Hare Bone Black

Alchemy Nowadays a painter can get virtually any colour imaginable straight from a tube. It’s easy but there’s little by way of mystery involved. It wasn’t always like that though – the tube is less than two centuries old – and for centuries painters, or their apprentices, made their own paint. There’s something alchemical about transforming some everyday substance into a tool for creative…

The Hare’s Tale

A death About a year ago, driving home, I saw the car in front of me clip something. There was a lay-by I could pull into so I stopped and walked back along the roadside, cars careering past. It didn’t take long to find the hare, thrown into the ditch by the car that had spun it from the road. It was still alive,…

A TAle of Two Studios

I loved my old studio even when, as you can see below, the ceiling fell in destroying a couple of months work. I loved it’s light and the sense of infinite space that the high Victorian ceilings gave it. All good things come to an end though and that house is being sold so I’ve had to relocate. I haven’t got the new studio…

Interview

Una-Minh Kavanagh, an Irish journalist and Irish language educator, recently caught up with me to ask a few questions about the direction my work has taken since I arrived in Scotland. She asked some very perceptive questions and I think the interview gives you a flavour of what I’m like as a person. You can read it at https://weareirish.ie/culture/greag-art-painting-visual-ireland/

A bit about the name

I realise my name can seem a bit of a challenge for anyone who doesn’t have a smattering of Irish but names are important to the Irish. Our language was taken from us over centuries, place names as well as personal names lost any attachment to their original meaning. In English my name is McAteer, but it can also be brought into English as…

Oil painting of dead goldfinches, Greag Mac a' tSaoir

Silence of the birds

This summer has swung from swelter to monsoon and it has played havoc with the birds. Crows and pigeons railing against the squall, feathers pushed this way and that have alternated with days so bright the goldfinches have been flying blind, colliding with windows and garden walls. I’ve tried to rescue both but it hasn’t always been possible.