Robert Spellman

I can't recall where I first saw the work of Robert Spellman, but I remember immediately recognizing these watercolours as pictures of home. It's funny how little can trigger recognition in that way.

People talk about the way places get under your skin, especially their places of birth, but they seldom explain where that feeling sits. One day, I'll have lived in Canada as long as I ever lived in Ireland. But unless I also leave Canada, I'll never know if it's etched under my skin the same ways that Ireland is. I suppose this feeling is something so magnified it needs to be viewed from a distance — in the way so many writers see a place more clearly when they write about it from afar.

But I wonder too if certain places just possess us more than others. Ireland does seem especially haunting for its diminutive size. Perhaps it's the way the Irish wrap their language around certain scenes and feelings that captures the resonance of the place long after you've left it. Or maybe it's something inherent in the very land itself, in rain on flinted rock, glancing light through hurried skies, the call of the wild green sea.

All images from the portfolio of Robert Spellman.
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