I’ve made a somewhat premature and tentative decision to declare Dublin as my forever-home. In attempting to rationalize and justify this, I have dreamt up a very romantic and infinitely pleasing idea. Those of us that stay, we are the anchor points for those that leave. ‘The others’, they run. They grab on and take one momentous leap; they swing around and knock cities off their list one by one. Eventually their stamina and enthusiasm wanes, slowly their revolutions tighten and they land with a thud back at Arrivals. We’re there to meet them, complete with helium balloons and an arm poised to wrap around their shoulders. We offer to carry their bags, promising that the kettle is on back home; they haven’t had a proper cup of tea in ages.

This dream offers comfort in its vision of Dublin as a stronghold that remains secure and consistent over time. However, it is laced with melancholy. It suggests a place frozen in time, resistant to change and innovation, and all of this to the detriment of its permanent residents, an entire population who wait expectantly for news from abroad. Truthfully, emigration is not the best candidate for a spectator sport. It makes for some thoroughly restless and dissatisfied ticket-holders. Once our friends and family members settle down in their chosen corner of the world, their daily obligations will promptly rival ours in monotony. There’s even a rumour that they have ironing boards in Canada, or so I’ve heard, and apparently Australia is rife with dogs that need walking.

It is thrilling and paramount to pursue the excitement, novelty and adventure provided by travel. However, if and when these endeavours become akin to passive indulgences and cease to satisfy, we can rely on this little city to present us with an almighty challenge: to seek out the colour and the light in the familiarity of the commonplace.

The contributors within these pages have much in common. Principally we are bound by a realization that we have been presented with what appears to be a great window of opportunity. In response, we are staying put. Whether this decision is fleeting or permanent and whether it is brought on by courage or cowardice or necessity, we are intent on apprehending and engaging with our place and time and home.

Preface

On The Horizon

The Dublin architectural skyline is not world renowned in the same sense as that of London, Paris or New York. There are no internationally identifiable buildings or structures that compare with Big Ben, the Gherkin, the Eiffel Tower or the Empire State Building. However, for those who live here, or are from the fair city, Dublin’s structures are recognisable and understood. Our city is imbued with familiarity, it contributes to our sense of belonging, iconic to those who have stayed, nostalgic and sentimental to those who are abroad. Whether you like or dislike them, love or hate them, or are simply indifferent to our monuments, structures, bridges and buildings, they are integral to the common discourse and

Street, D’Olier Street and O’Connell Street. There is history in the walls of the GPO and Christ Church Cathedral. There is familiarity and secret admiration (or sometimes outright contempt) for Busaras and Liberty Hall. There is romantic nostalgia in the Ringsend power station and our bridges. These are a handful of the monuments which we recognise as part of our home and integral to our city.

The vocabulary of Dublin is created through the amalgamation of the inconsistencies. It is not uniform in design, layout, manner, signage, carving, fenestration or building materials, with a mixture of Medieval, Georgian, Neo-Classical, Modern and Contemporary structures. These inconsistencies work together and contribute to the city as we know and recognise it. There is comfort and calm in the quiet confines of our Georgian squares, the walls of Dublin Castle and behind the gates of Trinity College. There is a sense of home in the familiar use of red brick in our grand and terraced houses. There is grandeur in our Neo-Classical College Front and old Parliament Buildings. There are intricacies and beauty in the carvings of Kildare Street and above the crowds and shop fronts of Grafton Street, Dame Street, Westmoreland

framework of our experiences within this urban environment.

Dublin doesn’t lay claim to international superstructures that pierce clouds, break world records, or that take 12 months to clean all the windows and sway ever so slightly in the wind. While the skyline is punctured by steeples, none of our buildings are built with the intention of ‘reaching Godly heights’. Equally, in the contemporary sense, the buildings of Dublin are not features of architectural ego that will live on in memory of a solitary individual. Each building contributes to the city, a city which is the sum of its parts. Our city scape and architectural framework tell the collective story of past and potential future, allowing for a greater understanding of our present.

Joyce Bridge and the Beckett Bridge have become intrinsic features to the city centre. These features can be recognised independently of the cityscape, but when they stand alone an image is conjured of the whole.

