Fiona Seoige

Sublime Irish art

Cranes Collaboration

The aim of this collaboration is to connect artists and writers in creative communication around the subject of the common crane, once native to Ireland. The purpose is to raise awareness of the preciousness and fragility of our birds, and nature, and their importance on so many levels to our mental, spiritual, creative, cultural, ecological wellbeing, (and so on) and dare I suggest, to our right to exist.

Artists are given a blank pseudo crane egg. They make art on the egg, or about or around the egg, and give the egg to a writer or poet to write about either the artwork, or about their own Crane inspiration. The artist takes a photo of their Crane Egg art, emails their photo here to cranesegg@fionaseoige.ie with their address (which will not be disclosed). The writer emails their poem or not too extensive prose here also with their address (which will not be disclosed). The art and the writing are exhibited on this site, along with a map to show the physical migrations of the crane egg and associated inspirations and writing. When enough eggs and writing are created there is the possibility of further collaboration.

We welcome the creativity of anyone who wishes to express their appreciation of such a significant but also enigmatic cultural icon, or anyone who may simply wish to welcome its return to our shores as a native species.

Crane Calls

Rich in red,

blanket wrapped, cloak wrapped,

Palanquin wrapped mammoths,

tusks wrapped in red.

Honour poured like liquid flame

upon the peoples wrapped in red.

Pride in every sinew,

pride in every tawny pore.

Ceremony honoured postglacial tundra,

multitudinal crane flocks,

planet traversing, beneath crimson sky.

Forests grew.

Glory plains became verdant green,

glossy and tall as empires dreams,

until moss draped the dripping canopies

and swamp won the day.

Lithe were the people of the trees.

They shot their arrows into the lightening

shattered trunks

and climbed the steps into the light.

To the great winged crane

with marksman aim

flew their offerings.

Praying for their sister

and down into the cave,

like trolls, elves, little people

disappearing into the warm,

welcoming, sensuous earth,

to hibernate in comfort,

in slumber to be still.

Is this winters’ sleep

or the sweet, familiar arms of death?

Great Grey Crane,

can you carry me across the world,

from the heights to the marshes,

the pristine world that only you know?

“I bring an egg of mirror,

awareness of the crystal clear,

the shallow ripples,

the spirit of the rush,

the trefoil,

the spirit of the tadpoles

who pushes sweet stems their way.

Visions of the clouds of mist

that wash the sky.

Prayers danced with lovers

bring health and luck and love

to the land where claw patterns decorate.

Magic ripples in the cells

bidding history release its toxic load.

Eyes become sharp with optimism.

The heart leaps like spring salmon

in answer to our calls

and the land gives birth to herself anew”.