Texts written by Dr. Steven O'Brien.
Machine’s works are dovetailed to the creative writings of Dr. Steven O’Brien, whose poetry and prose create a harmonic symbiosis of brush and pen. Artist and academic have been collborating on select projects since 2015.
Steven O'Brien is an academic, poet, essayist, and novelist. He has a particular specialism in mythography. Since 2011 he has been the editor of The London Magazine, the world's oldest journal of the arts and literature.
He holds a PhD from the University of Sussex which focussed on a Jungian exploration of mythology and the creative imagination. He leads the PhD and MA programmes in Writing at the University of Portsmouth.
Steven has authored specific texts that accompany each painting, ensuring the art of the pen deepens the narrative of the brush, evoking a romantic transportation to the time and place of each subject portrayed.
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It is the year 730. See the old monk in his cell at Jarrow. The cold wind picks through the casement. His skin is as pale as the vellum on his desk. Outside is grey with sleet. Winter in Northumbria can last until Easter. Bede rubs his eyes. He is reaching down he paths of the before times, but often they are confused and twisting. Sometimes they peter out altogether...
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Bede the Venerable | 2020
acrylic on canvas, 91.5 x 122 cmIt is the year 730. See the old monk in his cell at Jarrow. The cold wind picks through the casement. His skin is as pale as the vellum on his desk. Outside is grey with sleet. Winter in Northumbria can last until Easter. Bede rubs his eyes. He is reaching down the paths of the before times, but often they are confused and twisting. Sometimes they peter out altogether.
Today he is writing about a battle somewhere in the west, where the Britons had victory over the Saxons. He dips his pen and writes, ‘Their leader at that time was a certain Ambrosius Aurelianus, a discreet man, who was, as it happens, the sole member of the Roman race who had survived the storm, in which his parents, who bore a royal name perished.’
Bede reckons some three centuries have passed since the fabled fight at ‘Mount Badon.’ He has no idea of the exact location. The storm he mentions is the birth pang of his people and the cataclysm that befell the Britons. He discounts the stories of a certain Arthur that are still told around campfires by peasants. The past has been torn into scraps. Moreover, since none of the preceding records mention the never-was King Arthur, Bede gives him no place in his own writing.
All across the English lands monks are sharing any fragments of learning that have survived. These men pulse with the same urgency as they try to distil the essence of that which has nearly been forgotten.
Bede writes that there were mercenaries - two brothers - Hengist and Horsa. They came across the North Sea in the dying years of Rome’s dominion over Britain. These brothers fought for king Vortigen, against the marauding Picts. But they rebelled, for they found the soft green lands of Britain pleasant. They sent messages for their kindred to come. Soon war-troops of Angles, Saxons and Jutes arrived.
Bede pauses again in his work, thinking of Ambrosius. He imagines the weary general decked in the faded purple of faded Roman nobility, standing on a high grassy hill. In his victory Ambrosius held back the advance of the invaders for a few years. Until, one by one, the fractured principalities went down before the invaders.
Although he is tired, Bede resumes his reckoning on time.
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The Golden Age of Al-Andalus
Towards the end of his life Abd al-Rahman proclaimed ‘Oh man place not thy confidence in this present world.’
Yet, while the petty nations of Europe were still climbing from the confusion of the dark ages there was a realm of light in Spain. Vast libraries preserved the ancient learning of the Greeks, the Roman poems Ovid and Virgil. Quiet palaces and stately mosques rose in serene marble. Gardens were laid out with cool fountains...
