izi Coonagh

I am in my sixtieth year.​

These are dark days.​

Dominated by conflicts, rape, and the burning planet.​

Days that remind me of the 70’s when Punk erupted.​

Punk wasn’t just a type of music; it was a necessary attack on the system.​

I’m searching for rebellion, I wonder, are we too addicted and disassociated ​to look up from our phones and resist.​

​Making work is how I navigate the intense beauty and extreme fucked-upness of the world around me.​

My artwork speaks to my feelings of otherness; it is personal and symbol laden.​ My dark pallet, speaks to my fears, exploring themes surrounding acts of protest, grief, and conflict.​

One foot rooted in resistance and the other in nurture. Searching  for a deeper connection to the earth. ​I stay alert to synchronicities and signs from plants and animals.​ I try to reduce the impact of my art practice but still spew micro plastics into the sacred waters.​

I use my fretful hands to charge my works like batteries, layered texts bear witness and speak prayers. Producing forms that hold a protective structure to transmit my intention.​

To continue to love in the face of brutality is an act of protest.​

I protest

I love