The Agony and The Ecstasy

My friend Fintan O’Higgins (or Fintan Ó Higgins as he might prefer to be called – I think the apostrophe is an Anglicisation to replace the accent (or ‘fada’) used in the Irish), involved me in a fascinating conference at the Lakeside Arts Centre yesterday. The theme of the conference was ‘Making History’ and was an attempt to explore how journalists, photographers and theatre makers present to us a world in conflict. There were some absorbing presentations that challenged the audience to reflect on the way that images of war are delivered. Do we believe what we are presented with? With so much digital technology at our fingertips, are the pictures that we see on our screens and theatre stages fact, fiction or – perhaps more controversially – mere art? We were made to ask: Who tells our stories? Who creates our histories? Who is telling the truth?

There was an excellent talk from academic Gearóid Ó Cuinn who examined how in war photography (as in any photography) a circuit is created between the photographer, the subject and the viewer. Who takes the fullest social & moral responsibility for what we see? Then playwright Sarah Grochala talked about how she uses photographic imagery as inspiration for her stage plays to explore the accountability of those who present, and those who view, representations of conflict. We were shown some harrowing images and I doubt if any of us could have failed to examine our own culpability - or perhaps innocence – when confronted by these impressions. Strong stuff.

By contrast, and perhaps by necessity, I went sailing after the conference. With a decent wind – albeit it in the worst possible direction – we hurtled round the course struggling to keep the boat flat and the sails trimmed for optimum performance. It was quite hard work, especially trying to keep the spinnaker filled (my job) when at one point there was a tail wind that seemed to spin through 180 degrees within the blink of a cat's eye (it’s the interference of the large trees on the river bank that does this). Anyway, we won the race with a convincing lead and came ashore to a welcome supper of roast chicken and creamy rice pudding. But with both the mind and the body having been challenged during the day, I felt exhausted towards the end and fell into my bed for a deep (but troubled) sleep. I somehow managed to oversleep this morning.

I’m sure that most of you realize that in truth, I never gave that lecture to the Montgolfier Institute on the subject of the Great Tullamore Balloon Disaster of 1785. However, I now intend to write a stage play on the subject, and I have already found someone who is willing to act in the part of the balloon’s pilot. There will undoubtedly be technical challenges to the staging of this event – for a start, it will involve burning down the entire theatre at each performance. This may render the play’s tour unprofitable and may result in aesthetic protests, but I think I know someone who would be very glad to see this – especially if the play is performed only in theatres with the word ‘Royal’ in their names. I should be able to find a few of those, I think. Watch this space.