This is a story of an attempt to start a conversation with a city. The impetus was a beautiful four-story limestone building that had lain derelict for the past 60 years. The inspiration is the history of the building and where it stands. The end of the story is yet to be written, but the following describes our attempt to activate it through artistic intervention. The idea here is how to make use of art to engage the public in a conversation about the future of the building. This was not merely a public engagement initiative; it was an artistic intervention designed to shift perception. Through the 8×8 metre render of Mars based on NASA imagery — an accompanying soundscape of the acoustics of the red planet, the building was reframed as something other than derelict: it became a speculative terrain. The aim was to use artistic composition to place visitors in a different frame of mind — one conducive to imagining alternative futures.
I speak of a building known as Persse’s distillery (in fact, the building was part of a sprawling complex that employed hundreds of people through one of the darkest periods of Ireland’s long history). It sits on the banks of the River Corrib, it is one of the few buildings where the view from the top affords a glimpse at the world-renowned Connemara Mountains, the sparkling vista of Galway Bay underneath the eerie beauty of the Burren UNESCO Geopark. The building has dominated the skyline of Galway city, Ireland, for the past 150 years, yet uniquely, nobody seems to see it.
The same fate befalls many buildings in many cities across the world. Unused, they first become ghostly, second become unsightly before finally becoming invisible. Each of these buildings has its own story to tell. Some are caught up in legal disputes, others are condemned by their history (often the case with old industrial buildings) for others, their time for revival (according to market prices) has not yet come. But their proliferation becomes a point of national concern when, in a country like Ireland, house prices continue their inexorable rise and cities like Galway follow unsustainable trajectories towards urban sprawl.
This paper tells the story of how we (by we, I mean UrbanLab Galway @ the University of Galway, with the help of the Galway International Arts Festival) made an attempt to start a conversation with the people of Galway by using an art installation to help make the building visible again. This is a well-tried formula that has produced mixed results. But the doing of it was important to help the citizens of Galway see their city a little differently and in so doing planting the seeds for a positive change in the future.
Art and the Urban
Art and culture as tools of urban development are of particular interest to academics,1Ming Cheung, Natasha Smith, and Owen Craven, “The impacts of public art on cities, places, and people’s lives.” The Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society 52, no. 1 (2021): 37–50. not least because they are more exciting than analysing planning laws, but they are recognised as tangible and relatively easy to understand and interpret.
For the purposes of this piece, let us consider art interventions in urban development under the following broad (non-exhaustive) headings:
- Art as Urban Catalyst.
- Art ‘Inspite’ of the Urban.
- Art as Inspiration.
Art as an Urban Catalyst
Often considered a relatively recent phenomenon, the Creative City script of Charles Landry and Richard Florida is, in fact, a centuries-old one that has seen cities use art and culture as a tool of urban development. In the modern age, events like the World’s Fair and Great Exhibitions have been employed by numerous cities in an effort to put them “on the map.” As far back as the late 1800s Paris celebration of the Exposition Universelle showcased the city as a centre for art and culture, the vastitudes of which remain to this day, the Eiffel Tower is known the world over as is the moniker “City of Light” resulting from the many architectural and artistic marvels put on show. The City Beautiful movement resulting from the World’s Columbain Exhibition in Chicago (1893) influenced not just that city but inspired a new age of aesthetic focused urban planning.
In the more recent past, we have seen how art has been considered differently by policymakers. Less concerned about the art, the emphasis shifted to artists, or indeed, “Creatives,” acting as catalysts for places, increasing the “cool factor” and letting cities reap the positive spillovers. Under the influence of Richard Florida, city makers began to see the use of those who made art to add to the city’s economic and social fabric. This gave rise to the adoption of cultural quarters as a key tool in city development playbooks.
Examples of cultural investment as a vehicle for urban renewal can be seen across the world, from Temple Bar in Dublin, Baltic Triangle in Liverpool, to Montreal’s Quartier des Spectacles. Yet, as these shiny new cultural quarters matured, many became victims of their own success, leading to gentrification and rising property prices that ultimately displaced the very creative communities they sought to nurture. What began as organic, grassroots movements often ended up as commercialised entertainment districts, where the economic gains were no longer in the hands of artists but developers and large-scale investors.