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The Caliphate of Cordoba Abd al-Rahman III the TolerantTowards the end of his life Abd al-Rahman proclaimed ‘Oh man place not thy confidence in this present world.’Yet, while the petty nations of Europe were still climbing from the confusion of the dark ages there was a realm of light in Spain. Vast libraries preserved the ancient learning of the Greeks, the Roman poems Ovid and Virgil. Quiet palaces and stately mosques rose in serene marble. Gardens were laid out with cool fountains.There have been many attempts to create heaven on earth. The very aspiration invariably lays the path towards disaster. The kingdom of Cordoba was imaginably the closest man has come to achieving the goal of a tangible paradise.Then again, perhaps this is all fancy. For most of his reign Abd al-Rahman was beset by wars. Many enemies plotted Cordoba’s destruction. Nevertheless, for nearly fifty years commerce, art and religion were held in the balance. There is a sense that moments in Al-Andalus had a fleeting perfection.And it would have been good to recline under the lemon trees at night and listen to the sonorous, calming oud, while a bishop, a rabbi and an imam conversed freely and kindly.
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The Meeting of Arthur and Merlin
acrylic on canvas
122 x 91 cm
48 x 36 in -
The Meeting of Arthur and Merlini.We walk beyond a hedge of rainTo a man seated on a brocade mantleAnd among the gold there is a woven apple,Red at each corner.I notice at first his face is blurred,So that he can see all, but none may see him.Nimue brings me to stand at his feetClearly a man here who moves between Annwfn and this world,Easy in this condition tooNimue says ‘This is Arthur of much fame who is in need of you.’‘Why?’ I ask.‘Because he is a king,’ she replies.‘And I am bearing watch over all his life,’ she says,‘So go you with him Merlin and be the Awenyddion of counsel to Arthur.For I cannot set foot beyond the water.’ii.When Nimue bids farewell to Arthur Isee by their parting eyes there much between them.As I follow him beyond the border of rainAnd as the mist slowly clears from Arthur’s features I see his skin is like washed chalk.We are now in green rolling hills and we stand on a terrace above a broken field.Arthur tells me that a palace once stood here, tenanted by his ancestorsWith lands down to the Aremori that faces Gaul.But grey-eyed hungry men tore it all down and now there are only stonesThat the peasants plough upAnd so they call the field Dragon’s Foot.Arthur asks ‘Will you help me Merlin?I am a man ever on the march. Yet I need one such as you with meWho brings with him the secrets of Annwfn.’
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The Tuatha De Danaan
acrylic on canvas -
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Learning Deuteronomy, Chapter Six
acrylic on canvas
91.5 x 122 cm
36 x 48 in -
Learning Deuteronomy, Chapter Six
A young goatherd was sitting on a large rock in the morning. He was still sleepy. There were short trees on the side of the mountain and the goats were reaching up to get at the new leaves.
Enoch passed by the boy. He was deep in thought. He held his hands behind his back. It was his 365th birthday. At a turn in the track he felt the brush of a cheek against his face. Then a voice spoke in his ear.
‘Enoch it is a fine day. See, the fig trees are all in bloom.’
The old man looked sideways but he could see no sign of speaker. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I am He,’ came the reply. ‘And I have been following you on this path.’
The voice sounded like that of his grandfather. The tone was matter of fact, calm, everyday. Enoch broke his stride. ‘Lord, what do you want?’
‘I want you to walk with Me to the top of this mountain.’
‘Very well,’ said Enoch.
From a distance the goatherd saw Enoch take the turn and so he was lost from view.
The old man walked slowly, for the way was steep. It grew cold up there towards the peak. The voice seemed to have paused but soon it came again. ‘Enoch these are wicked days. Of all people it is only you that I wish to wander with this morning.’
‘I have always tried to be faithful to you Lord,’ said Enoch as he pulled his coat tight around his chest.
‘That you have; always. So, now that we are reaching the summit and the clouds are below us I wish for you to take My hand.’
Enoch looked all around. ‘Where is it Lord?’
‘Here,’ said the voice. And sure enough, a warm hand grasped his. ‘Enoch, I set the sand of days and years flowing so that men would know how to measure their deeds against the span of their lives, but I am taking you out of this time I created. You will pass over, living and whole, into My Kingdom.’
Enoch, ever quiet and steady went with God. Neither the young goatherd, nor any other man saw him again.
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Beltane Wedding
acrylic on canvas
101.6 x 76.2 cm
40 x 30 in -
Beltane Wedding
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May Day
