For the past few summers, as the Galway International Arts Festival arrived, I would head into town and have a quick look at whatever was on during the day. The open-air installations and galleries were handiest, letting me enjoy a chunk of what was on offer, while still allowing me to make the last bus home. I got to thinking about what goes into making the whole endeavour happen. Spurred on by friends who had taken part the year prior, I volunteered for a few days.
On my first shift, at a bustling gallery on the festival's opening day, I noticed how each visitor explored the show in different ways. Some would ping-pong between exhibits, glancing at whatever caught their eye before heading for the exit. Others would sit in front of a single painting for fifteen minutes, commenting on the texture and colour, bringing up dozens of names from around the world, all of them completely lost on me. The world these artists inhabit can seem impenetrable looking from the outside in, but having a glimpse into it leaves you with a renewed curiosity.
I appreciated whenever a curator or artist was present, as more often than not, they would offer us a walk-through of the show. Some of the works left me bemused, or just unsure of how to approach them. The comments they gave would often recontextualise what I was seeing, giving a new and more potent appreciation of what was on display. Details in paintings I would normally think little of were cast in a new light. One featured a tranquil canal, with moonlight strewn across the water. I had not noticed the care given to the shape of its reflection. Its outline was delicately serrated, giving the work a gently shimmering quality.
Being around an exhibition for a few hours often revealed further layers to it, beyond what I would see in passing. There was one in particular which shifted in response to how people moved within it. When the space was empty, the visuals on display would slow, the projector lingering on one shot for several minutes. When it got busy, different scenes folded over one another, the sound growing denser, even seeming to glitch at times. Had I gone as a visitor, I would have seen just a fraction of what it had to offer.
On my second-to-last day, a calm Thursday evening, I signed up for a gig. I was stationed next to the speakers, looking out at the crowd. It was a beautiful moment to be reminded of the transportive power music can have. Once the guitars started to rev up, the immense sound behaved like a spell, with most of the crowd standing in quiet awe. Those near the front were throwing themselves into it, swaying in the quiet moments and thrashing about as the crescendos arrived. It was stunning to watch as lights shot out from the stage, dancing across the billowing roof of the Big Top.
As it all came to a close, I found that through my time as a volunteer, I was afforded a rare and more vivid insight into the artworks on display. You are offered a viewpoint into how these events come together, and learn of the countless hours and intentions that are invested into each sculpture, installation, and performance. The next time I find myself in front of a painting, I will be sure to look a little closer.
