughlin McKee

Gaze After Party Presents; OVER THE RAINBOW

Here's imagery of ONLY SOME the ridey DJs you can expect at The Academy this Friday the 30th of July. Just looking at them is almost enough. but dancing for them too. WELL NOW. That's something we'll all enjoy. a little too much perhaps. Great exercise is dancing anywho. cough. What do you mean I'm blushing BLOG? YOU DON'T KNOW ME.

Photo of the beautiful Peter Fingleton (Expect to hear his choons after 1am) provided by the wonderful and always insatiably stylish Eimear Fitzmaurice and all the rest are by the good Peter himself.

Una Mullally is Deejaying at 12.30am

See Ian's delightful bop from 11pm

Conor Beho will be rocking my britney pants off from 10.15

Check out Deejays SWISHITUP too, they throw jewels and glitter out to the crowd, and I've been very impressed by their tune-age at recent CaKe slots.

There's concessions for anyone with a GAZE film ticket stubb, and there'll be a series of Drag and burlesque performances which I'll post up more aboot later in the week.

MACKEY MONSTER

2010-07-20T06:02:00.000-07:00

BEHOLD the Magnificent MIMI ROUGE.

I am most honoured to call her my STAGE MOM/MONKAT/one of my most FAVES in the world. And she has really humbled me by organising a magnificent birthday party for me to coincide with the next PARTIE MONSTER. This Saturday the 24th of July in The Sugar Club, which happens, luckily (I'm a very lucky girly) to be my birthday... In her words, she is taking inspiration from me... START EATING PIES QUICK. No no, what this means is that other than a stomping club night there will also be a mini cabaret including;

HEIDI KONNT, OSCILLATE WILDLY, ALTER EGO, LISA DONEGAL

AND MORE TO BE ANNOUNCED.

Expect subversive, raunchy, shocking and titillating performances from some of my ABSOLUTE FAVES. weeeeeeeee!

Then on to the Dancey bit;

A LIST OF DELICIOUS DJ'S PLAYING A COCKTAIL OF MUSIQUE! MIMI ROUGE/PETER FINGLETON/IAN FINNERTY/RICHARD J CONWAY/FANCI SCHMANCY/PUTRID DUNNE

A few people have asked me about dress code;

If it is an evening taking inspiration from Mackey (now i know that sounds narcissistic but IT ACTUALLY WASN'T ME who came up with the theme!! GOD THIS BLOGGING KEEPS GETTING MORE EMBARRASSING) but for me that means kinda retro glam sexy absurd, plenty of cleavage PLENTY of eyeliner and LOTS OF SMILES... but as long as you're happy and feel gorgeous that's good enough for me!!!!!!!! And if you're there that's the very best bit. x

Here's a foo outfits i've sported at partie monsters of old...; mostly boobs and facepaint if we're honest...

check out www.cantleavenow.com and

www.sharpshock.com for real inspiration and INCREDIBLE PHOTOGRAPHY from two of my most beautiful friends Peter Fingleton and Fionn Kidney. who are responsible for the majority of the photies i post on this here ramblestation.... and they're fucking RIDES too.

áit AIT - a love story

2010-07-19T07:50:00.000-07:00

I go all smooshy swooshy, but not in a ROMCOM way, when i speak about áit AIT. The first time I met Mags and Ciarán they had come to my mid year MA show in Temple Bar Gallery & Studios. Quite the dapper pair they were. They remind me of the comforting scent of cinnamon and almonds. Each time I encounter them, I feel at ease, entertained with eloquent rants (-see Ciarán), and ready for a glass of red wine the size of my face. (Usually it's white, but this is the impact they have on me!! life changing as you can see.) Anyways, luckily they mistook my work for something remotely intelligent and kindly invited me to exhibit my work at their new club night. And such began my love affair with a night club.

There's a certain energy about áit AIT that I've always admired. They're creative and intelligent, they have ethics when it comes to only playing what they deem as good music (at times this can unfortunately involve part of The Little Mermaid soundtrack, but we forgive them as they're so ruddy ruvery) their tremendous bakery skills, but personally I believe it's the welcoming environment they create each month that involves them getting such a dedicated and wholehearted following. Always welcoming, Ciarán Rua ensures he is roaming with his wee smiley head, and has a mischievous glint in his eye in the knowledge that his plotted surprises of the evening are afoot. They theme each month, more of a source of entertainment and inspiration for themselves, as to what surprises to plot really, rather than a dress code like SUCH incrediballs nights as PARTIE MONSTER, which I'll speak about later, and at length, with equal amounts of gush... there is an element of 'cool' to the evening at áit AIT. by that i mean hip happening. and BY THAT by that i mean i sound like a spa. but how and ever. WHAT I'M REALLY trying to SAY, is that the gays that go dress well, have very specific music tastes and look really beautiful. Of course, once everyone gets a bit wibbly after a few shandies they look even better as they're now shiney from sweaty dancing and spilled pints, or in the case of Will St Legers birthday a bottle of prosecco showering the crowd...

