Window or Aisle?

Window or aisle, and as an artist, does the opportunity to see the landscape below ever influence your choice?

Aisle, I like being able to move without asking permission. The landscape only really matters when I’m flying back into Dublin; that approach always feels like home.

Are you naturally someone who wants to explore every corner of a new place, or are you happier finding one spot and really absorbing it?

A mixture of both. I’ll spend the first few days covering as much ground as I can, and then slow down to absorb the local rhythm and everyday life.

Is there somewhere you’ve visited that looked completely different from how you’d imagined it beforehand?

Malta. I didn’t expect it to be so vibrant—the colour, the energy, the mix of influences.

Have you stayed in a hotel that captured its surroundings so beautifully – through its architecture, interiors, artwork or views – that the property itself became part of your experience of the destination?

Yes, in Plettenberg Bay, South Africa we were upgraded to a large private villa, and it became a huge part of the trip. We spent days reading, resting, ordering room service, and just enjoying the quiet. The Shangri-La in Dubai and the Mandarin Oriental in Malaysia also stand out: breakfast with the Petronas Towers right in front of you is hard to forget.

What do you bring home from your travels – photographs, sketches, objects, memories, or something else entirely?

Mostly memories, and photographs, thanks to the iPhone. I always try to find the best local restaurants and haunts; they stay with me more than objects.

Most travellers hope for blue skies and sunshine, but as a landscape artist, can the very weather that disappoints everyone else make a destination more interesting to you?

Yes. Perfect blue skies and turquoise water don’t hold my attention. The west coast of Ireland does—the shifting weather, the grey, the moodiness, the drama. I travelled around the Galway, Achill and Sligo coastline in early September, and the weather was “poor” for most travellers, but perfect for me. Massive cloud structures, rough seas, that sense of freshness and being alive.

How dramatically can changing light alter your perception of exactly the same place?

Completely. Light can shift a landscape from gentle to severe, from familiar to strange, in minutes. It’s the difference between a quiet painting and a charged one.

When you’re painting somewhere you’ve visited, how much are you painting what you saw and how much are you painting what you remember feeling?

About 20% what I saw and 80% what I felt.

Could you paint somewhere convincingly without ever having been there, or is physically experiencing a place important to you?

I can. During COVID, a friend in Cork sent me coastal reference photographs when we couldn’t travel. Those paintings all sold and thankfully kept the lights and heat on in the studio.

Does the engineer in you ever argue with the artist in you about whether something should be accurate or expressive?

Yes, but the artist usually wins. Accuracy is a foundation; expression is the point.

We often associate memorable travel experiences with discovering somewhere new, but can returning to a familiar place be just as rewarding? Is there somewhere you find yourself going back to again and again, yet still discovering something different?

Dublin is a place I return to again and again, and it still surprises me. You can spend a morning in EPIC or 14 Henrietta Street and come out feeling like you’ve stepped through the city’s past. The National Gallery, the Little Museum, and the smaller galleries all give different angles on Irish identity. Then there are the parks, the coastline, the cathedrals, and Marsh’s library, quiet, atmospheric spaces that feel almost outside of time. Sailing down the coast or walking through St Stephen’s Green can be as memorable as any long haul trip.

Can the art we bring home from a journey keep our connection with that place alive in a way that photographs sometimes don’t?

Definitely. A painting carries the emotion of the moment, not just the record of it. It keeps the feeling alive.