Original oil and acrylic on canvas by Andrew Gault
More by Andrew Gault
The people we miss are still for me in the landscape, I think of them when I pass their fields, the buildings which were once their homes.
As a child I walked home from school past a house and I remember the laughter tumbling out from the open windows. That house is now roofless and a ruin, yet, I still hear the laughter when I pass.
The painting is of a little copse on a north facing slope here in Ireland. Farmed for generations I can see the work of men from the past, I can hear the rise and fall of their voices, the clatter of their axes and smell of the fresh cut timber.
Maybe these are my ghosts.