In September 2015 I awoke from a dream compelled to note down the details before they faded from memory.
My mind was alive with images of gothic stone arches, awash with emotional experiences, and vibrant imagery of historical events.
I’m no stranger to aspects of Irish and Welsh medieval history, and maybe this was just an unconscious memory breaking the surface, but I knew immediately this was a place that I wanted to locate.
Sixteen months passed, until late December 2016, along with my father, I found this place, and a pile of headstones bearing the ancestral family surname, Moore.
The energy of the place continues to inform my fascination.
Having felt that a piece of history had fallen into place for me, I was also struck at the effect it appeared to have on my father. Few words were spoken, but the silences in-between were heavy with contemplation.
Earlier in the year, my father had turned eighty, and yet this was his first excursion to West Wicklow. An artist, with a recently-injured hand, yet it was with renewed vigour that he picked up a pencil and started sketching once more. Celtic cross designs and local character sketches occupied his Wicklow winter evenings.