New bridges, buildings and monuments have slowly, often begrudgingly, been adopted as part of Dublin’s architectural iconography, hinting towards the new grammar and highlighting the mistakes that are not to be made again. Our city over the previous number of years has been infiltrated with controversial projects such as the Aviva Stadium, the Convention Centre, The Spire, Grand Canal Theatre and the Bloodstone Building, to name a handful. All of which we have a lot to say about and rarely is there a middle ground between love and hate. These new

icons are inspiring further projects. For instance, correlation can be seen in the aesthetic of the Bloodstone Building, 2006 with the Grand Canal Hotel, 2008 and the Long Room Hub, Trinity College, 2010. In retrospect we may grow to love them, this is poignant now more than ever with the campaigns to save the once despised Liberty Hall and rejuvenate the Central Bank. Equally with the placement and design of the new children’s hospital refused on the basis of maintaining the skyline. These projects force us to re-evaluate our city, what exists currently and what will, how we would like it to develop and reminding us that the city is never static, despite all the history it portrays.

Our urban environment is not dictated by a regimented grid or a complex transport system, but by the river. This feature forced building expansion outwards, not upwards. Our buildings reflect the river in terms of their orientation towards the water front, facing across from one another. James Gandon’s Custom House and the Four Courts taking pride of place along the Liffey. Each side connected centrally by a series of bridges, old and new, allowing the classic view of Dublin up and down the river. These bridges have become iconic to those who know the city; the broad stretching vista up O’Connell Street, the profile of the Ha’penny Bridge and the Butt Bridge. There are also our new heroes, the Sean O’Casey Bridge, the James

to the pressure or belief that a city is recognised and defined by its largest monument. High rise does not necessarily correlate with high culture nor is it a statement of a developed city, but equally it is not an implausible architectural feat for Dublin that should be outright vetoed. We cannot remain a ‘bastion of a medieval town’ forever. Growth of a city should be organic, as a response to need and demand, with the proper infrastructure provided for high density buildings. Architecture aesthetic should develop in tandem with function and requirement. The last thing this city needs is another glazed empty office or apartment block lumped in an available plot, for the sake of being comparable with New York or London.

Our personal like (and dislike) is part of the entire collective discourse. Within our buildings we can see memory, history and tradition. The Irish youtube ‘hit’, ‘Just Saying’ sparked feelings both positive and negative, to a relatively ordinary theme of work. Certainly part of viewers love for it has to be that it is grounded in recognition of a familiar environment, highlighting the framework for our experiences within the city. Dublin is unique and diverse in its own right and holds something special for those living here, those who hope to come back and those who want to remember their time and experience here. We should walk our streets and view our skyline with less contempt and more pride. Recognising how lucky we are to live in such a wonderfully beautiful, albeit disjointed city, embrace the quirks and discontinuity, the amalgamation of styles and the stones.

Yes we could moan about the discontinuity and disjointed nature of Dublin, how at times it can appear dull and uninspired in comparison with our older, larger European counterparts or American aspirations. But these comparisons are unfair. We will always be greatly separated from these architectural giants, who are much older or larger. Dublin is not a major cosmopolitan metropolis with a world renowned skyline. We do not necessarily have to rise (literally)

The Dublin SITUATION

accessible hobby, it’s hardly surprising that this was in the plans for most postgraduates anyway. Pair this with the ‘fact’ that there are a limited number of jobs available here and emigration appears to be the obvious and appealing option.

On the other hand, what if we’d like to spend time enjoying the lives that we’ve created for ourselves in this city? The situationist’s ethos was to create enjoyable experiences of life in order to gain happiness. We’ve been morphing and adapting ourselves to our environment for at least twenty years. Why admit defeat so easily? Perhaps instead of anxiously chasing another significant experience to punctuate our lives we should bask in the fruition of our lives here and continue their developments. In