Another more interventionist approach took hold at the end of the twentieth century in the form of a flagship cultural infrastructure. This strategy sought to transform entire city identities through the introduction of landmark cultural institutions, an approach epitomised by the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. The “Guggenheim Effect” was a deliberate act of cultural engineering — a spectacular investment designed to elevate a city’s global status overnight. In Bilbao’s case, the museum was part of a broader effort to shift the city’s economy away from heavy industry and toward a services- and culture-led future. The project became a model that was difficult for other cities to replicate. Many other cities that sought to emulate the success often misunderstood the assignment as the building of cultural landmarks without the necessary urban integration, resulting in isolated and underutilised spaces.
What emerges, then, are two distinct but related trajectories of culture as urban catalyst — one focused on people, the other on built form. The cultural quarter model prioritises artists and creative communities, embedding cultural industries into urban planning. The flagship infrastructure model hinges on cultural spectacle as a tool for branding and economic uplift, often led by large-scale state and private investment. Both approaches have their successes and failures, but together they represent a significant shift in how cities have come to weaponise culture in their pursuit of economic regeneration, place branding, and international status.
Art ‘Inspite’ of the City
I distinguish the following as actually existing art (production and exhibition) in place. This can be considered more the natural settlement of art and artists and their integration into and influence on the urban fabric. Where cultural and creative quarters could be considered as directed, the result of policy decisions, art in spite of the city is much more organic.
Invariably, these exist at the edge of places, those that are physically or psychologically peripheral to the urban core. These are spaces where rent is often cheaper, where disinvestment has left voids in the built environment, and where informal economies can thrive. Artists are frequently drawn to such areas, not through grand strategic initiatives or regeneration schemes, but through necessity, affordability, and the potential to experiment beyond the constraints of urban order.
Art, in spite of the city, is therefore not a policy outcome but a byproduct of urban conditions. It is neither curated nor commissioned in the way that cultural quarters are, nor is it typically embedded in place-based economic strategies. Instead, it emerges from the intersections of neglect, marginalisation, and creative opportunism. Unlike formally designated arts districts, which are often entwined with commercial interests and municipal ambitions, these edge spaces remain precarious, vulnerable to cycles of urban renewal and the creeping forces of gentrification that follow in the wake of artistic settlement. As Meghan Rich documents in relation to Baltimore’s Station North, artists initially settled in underused industrial spaces, but as the area became more desirable, their very presence attracted development pressures that ultimately led to their displacement.2Meghan Ashlin Rich, “‘Artists are a tool for gentrification’: maintaining artists and creative production in arts districts,” International Journal of Cultural Policy 25, no. 6 (2019): 727–742.
Yet, art in spite of the city is more than an incidental stage in the gentrification cycle. It also signals a different kind of relationship between artists and urban space — one that resists easy instrumentalisation. Unlike officially sanctioned cultural quarters, which often operate within the framework of cultural branding and destination marketing, these informal artistic ecologies function on a logic of adaptability and resistance. They are self-sustaining insofar as they remain outside of formalised development agendas. For Ann Markusen, this is key to the maintenance of an urban justice, where the right to remain creative is equal to that of housing.3Ann Markusen, “Urban development and the politics of a creative class: evidence from a study of artists,” Environment and planning A 38, no. 10 (2006): 1921–1940.
Art as Inspiration
Another aspect of the relationship between art and the urban form is how the product of art impacts the city. Much has been written about Public Art as visible artistic interventions in the cityscape. Public art can be more than just an aesthetic enhancement of urban spaces; it can also act as a catalyst for urban transformation, social engagement, and economic renewal. Cities use public art for a variety of reasons, such as seeking to redefine their identities and foster inclusivity, temporary and permanent artistic interventions can play a critical role in shaping both place and perception.
