Róisín de Buitléar has had a busy and inspiring year — building and shaping conversations about craft, heritage, and the Irish landscape. An artist and educator, she brings a deep passion for Ireland’s culture, traditions, language, and natural beauty to everything she does.
As an embedded artist in Hometree’s Dinnseanchas initiative, she developed FarmGate — a simple red farm gate designed as a place to lean, pause, and spark informal conversations. She brought it first to the Clonmany Agricultural Show and later to IMMA’s Earth Rising Festival in Dublin. Her work travelled internationally too, appearing at the Finland Glass Biennale and the INFLOW exhibition in Hungary. Back home, she contributed to Another Kettle of Fish Altogether, an exhibition celebrating contemporary Irish craft by Fort Gallery in Dublin. This year she also helped establish Crinniú na Ceirde – Gathering Craft, a new forum that brings craftspeople together to share ideas and reflect on their practice. In November, we had the opportunity to speak with Róisín about her early life, her inspirations, and the work that continues to shape her remarkable career.
What’s an early memory from your childhood that has stayed with you? Why do you think it still speaks to you?
I remember returning from the Aran islands with a famous local sailing family on an open Galway Hooker in the west of Ireland. I was with my own family. I may have been 7 or 8, which makes it the late 60’s. On the way back, it was cold and wet and I was crouched under the half deck where there was a small fire of turf. It was very smokey, smelly and dark, all around me were stones, small sods of turf, and oily ropes. These boats were used to bring turf to the islands and the interior belly in which I was sitting was where tons of turf had been shipped across the bay over tens of years. As we approached the mainland, the wind suddenly died and our progress slowed considerably. The tide carried us closer to the shore but without the sails filling, the ability to navigate the waters became more and more difficult. I could feel the anxiety on board as the weather worsened. We were at the mercy of the tide to arrive at the landing spot before the shallow waters would make it too difficult to come into land.
My younger brother was only 4 or 5. There was no shelter on the boat for all of us and no engine, safety gear, or facilities. The boatmen knew these waters and their perils from years of sailing in and out of the harbour. Every rock, hazard and curve in the coast line had been memorised by successive generations to preserve the safety of the boats and their people, who in general did not know how to swim. The men started working in a kind of chain gang, offloading rocks out of the boat to make it lighter so it could sit higher in the shallows. We had arrived too late for the tide and were in grave danger of running aground. I could sense the fear among the crew as they worked, while the light faded all around me.
"Without this generational knowledge of the land and sea and the physical strength of this family working as a team, the outcome would have been completely different."
With swift movements and terse orders each man took an oar at each side of the boat and started to row against the tide. Hookers are heavy and very large boats, how could 6 men use their physical power to move this huge boat with skinny oars and prevent the boat becoming damaged? The physical energy of rowing against the tide seemed to me even then a mammoth task. They rowed in the dark synchronously, no speaking, just rowing endlessly for hours until the tide began to turn. We eventually rowed out of danger, to a spot on the coast where we could reach the shore over mounds of wet seaweed. A giant of a man, lifted me, my mother and my siblings, over the seaweed in the dark to the shore and to safety.
I remember this time clearly because it was the first time I understood the power of nature in a visceral sense. Understanding nature and working with it saved us on that night. Without this generational knowledge of the land and sea and the physical strength of this family working as a team, the outcome would have been completely different.
What is your favourite object (or quality) that you've inherited?
The curiosity to be always open to learning and sharing new found knowledge with others.
What does it mean to call yourself a craftsperson or maker? How does that identity shape the way you work?
Like the Connemara boatmen, I feel I can always find a solution to a problem in a practical sense. My brain can map in three dimensions. Like a contemporary computer programme, I can visualise shapes and systems of fitting things together in many different scenarios and materials. I can also map space in my head and see how shapes fit into it. Using these skills of spatial relations and materiality, I can design for many different situations. I can then use my hands to create models to problem-solve. This gives me a feeling of independence and resourcefulness. It’s a combination of a myriad of different skills gathered over time that come together when called upon. When in the flow of making something, once the problem-solving is complete, there is no sweeter place. It’s a combination of hands, mind and soul moving in unconscious synchronicity. I cannot imagine a life where I do not use that orchestral power.
When you hear the phrase “tacit knowledge”, what does it mean to you, and where do you see it showing up in your own practice?
Tacit knowledge is one of the aspects of what I call ‘Eolas Ciúin / Quiet knowledge’ that we use as crafts people. This knowledge cannot be measured, classed, or assessed technically. It is the lineage of making that is carried in our hands, through repetition, teaching and exposure to process and materials over time. This lineage can stretch back hundreds of years and is connected to place, people and time. I particularly recognise it in movements when making things, I remember who gave them to me and where I was when I learnt them first. This knowledge can; preserve or safeguard your body for the long term, create time and save materials, or bring a sense of ceremony and respect to process, resetting your pace or attitude in preparation for the work ahead.
In May, you helped initiate Crinniú na Ceirde, which brought together makers, educators, curators, and representatives from cultural organisations to talk about the future of craft in Ireland. What idea or question from that day has stayed with you or continued to influence your thinking?
How can we shape a philosophy for Craft in Ireland? It is very clear to me, without a proper understanding of this philosophy our narrative will continue to be led by financiers whose understanding of craft is an economic equation. In order to shift this narrative to the elements that actually are the essence of craft in Ireland, we need to define this philosophy and build outwards from there.
In his opening presentation on the day, the musician and writer Toner Quinn explored parallels between Irish craft and Irish music, asking what Irish music can teach the world. What do you believe Irish craft, in its essence and traditions, has to offer or teach on a global stage?