For most of us, the year after our graduation from University is the first in roughly eighteen years in which we find ourselves not enrolled in a full time educational institution. This can be a welcome time for many. However, for the most part it leaves graduates feeling both enthused and dubious at once. ‘Confusion’ is most likely the word one would summon, although we’d rather not fully admit that to ourselves. The majority of my peers would (like most Dubliners) be Dublin’s harshest critics and yet, in the end, it is our home place and we appreciate it hugely for all it has to offer. The recent recession has resulted in older generations informing us that we’ll ‘all have to emigrate anyway - no jobs here’ with a pitiful gleam in their eyes. As travel is currently such an

saying this, there is no doubt that the economic regress has forced people to leave Ireland in search for employment. However, if one can find the (albeit small) means to support oneself here, why are we still exposed to intense pressures to leave? The pressure is no longer solely derived from the economic climate but now much of it arises from our friends and family. By departing in such a flippant manner are we merely beginning the inevitable journey of self-improvement and discovery, or are we in fact, neglecting the environment that has moulded each one of us so carefully? What if leaving this Dublin situation is in fact the ‘easy option’?

London is of course an obvious choice of location for many Irish emigrants. It’s not too difficult of a move to make and many are simply following in the

footsteps of the bulk of their peers. It almost seems to be that a fragment of Dublin exists there as an entity itself. However, there is one unmistakable difference. They are not in Dublin. Like every city, Dublin is not wholly identifiable by its society but also by its individual aesthetic and sense of place. Whether we embrace or reject the fact, it is a more fundamental place to us than any other. We know the streets of it like no other urban mass and feel that we’ve all but trademarked our frequented routes. We understand how to react to the various spaces and that the majestic Georgian squares will lend a contrasting experience to the narrow winding lanes of the Medieval Quarter. Its compact size and modest population make it a friendly, cosy and reliable place to be. This reliability has the tendency to drift across the boundaries to predictability. Maybe

this is a trait that just has to be suffered when living in a petite place. More often than not it proves to be an advantageous characteristic.

Then approaches the opposing frame of thought. Maybe we only stay because we are cowards to the idea of change. Dublin provides an excessively familiar environment to idle away time in. Are we just dallying here because we aren’t inclined towards the idea of living in an anonymous location, where we have to create new situations in which we’re comfortable? Or are we fleeing because it’s no longer socially acceptable to stay in one’s home place because it’s comfortable?

‘Nothing endures but change’. We all know that change is a necessary part

of life and can often play a hand in improving one’s happiness. However, if we were to donate our time and energy to Dublin while we are here, perhaps we could be the vehicles of change for it. It poses a difficult decision. Should we remain in this situation of slighted contentment or accept the economic situation and search abroad in the hopes of benefitting our professional selves? At this stage the cloud of confusion has gathered such mass that we are no longer even assured that the decision we’ve made is the right one. We can only hope that we don’t arrive to our older years having spent time in the ‘wrong situation.’

Come in No. 3A conversation in words and images between a mother and her third child.

‘The weather is very windy since yesterday. As I was driving home flying election posters were scything all over the place. I texted Tommy and Muriel and advised them not to cycle back.’

‘His latest favourite toy is a piece of ribbon that he bats and tumbles with.’

‘The primroses have done particularly well this year.’

‘great discussions about the biology of plants and animals and some of the systems that are common to both.’

‘Your hats, as well made hats do, have survived the journey and are now adjusting to their new surroundings.’

All of the Lights

Cities are places built up around trade and industrialisation. Where people flock for jobs, yet exist beyond their occupation. One is not just, as in small provincial towns, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker. With many people seeking security and excitement it becomes vital for each person to create their own identities. When you have been drawn to the bright lights you must stand out amongst the thousands of others. The distinction can be something that you have

‘Light was thus the principle of all beauty, not only because it is delightful to the senses, but also because it is through light that all the variations in colour and luminosity, both in heaven and on earth, come into being.’ - Umberto Eco

brought with you but in the depths and lanes and dance halls and shopping centres you are also given the opportunity to start afresh and create an identity that is entirely yours. This diversity of people is also what makes cities special. Is this why cities are filled with lights? To draw things to them. People are intrinsically drawn to light’s bright mysteries, but also to its strength. The sun supplies warmth and nourishment, as does fire. Both can also turn against civilisation. Either way light has been used excessively and notably by religions all across the world and has become essential to a blanket visual associated with cities - the larger, the brighter.

