new-york

Tim Maul

Betsy Senior Gallery

Old-fashioned English teachers used to talk about the romance of names, about how a poet like Milton, by listing places like Ormus and Ind, Thule and Vallombrosa, could perfume his work with whole climates of sensation—riding on the reader’s imaginings of what it might feel like to be and see where those words point. Pictures, as visual experiences in themselves, would seem less needful of this kind of gambit. But at least in part, this is how the photographs Tim Maul has taken in Dublin’s National Library work.

Sligo, Roscommon, Meath: names are full of place, of history, weather, landscape, way of life. An artist like Hamish Fulton or Richard Long might latch onto that poetry and reinforce it with an image—might combine the phrase “A Seven Day Walking Journey from Penrith to Huddersfield . . . High Street, Helvellyn, Dent,” or some such, with a handsome black-and-white of a high mountainside.

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