The transformation of Quay Street in Galway, Ireland, following an artistic intervention at the Galway Arts Festival is one such case, but similar effects have been observed in other cities.4Patrick Collins, Galway: Making a Capital of Culture (Orpen Press, Dublin, 2023). In New York, Ai Weiwei’s Arch installation at Washington Square Park generated discourse around migration and borders, while in Rotterdam, Paul McCarthy’s controversial Santa Claus provoked debate over public art’s role in civic identity.5Martin Zebracki, “Just Art, Politics and Publics: Researching Geographies of Public Art and Accountability,” Art & the Public Sphere 2, nos. 1–3 (2012): 117–127. These are examples of how ephemeral artistic events can leave a lasting imprint on urban landscapes.
Two key aspects relating to this case study are the participatory nature of public art and its temporality. Art’s ability to redefine public spaces also speaks to its role in public engagement. Rather than being passive spectators, urban residents often become active participants in the evolving meaning of a place. Street performances, murals, and installations provoke dialogue and encourage communal interaction. They can challenge established narratives about space and ownership, particularly in cities undergoing rapid development. Regarding their temporality, while many installations or performances are transient, their social and economic repercussions can have lasting impacts. The Field of Light installation at Uluru in Australia, for example, has significantly boosted regional tourism while also creating a deeper connection between visitors and the landscape.
Public art, therefore, is not simply about inspiration; it can be a medium through which cities reimagine themselves. Whether through festival interventions, permanent sculptures, or pop-up performances, art has the power to inspire new ways of thinking about urban space. As cases from around the world illustrate, even temporary artistic engagements can leave enduring legacies, influencing the trajectory of a place long after the performance has ended. The challenge for cities is to nurture these creative impulses while ensuring they remain inclusive, participatory, and reflective of the diverse voices that shape urban life.
In the siting of Luke Jerram’s Mars at the vacant Persse’s distillery, our goal was to attract people to a place. Mars drew on this conception of art as inspiration by creating a perceptual frame. The eight-by-eight metre rendition, the use of sound, light, and staged entry sequences offered visitors a subtly altered experience of the site. As such, the art was how they were invited to look.
Nuns Island, Galway and Persse’s Distillery
The above map highlights the place of Nuns Island in Galway city, Ireland. The city itself has many monikers, from the city of the tribes (referring to its merchant past) to the city of festivals. The latter was recently dreamt up by those tasked with marketing the city; however, it is not without foundation. In 2013, I counted over 220 festivals and events hosted in the city and its environs. In my recent book, I pay more attention to the cultural moniker that has become associated with Galway. For many (though I disagree), this became real with the city’s designation as European Capital of Culture in 2020.
Attracting over 2 million visitors a year, this small city (circa 90,000) has good “brand recognition.” Marquee events such as the Galway Film Fleadh (Festival), International Arts Festival, and the Horse Racing festival keep the city’s streets full through the summer months. The presence of over 25,000 students in two Universities in the city helps the same streets fill up during the other seasons. In socioeconomic terms, Galway sits above the national average (lower unemployment rates, higher educational attainment), which is helped by a healthy commercial profile, the fourth largest medical device cluster in the world together with high tech presences (Hewlett Packard European software development headquarters) Galway typifies the new development model of an economically buoyant Ireland (highly globalised if over-reliant on foreign direct investment).
So, Galway is attractive, it is Ireland’s most diverse city (highest percent of the population born outside the state), and its third-level institutes bring a fresh shot of youth every September, but the high-paying jobs are attractive, year-round, to potential residents from across the world. Attraction breeds demand, and this is made evident by the increase in both rental and house prices in the city. Second to Dublin, Galway is the most expensive place to live in Ireland, and where the country’s current housing crisis is made real. Like other countries, the crisis not only exists in new homes becoming less attainable, but brings with it many other issues, from homelessness (the number of people living in emergency accommodation increasing 50% higher than the state average in 2024) to an increasing generational divide.
This is part of the rationale for the intervention discussed here. Nuns Island is a 15-acre post-industrial district located between the historic city centre and the campus of the University of Galway. Nuns Island is an eclectic area that is marked by dereliction, a functioning convent and cathedral, modern and historic residential housing, a secondary school, and a theatre in a converted nineteenth-century Presbyterian church. It is surrounded and intersected by waterways, creating an ecologically rich environment in the heart of the city. In previous work, I have described Nuns Island as a place of inflection, a place chosen by James Joyce in the final story of his Dubliners for a series of reflections on the relationship between Ireland’s capital city, Dublin, and the West of Ireland.
