How it all began.....

GRANDDAD READS THE NEWS IN 1941

In October 1998, I began my Junior Cert art project, with the quirky title 'My Granny's Attic'. My plan was to put together a set of images of what you might find in my grannies' attics - pictures of old antiques, old photos, etc. I'd imagine that my grandmothers would have taken issue with the fact that I included a drawing of a rat in the project!!!

One of the first pictures that I decided to do was of an old photograph that was taken of my granddad, Patrick O'Keeffe, sitting on a deckchair and reading a newspaper in 1941. The objective was to make the picture look like an old black and white photograph. However, when I finished it, my family were certain that it actually resembled my granddad. This was a nice surprise, as I had never really drawn pictures of real people before. In fact, animals had been my favourite subjects.



Out of curiosity, I decided to draw pictures of more old family photos, but now with the intention of achieving strong resemblances. The more I drew, the more I got excited about them. With every picture, I focused more and more of my attention on the face, trying hard to achieve a good deal of accuracy in my portrayals. With this, my drawings evolved from mainly body-length pictures to pictures focusing solely on the face. Over the course of the project, I found that the vast majority of the images included were of old family photographs of ancestors that I had never met but was gradually coming to know. With this, I began to develop a separate interest in genealogy.

BRANCHING OUT

When the project concluded in the summer of 1999, I continued to draw more photos of great-grandparents and granduncles. However, my supply of old family photos soon ran dry and I moved onto pictures of people from another of my pet interests: history. Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela and John F. Kennedy became my subjects and I filled up many folders with many portraits. This was until somewhere in the middle of the year 2000, when I began to become restless and felt the need to do more than simply draw portraits and then hide them in these folders.



Perhaps naively, I embarked on visits to various galleries and shops in Dublin, asking if they would be interested my work. I received polite refusals from most, but it was in the Millrace Gallery in Phibsboro that the owner gave me some valuable advice. Looking through my work, he told me that he would take my contact details, in case anybody would come to him in search of portraits. When he came across a drawing that I had done of the Irish soccer pundit, Eamon Dunphy, he suggested that I send it to him. I did not consider this seriously until later that year, when a group of musicians from the Artane Boys Band, of which I was then a member, were due to perform in RTE one Saturday night. I knew that Eamon Dunphy would be in RTE on that night for his weekly punditry on 'The Premiership', and decided to bring my drawing of him along. When I met him and gave the picture to him, a colleague mentioned to me that it was the first time that he ever saw Eamon Dunphy stuck for words!!!



By this stage, I had developed a great passion for drawing portraits, and always relished undertaking the tough challenge of trying to achieve an absolute accuracy on the page. Faces are extremely delicate subjects, as the slightest discrepancy can be recognized not as slight, but in fact it can result in the drawing being regarded as a failure. Therefore, when drawing a portrait, you are always walking a tight-rope where the tension is real and there is very little sense of relaxation. But mixed with this is the excitement of the prospect of creating the illusion of a person with the aid of a small stick of graphite and a white sheet of paper. With every portrait that is drawn, the momentum and motivation to do the next one increases.

THE 'BERTIE AND BILL FACTOR'

The Eamon Dunphy experience whetted my appetite and made me more aware of what was possible. This came into play towards the end of 2000, when I heard on the news one night that Bill Clinton was due to visit Ireland. There and then, I decided that he was going to receive a drawing of himself. I had no idea how he would receive it, but my decision was set in stone: he was going to receive it!

I began to think of where he might visit during his trip, but I could not find out. I then asked myself who he was likely to meet, thinking that perhaps I could send it to that person and ask them to give the drawing to him. The only people that I knew he was likely to meet were the President and the Taoiseach. Not thinking that it was very likely that they might give him my portrait on my behalf, I knew that there was nothing to lose and much to gain, so I decided to send it to one of them. The Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern, was my preferred choice, as I thought that his meeting with Clinton would be less formal than that between the two Heads of State.



