A sculpture is being removed from Dún Laoghaire because locals don't like it. Is public art in trouble, asks Rosita Boland.

Public art. Put the words together and they create instant debate. If "art" is a notoriously slippery word, then when prefixed with "public" it becomes even more difficult to grasp. Art, by its nature, is subjective. What one person will find beautiful and inspiring another will find baffling and ugly.

A piece of public art that has been in a very public controversy lately is The Gateway by Michael Warren, the Wexford artist and member of Aosdána. The sculpture was commissioned by the developers of Dún Laoghaire's Pavilion complex as part of Per Cent for Art scheme. It went up last year on the corner opposite the Pavilion and has been the subject of debate ever since.

The large pieces of Cor-Ten steel - a type of metal designed to oxidise slowly, giving a rough orange finish - are commanding, just as the artist intended. But they are not popular. Locals have strongly objected to the piece through petitions and telephone calls and e-mails to Dún Laoghaire-Rathdown councillors. Last month Dún Laoghaire-Rathdown Area Committee voted unanimously to relocate the sculpture.

"It hasn't won the hearts and minds of people. They don't like it," says Niamh Bhreathnach, the council's Cathaoirleach. "The council hopes now to have some say in where it will be moved to. The way it was all handled originally was very bad. It literally just appeared overnight, with no consultation."

The Per Cent for Art scheme has existed in various forms since 1978. Since 1997 the Government has approved inclusion of 1 per cent funding for an art project in the budgets of all capital construction projects. The cap is €64,000 and the funding is not confined to building developments. Anyone who travels around the country will have noticed the many roadside sculptures that have been put in place in the past decade, as part of the the National Development Plan's road-building schemes. Some, it is fair to say, are more tasteful than others.

Annette Moloney is the public-art specialist at the Arts Council. "Around 1994 there was a phenomenal lot of building going on, and it was the first indication that guidelines were needed for what was going to be commissioned as public art." There was never any umbrella body looking at proposals. Developers and local authorities made their own decisions about what they wanted to commission. "Proposals and plans were sent to the Department of Environment for information purposes only," says Moloney.

This week the Department of Arts, Sport and Tourism launched its General National Guidelines 2004 for Public Art, Per Cent for Art Scheme. This is the first time there has been an ordered approach to how the budget for art is to be used in development projects: the purpose of the guidelines is to provide a common national approach. "The objective is to achieve clarity and consistency in procedures, to allow for openness and flexibility in planning, selection and review processes and to further develop commissioning practices."

The guidelines also attempt to define what public art is, although the definition is so inclusive that it surely raises more questions than it answers. In his foreword, Caoimhín Mac Giolla Léith, who is a member of the Panel of Public Art Expert Advisors, writes: "The scope of public art has widened to include not just sculpture's close relations - architecture and painting - but also music, literature, film, video, multimedia and sound art, as well as the various performing arts including theatre, dance, opera, performance and live art."

Mac Giolla Léith goes on to make a salient point: "Bigger is not necessarily better. The Irish habit of cutting the most grandiose monuments down to size by a well-turned nickname suggests that subtler interventions into public space may be more rewarding."

It's true the Irish public like to respond to certain pieces of public art by giving them not just one but several nicknames. One is the controversial Anna Livia, which was on O' Connell Street for several years until it was removed. It's now awaiting placement in a new location. Among its unofficial names were the Floozie in the Jacuzzi, the Mot in the Pot and the Hoor in the Sewer.

The guidelines list the five key stages to commissioning public art as planning, selection, research and development, realisation and review. The planning guidelines are likely to be consulted closely, as there have never been defined planning guidelines before.

Among the guidelines is the suggestion that a public-art working group be established at an early stage. Ideally, those represented in this group would include one or two practising artists, one or two independent art curators or artistic advisors, a construction-project manager, an architect or engineer from the development's design team, a representative from the developer and "other relevant expertise or local social or community representatives".

So what happens when it all goes wrong? A piece of public art is commissioned, it goes up, and the public declare they don't like it and want it moved. How does the artist feel at such public humiliation?

Warren, The Gateway's creator and a very well- respected artist, is bewildered as to why the piece he was commissioned to make by the developers of the Pavilion apparently became so unpopular that, only a year later, the public want it removed. Any artist would feel troubled to witness their work being given such a speedy dispatch. After it was installed last year, he was invited to come before the council to talk about the piece. "We talked about the expectations of public art. I thought the meeting had gone awfully well."

Nobody even told Warren that his piece in now under discussion for removal: "The first I read about it was in the newspaper," he says.

The fact that the piece will be relocated elsewhere doesn't make it less of a blow: as far as he's concerned, Warren designed The Gateway specifically for the context of the place in which it now stands. Thus he feels it simply won't be the same piece of work anywhere else. "The sculpture is highly classical. It gives unity to three distinct buildings: the Pavilion, the Town Hall and Brasserie na Mara. It's on the axis of the lower Dublin road, and, yes, it's in a very public place - it was designed for a very public place.

In fact, the new guidelines are very specific about context: "Context can be described as the environment in which a commission is planned and realised." By this definition, moving the piece elsewhere is a declaration of failure. Warren is not sure where it might be going. "I heard something about Marlay Park."

One of the complaints registered by the public was that the piece looks rusty. "Cor-Ten steel rusts for two years and then it stabilises," Warren explains. "It was deemed to be a good idea to use Cor-Ten steel, since Dún Laoghaire is a harbour town.

"What really perplexes me about the whole debate is that the reasons being given for its removal are all so vague. The central issue appears to concern the way in which public sculpture is perceived, i.e., what we expect it to do. How to marry the creative side of things and public opinion is never going to be an easy question."

What does "public art" mean to Warren? "Public sculpture is expected to hold its own, stand its ground. It's expected to have a great sense of presence. Ideally, it ought to respond like a trumpet call, directing our sense of being in the world."

The new national guidelines will undoubtedly be welcomed by developers and local authorities around the country, but they are unlikely to stop certain future public-art projects being as controversial as The Gateway has turned out to be.

"There has to be a degree of bafflement to public sculpture, otherwise what is it for?" asks Warren.