In my personal experience of Gay Dublin (Gublin if you will), it was the first experience I had of feeling comfortable in a Gubbly environ (if i will, oh i will, gubbling all over, babes), I mean, the music was good, the people were sexy, the dancing was ridiculous, and I felt simultaneously at ease, overexcited, and RANDY, but sure, I'm always randy, so there's no change there really. It was my introduction to a world of alternative nights with merit to their musicality and creativity to their methods of orchestrating entertainment, all inevitably leading to the alco you see before you on this here bloglington.

Anywhoodle, the next one is fast approaching. (I'll be DJing, which is nice for me.) This Friday, which happens to be my birthday EVE. which means at midnight I expect champagne to be showered over me. Kaythanksbuy!

delicate... delicacies. sensitivity. and humans i cherish

2010-07-18T11:06:00.000-07:00

AhhhhhnyOk I'll BE HONEST. I may have imbibed a smidgeen. I maaay have danced like a spa. I may have danced like a spa with the worlds SMILEYest man. His name is Alan and I love him forever. These are all not unusual though, the spa holeyness, the imbibery, the falling in love, as you well know, if you well know me, which i'm sure you well do, as i can't well even imagine anyone who doesn't know me having any remote desire to read my drivel. Oooh tangent. Anywho, What is moderately unusual is my crazed rages, my stomping around in my shoes (filled with holes), my impatience and my oversensitivity.

Mother Macken is unwell you see. She suffered from a very serious case of bowel cancer and commenced the six month poopy trip of chemotherapy on Wednesday. She's wonderful. I. However. Am a Mess. Oh I'm disgustingly going with that whole confessional Blogosphere monstrosity I hear people (myself) shake their head at. Yes I'm shaking my head at myself. I'll have the F.E.A.R. about posting this, wont I? Why do I keep asking you questions blogroll? WHO KNOWS. I'm probably mostly pensive and confessional due to the blood alcohol content being at an unfortunate level STILL. I SHOULD PROBABLY JUST STRETCH BACK INTO ABSURDITY WHERE I'M MOST COMFORTABLE, that, and CAPS Lock, caps is my primary source of comedy.... That, my friends, is the secret to comedy... to make funny make BIG. Arint you lolling all over me? oh lols hols. Where did it all go wrong with my comedic career?

Anyway. Apologies, mostly to young Lorna Mc Weenerschnitzel above. She bore the brunt of it. I'm taking offense to everything. OFFENDED. I've strictly instructed her not to read this though, as she'll be grammatically horrified with me. I suspect she's already aware of my dubious relationship with the caps lock. She bought my Mammy flowers once did Lorna Mc Weeney. That was nice of her.

Now everybody hug me, tell me it's all going to be OK, and lettuce never speak of this post again.

PHOTO BY Rory (with the Story) Nugent. From last night with Alan Mc Smiley. Thanks Rory, you made me not look like a mess which was nice of you. You're a nice man you are. With lovely shoes.

Mothering Sunday Mornings, Foxy Knoxies, and Elderly Asian Ladyvillians

2010-07-17T03:27:00.000-07:00

PHOTO COURTESY OF THE WONDEROUS Peter Fingleton.

Currently hidden in my little bedroom with a tummy growl, growl growling for some delightful special K... (if only i could complete that two week challenge I'd finally be skinny FOR ONCE AND FOR ALL) ...but the mother macken has visitors. And SO, I will forge on, and growl and RANT, and rave, (bedrave to THIS) but ALSO, on to my general concerns of this Saturday the 17th of July. I'm worried about Amanda Knox you see. She has CUT HER HAIR. She's also receiving Fan Mail. She's been imprisoned for my entire life span, AND SHE'S FOXY, according to the media, this makes the story extra salacious. Trial by media comes to mind, but I'm pleased we got to know her opinion on the World Cup. At least there's that.