For Dublin the introduction of street lighting begins in 1616 with the Candlelight Law ‘compelling every fifth house to display a light within prescribed hours for the guidance of street-users.’ There’s something loving about this, to me it speaks for a type of civic awareness that people no longer feel ‘compelled’ to practice. Anyway, by the end of the century particular areas of the city were safeguarded with public lighting for the first time, still using candle lighting in some cases but mainly switching over to oil and by 1825 gas began to be used until the 1860s when electricity took over. There is now an interest in following Germany’s successful and economic LED lighting system and an ad hoc variety of lamppost designs throughout the city. Dublin’s oldest traffic lights are

The addition of streetlights to any area is first and foremost a way to guide and ward off troublemakers the way a fire once would have in the wilderness. They reduce dark hiding shadows where crime can fester. It is interesting to note that emergency services (ambulances, police cars and fire brigades) avail of both brash flashing lights and loud sounds. Two ‘hard fascinations’ (more on that later) that tap into our innate sense of survival. Hear or see and flee.

Aside from this, lighting is an important stepping stone for any city in becoming a metropolitan city, a 24-hour space. Without headlights one cannot work outside of sunlight hours. To be able to produce and consume at any time distinctly moves a population away from the pastoral.

in Clontarf. The lights were installed in 1893 outside the home of the owner of the first car in Ireland, Fergus Mitchell.

With every city comes a lifestyle, a dress sense, attitudes, cuisine. So many of these have to do with, not geography or tradition, but the weather. Sunny climates allow for ease, seasons bring change. Living in Dublin I love the summers, the bright nights and pre-drinks along the canal. I love crisp autumnal days and hopeful blossoming spring. Winter, unfortunately, makes me feel claustrophobic, limited and unenthusiastic. I get what’s referred to as SAD every year and dread the cold because of it. The sun, you see,

their lights. A man in high-vis was up a ladder attending to one. I thought he looked like a family man, happy at his work and I imagined him that morning eating breakfast with his son saying ‘today I’ll be putting the Christmas lights up all over town’ and the boy telling his friends about this when he got to school. The other thing I love is frost on every surface at night or early in the still-dark mornings. The whole world sparkles. It’s incredible. Personally I am enchanted more by this then a spectacular sunrise or sunset.

therapy can also be prescribed. A very small percent of unfortunate people get the opposite extreme and find the heat from the sun to be overbearing and to fill them with misery. My point is that where you live and when you live there hugely affects how you experience life.

Two things I do love about winter. One is the proud look of Christmas lights, which lift my spirits immensely with their sparkle. I have quite a distaste for blue fairy lights which is interesting as blue is described as having the fastest mood enhancing effect of all colors from the spectrum of light. Regardless, I love Christmas lights. Last year I walked down O’Connell St one day as the trees were being adorned with

releases vitamin D and increases serotonin. Making you feel happier. This disorder is also a result of having moved away from natural environments and adopting artificial cues. Working indoors and missing the few daylight hours there are will aggravate a case. In Ireland about 20% of people will get heavy symptoms of SAD (which is quite a lot) however it’s safe to say that a majority of people get the winter blues. I feel so antsy from the cold weather that last January I arranged to fly off to Morocco until mid February where I got the fresh, radiant start I needed. That being quite a profound upheaval for a common solution, light

Sunrise, sunset, frost on the ground, snow falling, leaves blowing, clouds. These are ‘soft fascinations’, as described by Kaplan & Kaplan. When your attention is held ‘involuntarily’ or effortlessly the thing that holds it is a ‘soft fascination’ which free one’s mind from the efforts of ‘directed’ attention (when you focus purposely). They allow you to slip into a thoughtful, reflective mindspace which is proven to help with rehabilitation or, on a lighter level, to improve concentration. Activities such as hikes, rocking a baby, reading or fixing a watch bring

about this level of thought also. On the other hand ‘hard fascinations’ grab our attention without any room for additional thought (such as the emergency sirens I already spoke of) to force us to concentrate on survival over all else. Humans feel a powerful pull in their gut from hard fascinations which is exploited readily and frequently by businesses. Hard fascinations are used purposely in television, sports games, horror films, neon signs, brash advertisements. In cities we are surrounded.

