A coldwater Cornish transplant, eco warrior, Finisterre ambassador, St Ives’ Matt Smith earns most of his living working out at sea on sailboats all year long. That offers him plenty time to muse and brood over his mistress! So when UK apparel brand Finisterre approached the Country Clare resident to do a short film piece, working with award-winning British film-maker Mikey Smith (who’s reputation for deep, contemplative cold water pieces are all too well known) made perfect sense. Mixing poetry (narrated by Matt Smith) and dark scenic surf footage from Ireland’s wild west coast, this latest short about surfing in Ireland sits comfortably within Mickey Smith’s cinematic body of work.
“Just like winter ice, we all change with a little heat. It keeps us getting up each morning, keeps us awake at night, keeps us stealing precious scraps of time out on nature’s highways, hunting that clear, cold weight. Waves that are ageless, that go down slow and are as strong as the roots of ruined roses. And just as shadows hide in winters skyline, at some point we lost the innocent feeling of looking and understood what we wanted. Dice tumbled for passionate hopes that couldn’t hide in the eyes of boys, men, maids — all of us lost, found, changed, trusting our hearts at sea, searching for one thing, the simple satisfaction of our own mortality. And as hard as it feels to explain nostalgia, when the sun comes up tomorrow on another day that counts, it shines back down on us all one and the same. Heavy eyes and ice on the road. Grinning, nervous faces at the end of the land and the start of everything else. And those ambassadors of landless latitudes, that roam as they desire, without god or country. There, journeys end as ours begin. Senses heighten, minds open and spirits define themselves. Lungs and veins, bones and brains. Arrogance, ecstasy, pain. Heads roaring with belief, special feats happening in turn. Lives let go like birds from a cage. Minds are changed forever, ideals become clear, but all remain ultimately ignorant of the sea. She’s always hunting, ready to humble the martyr, sinner and saint in us all. I once heard that if a man feels at home outside of where he was born it is a place he is meant to be. Cold and coming up for air. I blinked, knew it true, and shivered with joy.”