Now my sleep was pestered by a terrifying asian woman brandishing a gun filled with firework bullets that she was shooting at me. Strewn across that gun was a black and white cat. Obviously this relates to me reading the Amanda Knox article before bedlington. But also, due to the fact that I suffer from chronic FMS (fear of Missing Something) it was an anxiety dream relating directly to the monstrosity that I was not out enjoying MY LIFE, but rather was tappa tappa typing to this here blog which I'm sure no one will be reading, at least it's taking me away from my hunger though.

Luckily, anxiety dreams shall be suspended due to the fact that i shall be going to Mother this evening. Located in the bowels of a tremendous hidden gem of copper alley, with it's steel brandished podium separators, ornate wallpaper, covenous low ceilings, and glamorous humans, each week I feel as though I'm stepping into an episode of Dynasty, combined with the good old days when RíRá's Monday Evening Strictly Handbag would see me FORGET ABOUT ALCOHOL in favour of Dancing and drinking pints of water. Wholesome Mack.

Oh visitors are gone! For Cereal. I'm not really a very dedicated blogger am I? This is all a ploy to sustain hunger.

MY FAVES being Fuzzy.

2010-07-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

Experimenting WITH THE WONDROUS WORLD OF BLOGLINGTON, I decided to Google me most faves and add drunk to their name in the image search. As you do. I could say it's in reference to THE UNSTAGED PORTRAIT, in relation to my art. And I'm sure, subconciously it is. But MOSTLY. I'm doing it FOR THE FUNSIES. Which is why I do most things. Except when I watch reeling in the years, that is for my forays into masochism.

intriguingly when i started to go for the slightly hipper portion of my faves, the drunken photography became more evasive? do cool people not get wibbly on whiskey? THAT IS MY QUESTION. and so the hip people are absent. I won't mention them. I'm quite comfortable and confident with my exceptional lack of THE COOL, so it's juuuuust fuhhhine. Thanks for mentioning you think i'm super cool though babes. nice of you! have you been drinking?

See I'm already being significant in the BLOGOSPHERE.

On ROMCOMS.

2010-07-16T14:36:00.001-07:00

My niece... She's an adult now, it's horrendous. Well, she, she was telling me about Valentine's Day. Apparently it's a splendid sojourn into love and life, direct quote.. (i would havard reference it BUT I WAS NEVER ARSED DURING MY MASTERS so why begin i say) "You'd love it Áine! It's like Love Actually, but it's ON VALENTINE'S DAY."

Well you know what? I'm not convinced I would Bláithín Macken Smith. I'm sitting here on my salacious red couch casually not watching hit mooovie Laws of Attraction, oh ho ho it's a lark! They just went to Oireland so they did, Pierce Brosface is from there you know... Lucky Man. From Navan I hear. Which is a palindrome, which I enjoy. Unlike this filum. It's casually ripping my face off actually. And THOUGH I do believe in love. I'm not sure this is the kind of love I was thinking about. BUT HARK, Julianne Moore is in it. Do you know what Julianne Moore is also in? Correct! Far from Heaven. A. Good. Film. Very Good Indeed. One of the best films actually. If you ask me. Probably a lot better of a reflection of the actual complexities of loving someone. That all sounds frightfully archaic and uninteresting though doesn't it.(question mark un-necessary due to complete rhetoricality of that statement) Erich Fromm's "The Art of Love", sounds like a guide to the mysteries of the clitoris (WHICH IT COULD BE), but no no, I jest, he is a psychoanalyst who speaks at length about the potency and significance of LOVE

"Giving is the highest expression of potency. In the very act of giving, I experience my strength, my wealth, my power. This experience of heightened vitality and potency fills me with joy. I experience myself as overflowing, spending, alive, hence as joyous. Giving is more joyous than receiving, not because it is a deprivation, but because in the act of giving lies the expression of my aliveness."

I'm not sure the Laws of Attraction is giving me anything. It is a dubiously soothing background noise though. i think it's the smooshy swooshy music. I'm glad my life is not smooshy swooshy. It's full of AGONY and TERROR and laughter and drinks and irritation and embarrassment and tastes and joys and soft soft skin and warm baths and delicately dropping various things on my tongue. Incidentally, all this mention of giving reminds me of my birthday fast approaching..... WINK WINK. I'll update this blog thing about Mackey Monster soon. Yes I will.

KISSES. Ooooh blog cherry POPPED. I'm only 14 years behind all the KUL KIDZ (sp?)