West Cork: A Place Without Borders
Where does West Cork begin? For many it's somewhere between Kinsale and Clon, but a friend of mine (a true West Cork man) says it begins and only begins when you've crossed the bridge in Innishannon. Some might argue it's anywhere west of the city. The truth I might venture, is that it begins in your head, that ‘West Cork feeling’ you get when you know you're there. No county boundaries to cross, no ‘Welcome to West Cork’ signs to greet you, but you know you're there. For me the beauty of West Cork is not only physical but mental: it's an attitude, a softness, a way of life that is slower, without the need to keep pace with the rest of the world, it travels on its own journey with its own map, and once you find that map you'll know where West Cork really begins.
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My West Cork journey began at just about the same time my photographic journey began. Not only did I get a camera for my 18th birthday but also a rather dubious driving license thanks to the government's wonderful yet dangerous solution to a driving-test backlog (no health and safety back in 1979, I'm afraid!). Thus began the first of my four-wheeled photographic trips in my mother’s Fiat Panda, which I begged and borrowed with the promise of careful driving and a full tank of petrol on my return, neither of which ever happened!
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Tiny harbours were found and hours were lost, rambling and scrambling on rocks and beaches, playing dare with the tides until my boots were filled with the cold Atlantic – what harm, the wooden remains of forgotten boats and the half-hidden skeletons of decaying lobster pots were my photographic reward for the discomfort of sodden socks.
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Fishing villages like Union Hall and Baltimore were quickly discovered and slowly explored, always ending with the boats at the end of the piers, where fishermen waited for better weather as they patiently knitted their nets back together. Crookhaven is where the road comes to an end, and O’Sullivans Bar was there to save me from the rain and the hunger. Soup and a sandwich by an open fire might just be the greatest discovery of them all! And there was just me, the barman, two tourists and an old man at the bar with a pint in hand as his only company.
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At the age of 18, with an open road in front of me and my brand new camera by my side, West Cork became the first location on a long photographic odyssey that has taken me to most places in Ireland and many beautiful places around the world, but West Cork will always be the place where I first fell in love with photography – where its beauty was obvious to a young and raw photographer and life could be captured with a slow shutter speed.
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Explore Giles Norman's West Cork collection