It is interesting to note that the story of Nuns Island does not align with the standard narrative of the west of Ireland that the two million visitors tend to encounter. Nuns Island was the beating industrial heart of the city and region, from the construction of the canal network (circa 1850s) to the middle of the last century. It was the site of rebellion and incarceration (housing Galway gaol on the site of what is now the cathedral). It is also a place of sanctuary — the Poor Clare nuns, who give their name to the place, have been resident there for over 300 years.
The building that we chose to focus on is pictured below, in its prime under the ownership of the Persse family (undated) and more recently as it lies presently. As a distillery (circa 1840–1908) it produced a whiskey of some repute: “Persse’s whiskey was sold in America and across the British colonies from India to Australia and in the African settlements”. The Persse family was part of the landed gentry in Ireland; their move into the alcoholic beverage industry in the 1800s rivalled that of the Guinness family in the east of the country.
Since the Persse’s left the building, it has had a number of different uses, most recently as a carpet-making factory after having spent some time in the middle of the twentieth century as a site for the production of the now-banned insecticide, DDT. The building has been vacant since the 1970s and is now under the ownership of the University of Galway.
ARTiculating place
The first steps in starting the conversation about the use of space in Galway city commenced with a discussion with the Artistic Director of the Galway International Arts Festival, Paul Fahy. This was a natural starting point, of growing international repute, the festival attracts over a quarter of a million annually to Galway and has earned its place as a marquee summer event on the island of Ireland. Add to this the fact that the Festival has an established record of transforming places, from unused shops to city car parks and whole streets for the two weeks of the festival, into sites of cultural celebration, which made the partnership an obvious one.
After securing access (with thanks to the Building’s and Estates office at the University), ensuring paperwork in terms of public liability insurance, assuaging the concerns (and legal threats) from local residents we devised a comprehensive programme to enable the broadest and most comprehensive engagement in the conversation regarding the future of the derelict distillery.
At the centre of the installation was an eight-metre suspended sculpture of Mars by internationally renowned artist Luke Jerram. Installed in the soaring void of the former distillery, the work recast the derelict space as one of cosmic scale and speculative imagination. Around this centrepiece, we composed an immersive environment that included a low-frequency soundscape based on the acoustics of Mars, and archival imagery installed in the entryway. These elements were not intended as decoration but as devices of aesthetic and perceptual reorientation. In Claire Bishop’s terms, the installation provided a participatory aesthetic frame — an environment in which engagement could unfold not as routine consultation, but as a moment of critical reflection.6Claire Bishop, Artificial Hells: Participatory Art and the Politics of Spectatorship (London: Verso, 2012). Similarly, following Suzanne Lacy’s conception of art as a social encounter, we considered the installation as a context designed to prompt a shift in the public’s frame of reference — from familiarity and neglect to possibility and potential.7Suzanne Lacy, ed., Mapping the Terrain: New Genre Public Art (Seattle: Bay Press, 1995).
This artistic intervention served as the platform for a multi-modal engagement process. A variety of traditional and novel methods were used to engage the public:
- Onsite survey: a series of 13 questions helping to categorise the respondents and encourage them to share their views on potential futures. Paper-based and administered by volunteers.
- An online version of the same: QR codes were generated to guide respondents to the same survey.
- Public sticker board: see image. Respondents were encouraged to engage with two public boards: one with a series of closed questions (dot stickers) and the other with more open-ended questions (post-its).
- Vox pops: Audio recordings of festival goers’ answers to a series of short questions about the building.
- Three workshops: one relating to life of Mars delivered by Dr Matt Redman, a physicist at the University of Galway; a second on the history of the Persse family and the distillery building delivered by local historian William Henry; and a final children’s art workshop delivered by Dr Liz Coleman of the University of Galway and artist Sarah Edmundson.
- AR rendition of Nuns Island 1837: attendees were encouraged to access a 3d rendition of the Nuns Island quarter in what could be considered its most productive period. A QR code enabled attendees to navigate the urban quarter on their phone to see a space that was starkly different from its current guise.
