Size matters when it comes to making an impact with public art. At least, that has been the conclusion of artists currently involved in a public art project in the Temple Bar area. As the Temple Bar Street Art Symposium is just one of a number of similar events in Dublin this autumn, the artists involved have a more than usually difficult job in hand. They have to address the complex business of speaking to a "non-art" audience, and at the same time take on the extra task of making their work seen, heard or simply noticed above what now amounts to a cacophony of public art voices in the streets of Dublin.
There are, at present, around 50 contemporary artists, all attempting to win back the Dublin cityscape from commercial advertisers; all vying, in their different ways, for your attention. There are many possible reasons for this explosion in public art, from the dearth of open submission shows on the Irish arts scene to the decreasing amount of space available to artists who are not allied with a private gallery. One thing that's certain, however, is that the new situation is having a powerful effect on the type of art now produced in Ireland.
Sean Hillen, one of the artists taking part in the Temple Bar symposium, has been working on his Irelantis project since 1994. Until he became involved in this event, his working process has involved microscopic precision. Until now, much of Hillen's excitement in the work has been a Van Eyckian pleasure in working on a tiny scale. Inspired by the picture postcards of John Hinde, Hillen cuts up and reassembles elements from found images, juxtapositioning familiar elements of touristic Ireland in mutant images. In one picture, The Great Cliffs of Collage Green, the front gates of Trinity College teeter on the cliffs of Moher, while passers-by seem oblivious of the precipice which beckons. Hillen has made his temporary studio on the site of the former Project Arts Centre theatre, which is particularly practical as he is also currently building his designs for Barabbas Theatre company's new production. It is rare for him to have a studio of such size, but for him cramped space isn't a problem. He normally prepares the raw material for his work under a microscope, carefully edging his scalpel around forms that are only millimetres across. All that is about to change as he makes the final adjustment to his work for the Temple Bar event.
In making his art fit for the streets, Hillen has radically altered his collages. Exploded through the miracle of digital print technology, the images have been transformed from a couple of precious inches to six feet high. Now, rather than being "hidden away" in a gallery at the top of several flights of stairs, they will be hung from lampposts all along the Liffey, giving Hillen the probability of a larger audience than any of his previous shows.
"I think the distinction between public art and gallery art is completely artificial. Surely all art is for the public? I don't make public art under the narrow definition, but my work has always been for the public rather than for collectors," says Hillen. "Perhaps working in a situation like this - where the main idea is undoubtedly to accrue social grace for the organisers - is not the ideal way to show. But I've always thought that the point was to get as many people as possible to see the work, even if it meant chasing them into the gallery with a pointed stick."
Contributing to the symposium has also entailed a dizzying change of scale for the artist Jeanette Doyle. In her temporary studio at the Fire Station Artists' Studio (an organisation which is, coincidentally, also running a public art project, Inner Art, this month) on a cluttered bench, speckled with clay stand two tiny green figures, toy soldiers a couple of inches high. From these fragile miniatures Doyle has created two life-size soldiers which will be stationed at strategic points in the Temple Bar area.
"They're not actually life-size, of course," says Doyle, lurking between great bunches of fibreglass and armouries of cans of sealant and gloss coat. "Because they were built on female mannequins." Doyle sliced up the mannequins and reassembled them, using the toy soldiers as maquettes. The reengineered mannequins were first covered with chicken-wire and clay and modelled, then covered in fibreglass and sealed to give the glossy appearance of fresh plastic.
Enlarged to the point where tiny fissures and quirks of the manufacturing process become visible, the toy aspect of the figures becomes more pronounced. Made life-size, the figures paradoxically appear even less real, more obviously not a part of everyday life.
"Scale is certainly an issue when it comes to making art for the street," says Doyle. "It is always surprising to come across something that ought to be very small but which, in fact, has been made huge . . . Cleas Oldenberg did it some time ago. It is easy to overuse it as a trick because it is so effective."
Nevertheless, Doyle suggests, the impact that can be achieved through playing with scale is exactly what the context demands. "When people go to a gallery, they have already made an investment in what they are going to look at. They will approach it in specific ways, perhaps even with some knowledge of the artist's practice. When people come across a work in the street it is first of all something that is in their way. "You have to address that difference, but it doesn't necessarily mean that your practice has to change. The audience always has to be an important part of the work."
Stephen Gunning's contribution to the Temple Bar project certainly could not function without the audience of casual passers-by, who are both the subjects of and collaborators in the work. For around two weeks, Gunning has been on his hands and knees, slowly working his way around the pavements and square of Temple Bar, leaving in his wake a legible spoor.
With a mixture of boot polish and graphite and a set of shiny stencils in various sizes, Gunning has been marking the paths with a selection of his own thoughts (". . . work harder, faster . . .") and snatches of conversations overheard in the area. Gunning cuts a lonely figure hunched over the wet pavements, for the most part indistinguishable from those other art workers who cover the city's pavements with reproductions of Dutch masters or Prog Rock album covers.
Cork-based Gunning hopes that, as the weeks pass, people travelling to and from work, shopping or visiting restaurants and galleries in the area, will eventually wear away his words, leaving in the broken texts a record of their passing, as much as of his own.
"I like this way of working because it actually does bring you into contact with people. It can be very isolating working alone in a studio, but here people talk about your work, react to it all the time," says Gunning, adding with infinite patience, ". . . even if sometimes that means trying to stop people running off with your stencils."
Along with Gunning, Hillen and Doyle, the other artists taking part are: Swedish artist Veronica Larsson, who will spend a week in a specially constructed cottage, dressed in modernised Scandinavian folk costume, serving up traditional Swedish buns; Douglas & Douglas, who are producing a set of beer-mats as their contribution; James Hayes, who will tie coloured chairs to various railings through- out the area; Norette Kirby, who is building a temple of Lego blocks; Simon Spain, who will scatter gold and silver leaves through the streets; sculptor John Power, whose 12-inch tall, two-tonne valve radio set stands in Meetinghouse Square; and Clea Van Der Grijn, who will document the entire event with Polaroid photographs, which will eventually be enlarged into a giant wall of pictures.
There will be a two-day debate on public art, including workshops, presentations, a panel discussion and open debate, in Temple Bar Gallery and Studios, on September 26th and 27th. Further information from Vaari Claffey, tel: 01-6710073.
