Ómós Digest #152: Connemara’s a crafty place
Craft and architecture on the west coast of Ireland. Written by Cúán Greene.
Discovering the rich craft and architecture found in Connemara, Ireland.
We were headed out west with no concrete plan - a term my mother has forever expressed as Níl aon t-am i gConamara (there is no time in Connemara), otherwise interpreted as: ‘will you relax, we’re on our holidays’. Although maybe timeless, that evening our dinner had been somewhat arranged at my Uncle Cian and Aunt Bairbre’s house, in the old fishing town of Carraroe. As ever, the weather played a part in deciding the menu. For years there were two plausible options. Should the weather cooperate, fresh lobsters were the unfortunate beasts, cooked in seawater and smothered in garlic butter for their sins. It’s impossible to find a purer example of fresh seafood, with the lobster flesh naturally seasoned by the Atlantic seawater. If a storm settled in, as it frequently did in these parts, we would have to make do with Connemara lamb, whose life was spent nourished upon marshy grassland. A leg or two marinated then grilled over turf would produce an unmistakable flavour true to the place. Invariably, rain or shine, a skib (Irish woven basket) full of floury potatoes adorned the centre of the table, smothered once more in the golden stuff.
The three generations who sat around the table that evening were brought here thanks to a Co. Armagh man, and a painter to be exact, attracted to An Cheathrú Rua (Carraroe), through a fascination with its extraordinary community, light and the very rolling clouds that would dictate our meal that evening. Charles Vincent Lamb was my great-grandfather, a wanderer, dreamer, and one of Ireland's most celebrated landscape painters. His home which he built, now passed down through my family, sits on a hill looking out over the Connemara coastline. With walls made from local granite and dormers protruding from its steep slate roof, the home was something plucked out of the Breton countryside in Northern France, inspired by his time living in Brittany in the 1920’s. However, the house was constructed by tradesmen who hailed from Co. Armagh and lent their skills and local knowledge to the project. Despite having been constructed with cement, using sand harvested from the local beaches, it stands strong today.
Stepping into the house is forever a nostalgic experience for me; a step back in time. Sitting on old chairs and stools built by Charles, I recall the many summers spent here, running throughout the house playing games as a child with my cousins, or sitting by the fire on wet afternoons in the very same wooden seats. The house is adorned with old objects, dressers and ancient biscuit tins. The doors creak as they always did. The water from the taps is as brown as it always was. The portraits are perhaps only slightly less terrifying than they once were. Upon every return, I walk through the house in admiration and awe at the design and detail attributed. Charles had considered every doorway, mantle, fireplace and handle. The proportions are thoughtful and the house was built to be functional and accommodating (both for his short stature and my great-grandmother's imposing height). Although familiar with the house, on this visit, for the first time in my life I got access to his studio at the back of the house, which sat on a rock, as if it were a sculpture on its pedestal. When I opened the door and walked in, I recall inhaling deeply. Somehow I expected to enter dimly lit quarters. Instead, I was greeted by natural light infiltrating through the window openings surrounding the room. Long pendant lights hung from the ceiling, their cables connecting east to west, dangling with great restraint. The ‘flat vaulted ceiling’ as it is referred to, though traditional in the area, was of much greater height and width than typically seen in diminutive Irish cottages. While many of the studio tools had been removed for safekeeping, three desks remained. My grandmother explained that Charles would move around the studio according to the time of the day, where the light penetrated best.
Just like many people today travel to Connemara for its unrivalled beauty, Indigenous Irish language, unique culture, and indeed for some, the clouds, back in the early 20th century, Padraig Pearce, leader of the 1916 rebellion against British rule, built a summer cottage for himself in Ros Moc (with the same style roof as Charles’s studio) by the banks of Loch Oiriúlach, on the roads to Maam Cross. It’s believed that here the Irish nationalist leader, poet, educator and Irish language enthusiast wrote his elaborate orations. Pearce's house remains just how he left it in 1915, accessible via a short walk across the paved bog, alive with indigenous flora and fauna. To mark Pearce's life, the Ionad Cultúrtha an Phiarsaigh was founded. Just off the main road, the impressive zinc-lined structure unexpectedly greets you. Throughout Connemara, the scenery is rugged and its architecture is predominantly traditional. Luckily today, with renewed interest in the vernacular, many more old cottages are being brought back to life, however, it is uncommon to find strikingly modern interpretations of vernacular dwellings on the main road. The development of this new centre was undertaken by Údarás na Gaeltachta and Simon J Kelly Architects. The building matches Pearce’s thatched structure’s strictly vernacular, 43-degree roof pitch, but dwarfing the original in scale, spanning an enormous 10m deep along its 60m length. However, as you walk through the meandering bogland towards Pearce’s original home, the visitor centre sits peacefully in the landscape: the zinc patina melding beautifully with the burnt shades typical of the region. For me, this relationship between old and new is fascinatingly refreshing. Having spent my entire childhood visiting these parts, I’ve realised that a great part of the region’s charm is within the unexpected. Upon every corner, turn, or narrow bend, you’re likely to happen on a ‘a moment’, either constructed by nature or man, that never fails to provoke thought. For centuries, these local masters of tongue have learned to work with the rugged land, accepting and channelling its visceral nature into a design language that feels authentic.