Hannah Mooney’s paintings display an uncompromising lack of pretension. Her territory continues to be the West of Ireland where there is endless possibility and where embellishment is anathema.
In this exhibition she has added subjects, painted and drawn the lonely tree, blasted by salt winds, bare in winter, unsentimental sentinel of a harsh beauty. And she has come indoors, in the half-light of dawn or dusk, and delineated simple still life: a jug of a few flowers or a plate of pears.
Mooney seems a painter for our times, making work that values what is in front of us, at once timeless and vulnerable, not a seeker of beauty but a painter of terse epigrams of landscape; truthful to real and emotional experience.