While I have complained about our cold, miserable winters it needs to be pointed out that Irish weather is pleasant and healthy enough to have us labeled a ‘green’ island. Known for its breathtaking natural beauty,

fields, forests and general wealth of foliage. I can’t entirely be sure when I remember this from but I do recall one year when I was a child the Ha’penny Bridge was to be lit green for St Patrick’s Day. (I also remember a friend of my parents saying that they had put green dye into the River Liffey but looking back I can’t be sure this wasn’t just a joke at the filthy state it was in.) This idea of lighting up bridges I see as one of the first examples, in my mind, when Dublin City began to brand itself and play off its emblematic identity. Other buildings that nowadays are festively lit up in our national colour include the Mansion House, GPO, Christ Church, Trinity College and a variety of businesses such as the CCD, Guinness Storehouse and Clerys. The marketing idea, encouraged by the Lord Mayor, has spread over significant Dubai hotels, the Eiffel Tower, Sydney

Opera House, the Empire State building, Moulin Rouge and Toronto’s CN Tower amongst others. People the world over share in the ‘greening’, as it’s called, and are brought together with one simple visual to celebrate the Irish. These are all buildings that, generally, are lit throughout the year to spotlight their importance. Recently the facade of Trinity College became an awesome rainbow in celebration of the New Year. Also over the holidays, tweets which included #MerryAOL were projected onto Boland’s Flour Mills in the Dock Lands. This made the news after a man proposed via the very modern carrier pigeon (she said yes).

In terms of artistic expression, the 2009 Playhouse Project saw citizens being asked to contribute designs that 100,000 LED lights would flash off Liberty Hall and the Art Park behind

the CCD uses the surprisingly flat back wall of the building to project various photographic works curated by the Sebastian Guinness Gallery. Dorothy Cross’ Ghost Ship is probably my favourite and most magnificent- a large ship anchored off the coast of Dun Laoghaire covered in luminous paint which would glow an eerie green, fade out and glow again in three hour cycles each night. The work commemorated the bygone lightships moored to mark dangerous reef formation. It was an impressive piece and also one of many examples I can think of when light is at the heart of a spectacle.

We enjoy light not just for its attention seeking quality but also because, aesthetically, it is very beautiful. Light is a powerful force in our lives which reminds us of the moon and stars, fire,

the sun, or rays reflecting on water surface. It is easily associated with natural, elemental things – that humans cannot necessarily control or understand. It is transient yet recurring. I set out to enthuse how cities glow and sparkle but I think this piece has highlighted how detrimental human interference can be. My most outstanding memory from Morocco is of that of having travelled from Essaouira, a seaside town, to Sidi Kaouki, a tiny southern village. The rickety old bus had been winding amidst darkness for hours and I was incredibly relieved that I had arrived in the right place. I stepped off and mid stretch felt that being in the correct place was no longer that incredible.

Not when I could actually SEE the stars. There were billions of them. I could make out the milky way. They were 3D, extending beyond each other until genuine eternity and further and further the more I stared. I felt a part of them. This is what we are missing out on in the city. Constant streetlights block the light from the stars that Christmas decorations hope so much to emulate. Our minds are forced to train themselves to filter ‘hard’ distractions causing us to ignore basic

beauty, like frosty grass. Our reflective state does not get enough attention. Natural instincts are numbed or weakened. Entirely our own faults, though, and easily remedied. Wake up earlier, step outside for no reason other than to sense the rhythm of life around you. Whether that’s the rhythm of people dashing through the city you chose as your own so be it.

Text, images and design conceived and created by members of Groundwork Dublin.

Groundwork Dublin is a recently established initiative. Its aim is to facilitate the research of members through an exploration of the infrastructure and architecture of Dublin and its surroundings. Collaboration and education are our central motives.

If you are interested in joining or would like more information, visit groundworkdublin.tumblr.com

Text Text Photo Essay Text Photos throughout

Foreword Katie Mooney-SheppardThe Dublin SITUATION Áine GallagherAll of the Lights Georgia CorcoranCome in No. 3 Anna GallagherOn The Horizon Lorna MurphyThings To Come Katie Mooney-Sheppard

Publication Date January 2013

Issue Number 1

Printed Dublin, Ireland