With that, I drew my portrait of Bill Clinton and wrote my letter to the Taoiseach, asking him to give my portrait to the U.S. President. Clinton came and went. To my utter shock and pure delight, I received a letter in mid-December from Bertie Ahern, informing me that he had passed on my portrait to Clinton's White House Special Assistant, who would pass it on to the President on their return to the White House!!! I could not believe what had just happened - somehow, a drawing that I had done had managed to find its way into the hands of the most powerful man in the world, through the hands of the leader of our country. A whole new world opened up and the possibilities became clearer....



I thought to myself, if the Taoiseach would take the time out to acknowledge my work, who else would? My fascination with history suddenly developed a connection with my portraits and I realised that I had an opportunity to tap into the worlds that I found myself enthralled with in the pages of the books that I loved to read. I drew a portrait of Bertie Ahern to thank him for his kindness, before launching into a set of experiences that I never thought would ever come my way…

I sent portraits to world leaders past and present, Nobel Laureates, achievers, artists and thinkers. I could not believe what was happening as I found letters of appreciation beginning to come through my letterbox from taoisigh, U.S. Presidents, and giants from history. This continued to balloon over the years from 2001. I found myself being invited to visit the former Taoiseach, Charlie Haughey, at his home in Abbeville; presenting a portrait to Manchester United's Alex Ferguson at the home of the Irish race horse magnate, J. P. McManus; and experiencing the sheer excitement of meeting my childhood hero, Norman Wisdom and presenting him with a portrait I had drawn for him, at a car show in Dublin, where we sat in a Rolls Royce that he once owned! This was a journey that I had never envisaged undertaking, but was one that I was hugely enjoying.

A TAOISEACH, A POPE AND A PHONE-CALL

One of the highlights came in July 2005 when I drew a portrait of the then newly-elected pope, Benedict XVI. Just after I completed it, a man that I knew mentioned to me that Bertie Ahern was due to meet him in the Vatican later that week, and suggested that I contact the Taoiseach’s office with a view to having him present the portrait to the pontiff when he met him in Rome.

I latched onto the idea immediately, and the very next day, 5 July, I phoned Bertie Ahern’s constituency office in Drumcondra, spoke with his secretary and told her what I had done. I asked about the possibility of the Taoiseach presenting my drawing to the pope in the Vatican. She told me that if I dropped it to her office that evening, she would see what she could do.



On Thursday, 7 July, Bertie Ahern met Pope Benedict in the Vatican, in what was the new pope’s first meeting with a European head of government. The next day, I was completely flabbergasted to read in the Irish Independent newspaper that Bertie Ahern had presented my drawing to the pope for me. To put the icing on the cake, on Thursday, 14 July, I received a package from the Taoiseach, in which he enclosed a personal note, telling me that he gave my portrait to Pope Benedict, as well as an A4-sized photo of himself, with the Irish Ambassador to the Vatican, and the pope standing in a circle and smiling down at my drawing, which was sitting happily in the pope’s hands. I couldn't believe what had just happened - it was a combination of ecstasy, disbelief, bewilderment and appreciation.

AND SO IT CONTINUES....



Since then, there have been more exciting experiences and encounters, and my drawings have, I hope, continued to evolve and improve. Recently, I have been delighted to see them on display and sale in galleries - something that I had first attempted to achieve nearly a full decade ago, before I got side-tracked with the above activities.
I’m very excited about what is yet to come, knowing from experience that things that you never expect to ever happen can very suddenly become a reality. Little did my granddad know what he was starting when he sat down to read his newspaper back in 1941!!!

Portrait of Albert Einstein - Summer 2007

This portrait was a pleasure to draw. With its large amount of detail, it was extremely time-consuming, and there was always the possibility of something going wrong. Albert Einstein's face was a contradiction, in that he often wore a disinterested expression, but one that was worn from endless hours of intense study and focus. In his face were not just details, but memories and stories. Hopefully, these could be captured with the physical detail.

Whilst facial detail is usually helpful to me, in that it works as a map of the face, and a very useful guide for my pencil, there is a hidden danger in it leading me up the wrong path-way. Your guard can be left down when you know that this detail is aiding you, and if you go in the wrong the direction, it can be too late before you realise. The consequences in this situation can be quite bad, as the damage to the drawing may be irreparable.

