Wheels hit runway, and the Airbus lands on Irish soil, once again.The familiarity of the place is all around me. I make sure to go around the roundabouts on the left side and continue southeast towards Wexford and the artistic event that recently took place in that ancient city. The Wexford Festival is an annual event where opera singers and others get together in formal settings and fringe events to bring visual and musical creativity to the town by the Slaney.
Art exhibits are everywhere. I walk down the main street and dive into galleries, lit by focused lighting and hopes for financial gain by the artists.The choice is endless. Oils, acrylics and other mediums populate the spaces as visitors peer at imagery behind glass in shadow boxes or flat on the walls.
Later in the evening I attend an event in the Speigel tent on the quay. It is loud and familiar, but it is not an Irish artist. I was too late to find tickets to their sold-out events.
I am collecting environment, voices, descriptions and traditions as I soak myself in the events by the river. I will use all of it later as I continue to write the third book in my thriller series.
Re-loaded, I once again leave the county of my birth and return westward to re-live another visit to the magical place called Ireland.
Author "Bagger Island," a murder mystery set off the Wexford coast.
The County of my Grandmothers birth Wexford ; I sadly have only visited it once . I have however, incorporated all her stories of the Wexford she grew up in , in my book --- That's Just How It Was
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