An Irishman's Diary

FIRST IT WAS the Dublin Theatre Festival programme. Now a report in this newspaper has used the phrase “the iconic Liberty Hall building”: apparently without sarcasm. This of a structure that, last I knew, was still widely considered to be a crime against architecture.

Okay, the two “iconic” references seem to have a common source. The Irish Times story was about a campaign to make the current light show, which has transformed Siptu headquarters into a 50-metre TV screen for the duration of the theatre festival, permanent.

But our report carried the phrase without quotation marks. So clearly, the Liberty-Hall-as-icon movement is gaining ground.

At this rate of revisionism, by the time Siptu gets around to demolishing it – which I understand is still the plan – student activists will have chained themselves to radiators on the ground floor in an effort to save a national treasure for posterity. It’ll be Hume Street all over again.

In case I was missing something here, I went back to my dictionary to check the exact meaning of “icon”. The word is defined variously as “image, portrait, etc, of sacred personage, itself regarded as sacred”; and, in a more general sense, as “anybody or anything uncritically admired”. Both of which definitions would appear rather stretched in the LH context.

But what of a more modern meaning of “icon”, viz: “(in computers) visual symbol representing a particular operation, usually activated by means of a mouse”? In the sense of the current light-show, which allows the public to project computer-generated images onto the building, this is right on the money.

Yet it doesn’t appear to be what the Liberty Hall iconographers have in mind. On the contrary, they speak of “love” for the building, albeit indirectly. Here’s what a campaign spokesman said: “Projects like Playhouse [the lighting installation] provide a visual focal point that not only allows people to unite and be proud of their city but to fall in love with it all over again.”

In the case of Liberty Hall, whatever about the rest of the city, this was a love that dared not speak its name until now. And what next? Is it possible there are people who have romantic feelings for Hawkins House, or that cube thing with a helmet in Dame Street, and are just waiting for encouragement to come out of the closet? Oddly enough, the only time Liberty Hall inspires anything like affection from me are on those occasions when the morning or evening sun is glinting off its reflective glass. Yet people who remember what it looked like before the 1972 bomb that blew out its original, non-reflective windows, say it was more impressive back then.

I don’t know. Certainly, I like the current light show, which has added to the gaiety of the city after dark. But Liberty Hall as an icon? I can’t quite quite bring myself to genuflect before the idea. And as as for loving it, surely only a mother could do that.

IN ONE SENSE, I’m encouraged that the aforementioned building seems to be gaining popularity: if only because me and it are about the same age. It’s good that at least one of us is considered to be maturing well, because, God knows, we 1960s structures have our problems. Come to think of it, maybe a few of us should be listed for preservation.

I say this with feeling, having just received an e-mail from a photographic company with a series of pictures taken of me during the recent Dublin Half Marathon. Along with stewards and water stations, road-races now also have photographers distributed around the course to capture as many runners as possible, and offer the results for purchase. Although I didn’t notice at the time, they took no fewer than 12 different

pictures of me: one for every mile, almost, but all featuring the same tortured expression.

Even without photographic evidence, road-racing in middle age is an experience that strips you of any illusions you might have while running alone. Somewhere in your head, chances are, you still have an image of yourself as a gazelle. A three-legged gazelle, perhaps. A gazelle that was shot in the butt once, and has been limping ever since. But a gazelle even so, still capable of athletic grace and beauty.

During a race, unfortunately, you will probably notice yourself running alongside or being passed by people who, if they bear resemblance to any quadruped wildlife, tend more towards the rhino end of the spectrum than any member of the deer family.

After that now, just in case you have managed to hold on to some shred of poetic self-image, they send you photographs.

None of my angles, as captured, is remotely flattering. I do note, however, that – like the 50-metre TV screen – the photos e-mailed are only “low resolution” so as to avoid download problems.

Perhaps the full pictures have an iconic quality that these ones missed. I see also that the options available for purchase include a “graphic-rich artistic signature” version, which sounds even more promising. But unless they can guarantee sympathetic lighting of the kind currently enjoyed by Liberty Hall, I’m not interested.

fmcnally@irishtimes.com