Therefore, every pencil stroke must be made with meticulous care, and often at a painfully slow speed. No line is placed on the page without your being fully sure that it should definitely be there. This clairty is ascertained by way of comparison with other details on the page, and by measurements of distance that involve a strict co-ordination between your eye and hand. With all of this having to be taken account of, the construction of a portrait can be quite stressful at times, as you are constantly riding on the edge of a precipice and desperately trying to hold your balance simultaneously. Einstein was full of this. The motivating factor through all of this journey is the promise of what you hope will be a rewarding image at the end of it. The prospect a great sense of relief at the end of the picture, having not fallen over the precipice, is something that always outweighs the tension when drawing it.

All of this detail typically provides you with the opportunity to make the drawing look more real. The lack of similar detail in the hair of this picture of Einstein provided a separate challenge, however. With much of it fading into nothing, the observer had to be aware of the reality that it was not, in fact, fading into nothing. In this situation, the parts of the hair that did not fade into nothing had to perform the function of reassuring the observer that their structure was mirrored by the hair that appeared to fade into the background. This is where you call upon the trust of the observer, who will hopefully provide you with the benefit of the doubt.

It is difficult for me to properly assess this portrait. Having spent so long working on it, you become so caught up in it that it is difficult to take an obective look at it. You are too conscious of aspects of it that somebody else may not notice. However, about nine months after finishing it, I am fairly content when I look at it.

The concept of portraiture

The distinguishing feature of a proper pencil portrait is the presence of an illusion of a third dimension. This dimension should be at the heart of every portrait. The task of the portraitist is to arrange a set of an almost infinite range of shades in such a way that they create the impression of depth.
The process by which the portraitist attempts to create a photographic representation of an image is extremely restrictive, and allows no room whatsoever for 'ad libbing'. It could be said that there are three steps in the journey of a portrait to its final resting place on the sheet of paper. The first is the photo from which the picture is drawn. All pictures are two-dimensional representations that, in a way, set out to fool the observer into believing that they are alive. It is the task of the mind to re-interpret the photo as two-dimensional, whilst at the same time remaining conscious of how exactly the photo succeeds in creating the perception of the third dimension. The mid-way step of the mind holds that representation intact and makes a judgement on the best way to reconstruct it into a tangible image on the blank page. The third step involves the transporting of the image from the mind and very carefully onto the page. Through these three steps, a proper representation of the image, complete with the illusion of the third dimension, should be constructed on the page.


The aim of the portraitist on setting out to create the representation should be to bring about a state of absolute perfection. This is an unrealistic aim, as perfection is impossible. However, the portraitist, whilst conscious of this fact, must strive in vain to attain it. This is the only way in which a near-perfect portrait can be made.
What distinguishes this form of portraiture from art is the fact that no self-expression, imagination or personal interpretation is permitted. What I call the fourth aspect – a 'dimension' that is distinct from the first three and is capable of creating an atmosphere or sense of moment – is not part of the process described. I believe that this fourth aspect is an integral part of all art, and is present in portraits that are drawn from life.
In summary, I believe that my form of portraiture can be described as a craft involving intense concentration and acute judgement.

Visit to Charlie Haughey at Abbeville - March 2001

Early in March 2001, I received a letter from the former Taoiseach, Charlie Haughey, inviting me to his mansion in Kinsealy in north Dublin, in order to talk about my portraits. Charlie Haughey was living in Abbeville, a large Georgian mansion built by James Gandon - the architect of some of Dublin's most prominent landmarks - in 1792. On Saturday, 10 March, my father and I drove there for our appointment with Haughey at 10:00. After we turned left off the Malahide Road and up his long drive-way, we were greeted by a Garda on duty, before halting at the main entrance to the house. On knocking on the door, I was a little taken aback to see the small and old figure of an historically larger-than-life politician standing in front of me. Wearing a fleece jacket and a pair of runners, Haughey welcomed us into his home.

