Maitiú Mac Cárthaigh

Presented during my master's graduation show from the KABK, this work is a suspended installation of gelatine leather, agri-business incubation lamps and steel pipes along with two tv screens displayed on the floor. In this work I am recreating a memory of being inside a septic tank as a child. Within the tank, runoff is purified and stillborn bandhs (piglets), present on the screens, are broken down by microbes. The tank's exterior is lined with pig leather as it falls away from it's original circular form. As light leaves the screens it reflects off each membrane, slowly dissolving. It is a space where everything is homogenised. The tank acts as the end point for all productivity.

detail shot of gelatine leather.

second view of installation.

One day you shall only speak to the bees (ODB) aims to create a topographical survey of queer Irish-ness. The work is written as autobiographical ficto-criticism. ODB is a piece drawing on the formalities of the Artist Novel and Topographica Hibernica (written in 1188 c.e). This work links the ascension of Irish-ness into whiteness and the E.U. with output driven agricultural terraforming as commentary on the sexual politics of isolated populations, white/queer guilt, Irish neo-liberal economics and rural gentrification.

Video work expanded on from previous exhibition in Nest earlier in 2022.

Letter installed in window of PnF. “It Smells Like a Village” comes from a memory of my father teaching me how to keep a domestic septic tank healthy. The text follows a recipe like a sourdough starter; but this fermenting mother prefers to gobble up things such as dead piglets. Alongside images of dark pits, roadkill, and sewage, the reader is brought along the emotional connection to rural scenes, which might feel grotesque for some, but familiar and mundane for others. Can a realistic image of rural existence be portrayed in this way as an act of bringing together? Text printed on window "To keep the waste treatment tank healthy, you have to feed it like a starter. Bleach used in toilets kills the bacteria in its belly and it takes even longer to restart the cycle of fermentation once the damage has been inflicted. A friend’s mother uses dead crows. My uncle is never very specific on the species but needs the body to be good and rotten. My father always brings home a still born banbh. To feed it, go out the back door and open the cement lid. Taking care to not let it drop on your fingers. Then slowly lower the banbh into the darkness. Back into a warm, chamber for it to nourish, in place of being nourished. The flashes I have of this memory are scattered - at best. One half sees a white yard light that pierces through a rainy night, and I am standing still.The other is a so  night filled with torches leading the way to the hole. Both end in front of the fire. At the distance where it can enter your body and spread through you like syrup. Not too close and not too far and I am melting into sleep. Gooey under the flickering incubation bulb. Now, I have reached the correct temperature and am now digesting the carpet, exposed stone walls and delicious glow."

In swimming in grey water (2022), I recreate the scene of agricultural production through appropriated materiality and desktop documentary. Participants were asked to feed septic tanks with straw and slop while using 90cm AI gloves. I am connecting historical cyclical materiality of agriculture to contemporary high output demands through the act of penetration and waste management. These two processes exist worlds apart yet in this moment, perception is shifted to question extractive farming techniques.

(Work made in collaboration with Bríanna Ní Léanacháin) Project outline: Coming from time spent as classmates in Crawford College of Art and Design and then support and comfort shared as Artists, Bríanna Ní Léancháin and Maitiú Mac Cárthaigh have recently begun a joint exploration of Nature Art Writing. This draws on research and concerns facing both Artists in their individual practices. The quote below comes from Cis lir fodla tire?, translated as, How Many Kinds of Land are There?, a text from Brehon Law which attempts to define the condition of Good Land. This excerpt was chosen recognizing and hoping to respond to the current Climate Crisis facing all of us and its overwhelming effects on Agriculture, Gender/Sexual Politics and our experience of the Land/Law-scape. Work consists of three boards. The middle is engraved with the above text, mine to the right of the image and Bríanna's to the left. My text follows in the english description.

(BA graduation work) This work is concerned with constructing alternative agricultural spaces, derived from the rural landscape and decaying architecture of Ireland, spaces that I can inherit and inhabit. My place within this landscape is uneasy as I grew up as the eldest or “right son” on a farm but never inherited due to fire. Further to this I also exist outside the heteronormative ideal of agricultural life. Within these works, I create spaces that examine ideas of labour, land ownership, male dominance, agriculture and lack of Queer identity. As the Farm Labourer, I actively engage within the systems of labour and production. This work actualises these processes of agricultural labour within the context of the gallery. Presented as an expanded print- based practice, with a central focus on the performative act of making, this work sits within an auto-ethnomethodological framework that focuses on the moment of making and acts as the fulcrum of practice. This fulcrum or pivot point conceptually link my research with my making and highlights the didactic nature of my work.

Different angle shot of show.