I believe that although much of our society has lost a deep connection to land and nature, as craft makers we have not lost this sensibility. Although it is often submerged, concealed by the pressures of making and surviving in a more competitive and challenging world, Irish makers for the most part create with a sense of integrity and authenticity. Much of the work produced emphasises the beauty of natural materials and the inherent worth of the creative process for both the maker and the user.
Many makers are occupied in creating narratives through their work and it has become a method of navigating the world, telling our stories through materials, place and subject matter. The story of Irish craft is one of continuous learning, empathy and making a positive contribution to the world. Irish craft can help to navigate the need for society to adopt a different set of priorities in relation to the manufacture of objects, one which has a broader philosophy of social reform, aiming to create a more harmonious and thoughtful living environment.
Joe Hogan also spoke beautifully about the generosity of craft traditions and the responsibility to share what we have learned. How do you think about this idea of passing on knowledge, and how has it shaped your own journey as a maker?
‘Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine’ We are who we are, because of who went before us. I firmly believe that we don’t own the knowledge that has been shared with us, but rather it has been given on the understanding that it will continue to be shared. We are but a small link in a historic continuous chain of makers working with in genres and materials. What a privilege we have that this is a choice for us. I have tried over many years to lift up those in my community, nationally and internationally. Sometimes we succeed and it is so joyous, other times we do not and it’s crushing, sometimes to the point of despair, but under no circumstances is that a reason not to try again. We are the current keepers for the next generation, we have to use that wisdom carefully and responsibly. That fact is what drives me onwards, up mad mountains that often seem insurmountable.
In your Dinnseanchas project for Hometree, you created a red farm gate as a kind of prop to start conversations. Why did you choose the gate, and in what ways did it help open up discussions?
Behavioural change is central to the aspirations of the wider Dinnseanchas project. Listening and really hearing is a first step to understanding what is impacting change or preventing change. My idea with the gate was to enable unobtrusive observation and to allow the project team to listen, observe, and understand the dynamics of the gathered community.
"Gates are ideal for leaning on. The gate invites farmers to pause, converse, and engage. It creates a comfortable environmnet for informal discussions. It was really important to me to get the lean height just right."
So FarmGate is really a catalyst for interaction, encouraging conversations that introduce and explore the Dinnseanchas project concepts. Gates are ideal for leaning on. The gate invites farmers to pause, converse, and engage. It creates a comfortable environment for informal discussions. One thing was that it was really important to me to get the ideal lean height. I also chose the red oxide colour because it is reminiscent of farm sheds across Ireland, and it evokes a sense of familiarity, making it approachable and non-threatening.
And by fostering informal and casual interactions, the farm gate helps the Dinnseanchas project’s team in their engagement with local communities and their landscapes. The gate has two side frames that function as markers or structures that can be used to hang site-relevant items or signal ongoing activities. The gate is also mobile andadaptable so that it can be easily relocated to various sites, ensuring its presence where it’s needed most.
And what did people want to talk about?
The conversations we have had, leaning on the gate, have varied from what is happening right in front of us to current practices, changes in farming habits, production and landscapes, climate, weather and observed changes over recent years.
Many conversations started through a connection to the gate itself; its design, admiration or examination of its craftsmanship, a shared sense of ownership, identity or family memory of farm gates. It is a powerful tool for social engagement and works similarly in both rural and urban settings.
In your piece in Fort Gallery, you asked whether weaving tweed and other indigenous craft practices could act as “tools for ecological activism”. How do you see the relationship between traditional craft practices and environmental change?
The photograph of a piece of Donegaltweed shown at Fort gallery captures characteristics of the fabric while suggesting a landscape. When viewed as a landscape, tweed invites us to see the earth not as a resource but as a human-scale connection to the land, something we are part of, not apart from.
I see craft as an expression of the land that holds us. The materials we use in craft practices are, for the most part extracted from the land. If you take a moment to reflect on where those materials come from and how many hands it has taken to get them to your studio, it can at times be overwhelming.
"I see craft as an expression of the land that holds us. The materials we use in craft practices are, for the most part extracted from the land."
We have become disconnected from how much we are extracting from the land in our race to produce more and more. I believe that by reconnecting to nature, we could inspire environmental recovery through the identity of culture, practice and place. It's time for us to start to think collectively about what responsibility we have to give back to nature after everything we have extracted from it to date in the name of our craft.
Many people grew up watching your father, Éamon de Buitléar’s wildlife programmes. I remember watching reruns of these programmes as a young child - they made Irish landscapes feel alive and showed me that these places had value and meaning. What have you learned from spending time in nature yourself, and how has it influenced your work?
Being in nature offers a sense of interconnectedness. The closeness to the land is a key to unlocking our own legacies and those of the island. In nature you can time time-travel, there you can find portals into the past and paths to the future. It can offer wide perspectives and macro viewpoints.
"In nature you can time travel, there you can find portals into the past and paths to the future."
With a better understanding, this knowledge can offer stability, profound insight, and a path to making sense of this increasingly chaotic world.
Finally, Can you share 3 cultural inspirations that you encountered for the first time this year that other people reading this might enjoy learning about?
One Seeing Richard Serra’s work in the Guggenheim Bilbao for the first time. (Do you have a year to listen to me explain the excitement of experiencing that?)Two A day out on Inis Meáin talking to stones in perfect stillness and sunshine interspersed by one of the most beautifulswims I have ever had in the silkiest of waters. Thirdly, many weeks of being in Donegal, where the land and people have a similar wildness.