In the hall were the busts of his four children, along with photos of himself with world leaders such as Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. To the left of the hall was his study, which he brought us into. Sitting on his desk was a portrait of him that I had earlier sent to him. As we sat down, I showed him a folder of portraits that I had drawn. Many of the subjects were former colleagues or opponents of his. As he moved through them, he would refer to many of them by their first names. As he came to a portrait that I had drawn of John Wayne, he stared at it for a moment, before looking up at my father. He looked back down at the drawing and then pointed at my father. 'That's you!', he said to him!!

We then entered into a conversation, where we talked about the quality of life for artists in Ireland, and he asked me what I hoped to do once I completed my Leaving Certificate, which I was due to undertake some months later.

After this, Haughey brought us on a tour of Abbeville. The walls were almost completely covered in paintings and drawings by many of Ireland's most accomplished artists, including Nathaniel Hone, Robert Ballagh and Sean O'Sullivan. Many were portraits of Haughey and his family, including his father-in-law, Sean Lemass. One painting that he pointed out was by Robert Ballagh. Haughey said that he commissioned Ballagh to paint it in order to mark his first address to a Fianna Fail Ard Fheis as Taoiseach in 1980. What he hoped for was a close-up depiction of himself. However, what Ballagh did was show Haughey on his podium in the background of the picture, with the backs of the heads of the audience in the foreground. Despite not being as he had originally envisaged, Haughey said that he was very happy with it. He also speculated as to whether the back of one of the audience member's heads was that of Ballagh himself. (Five years later, I asked Ballagh this myself, and he confirmed that it was indeed the back of his head.)

After little under an hour in the house, my father and I went to take our leave. Walking back towards the hall, Haughey showed us a rug, on which was the coat of arms that the Chief Herald had put together for him. On it were the words 'Marte Nostro'. He explained that this meant: 'By our own efforts'. Leaving the house, he wished me well, and encouraged me to succeed with my portraits. As we drove back down the drive-way away from the house, Haughey stood at his door and waved us off, before turning back inside.

The experience was a surreal but strongly encouraging one, and one that I greatly appreciated.

Sean MacBride Portrait

Sean MacBride Portrait - December 2002

This face represents the dream of every person who appreciates exactly what the pencil is capable of creating. On a physical level, the face of Sean MacBride in old age is saturated with details. It is a collection of crevasses, contours, chasms, meandering lines and dramatic incidents of pure white collapsing determinedly into bleak darkness. These areas of activity combine to represent a man and a mind of deep reflection and of many experiences over a vast period of time. Compensating for an aged and tired face, it is clear from his deep-set eyes that there is a large repository of memories, feelings and thoughts that are as alive as they were at any other time in his long life.
The journey that was undertaken, from the first dot that was placed by the pencil on the page to the last one, was at times clear and at times confusing. The many lines that comprise the face acted as a map for my pencil, and each turn and advancement was guided by a set of straightforward rules. These rules could not be deviated from under any circumstances. Since the construction process was all relative to that which was already built, a misguided line on the page could have had drastic consequences for the future of the venture, and only when this venture was at a much further stage of advancement would this become clear. Therefore, throughout the long journey of construction, there was always an element of suspense and a certain degree of tension running from the realisation that around the next corner, there was a possibility that I would discover a monumental and disastrous error, the consequences of which would be too great and many to remedy. Not until the safe haven of home – the final detail – was materialised by the pencil, could that suspense begin to dissipate. Until that point was reached, there was no let-up from the journey. Even when the sketch-pad was put down, it was still there - an unfinished venture where the mind was trapped in a complex maze of lines. Still, when that maze had finally been navigated through successfully and the portrait had been fully constructed, the tension remained shortly into the aftermath, as I was still caught up in the process and was unable to cast a cold, objective opinion of the venture until later. Whilst that opinion remained to be determined, the uncertainty as to the form that it would take translated into real anxiety.
The process itself was a challenge, where apparent certainty and clarity were often overshadowed by subjective blindness and suspense. However, this challenge, once got through, resulted in a certain satisfaction and immense relief when the constant threats of disaster were never actually realised.