been mugged and robbed in Dublin. I left the city and drove
diagonally across Ireland to the Dingle Peninsula and holed
up in an inn while it rained for a week. One day the innkeeper
offered an outing on his sailboat to see Fungi, the wild dolphin
who lives in the harbor. He said Fungi and his dog had "a
relationship." I saw no future in this outing. Seasickness
possibly, but no pictures.
For awhile, things went as I expected: nothing. Then, abruptly,
Fungi shot straight out of the water high over our heads, looking
down for the dog. Pandemonium. The barking dog went for the
railing. The innkeeper shouted, "Grab the dog!" The
cook collared the dog before it jumped. Fungi disappeared.
I got serious, and built a composition in three layers: the
dog in the foreground, the hills in the distance, and the middle
empty. Then I awaited the dolphin.