- Video and picture recordings: Galway International Arts Festival videographers and photographers captured the event with online content shared over the course of the four-day event.
Over the course of four days, the event attracted 10,000 visitors. Through the above programme, we engaged close to 2,500 attendees. For the purposes of clarity, let us focus on results derived from the top three forms of engagement.
Reflection on Temporary Art and Public Perception of Place
The responses gathered offered valuable insights into how temporary artistic interventions shape perceptions of place. The most frequently used words to describe the site — opportunity, potential, wasted, possibilities — indicate that the installation succeeded in sparking a reconsideration of the site’s identity. This aligns with broader research on public art, which emphasises its role in challenging perceptions and reshaping narratives about urban spaces. However, an equally striking revelation was that over 90% of visitors — including many locals — had never set foot in the building before, despite its central location. This suggests that, beyond the art itself, the act of opening the space to the public was transformative in its own right, uncovering latent curiosity and unlocking a forgotten urban space in the collective consciousness.
Visitors expressed fascination not just with the artwork but with the architectural and historical presence of the building itself. Many comments reflected a sense of discovery, with participants highlighting the craftsmanship of the structure, its layered histories, and the sheer potential of an overlooked site. The responses suggest that temporary artistic interventions do not merely inject meaning into a space — they also reveal and amplify pre-existing, yet unacknowledged, cultural and historical significance. In this case, the installation acted as a gateway, allowing people to engage with a physical site in a way they had not previously considered.
Beyond shifting perceptions, the responses also highlighted tangible preferences for the site’s future. The most favoured uses included Culture Making, Community Use, Concert Hall, and Learning Spaces, reinforcing the idea that cultural and educational programming could provide a meaningful and sustainable future for the space. Notably, 78% of respondents selected at least one cultural or community-oriented option, underscoring strong public demand for a space that fosters engagement and collective creativity.
Generational differences were apparent in how people envisioned the space’s future. Younger respondents (aged 20–39) favoured interactive and multi-use cultural programming, while older participants (aged 60 plus) expressed interest in more structured institutional uses such as a library or museum. Interestingly, only a small fraction (less than 10 percent) advocated for commercial uses, suggesting that despite its dereliction, the site is still perceived as a place of shared heritage rather than a location for private development.
The role of temporary art in inspiring change extends beyond consultation. By creating a low-risk space for experimentation, such installations allow for iterative public engagement, where community responses can help shape future developments. The engagement at Persse’s Plaza reinforces the notion that temporary artistic interventions are not merely aesthetic additions but mechanisms for civic participation and policy influence.
Key Insights
This study presents several novel findings that add to the discourse on public art and placemaking. The revelation that 90 percent of visitors had never entered the space before — despite its central location — raises important questions about urban familiarity, psychological barriers to access, and the ways in which certain spaces become “invisible” within the public imagination. This finding highlights how temporary interventions are not just about artistic expression but about reclaiming and reintegrating neglected urban assets into public life.
Additionally, the overwhelming public preference for cultural and community uses, rather than commercial development, signals a strong collective desire to develop this as a shared, public-facing site rather than a privatized entity. This challenges dominant trends in urban regeneration, where commercial interests often take precedence over cultural heritage and communal needs. It reinforces the idea that public consultation, especially through experiential engagement like temporary art, is essential in shaping urban futures that reflect public sentiment rather than purely economic imperatives.
Furthermore, the interplay between the art and the building itself suggests that the physicality of space plays an equally powerful role in inspiring public engagement. Rather than simply responding to the art, visitors were moved by the site’s raw potential, suggesting that temporary interventions can act as amplifiers of latent cultural and historical significance.
Ultimately, the Persse’s Plaza experience demonstrates that temporary public art can function as both an urban diagnostic tool and a mechanism for long-term transformation. It encourages a rethinking of placemaking strategies, where the opening of forgotten spaces can be as impactful as the artistic works themselves. Future efforts should consider incorporating recurring temporary interventions to sustain public interest and dialogue, ensuring that these spaces evolve in ways that align with collective aspirations. The findings here provide a compelling case for how temporary artistic interventions can be used not just to beautify, but to reveal, activate, and redefine urban spaces for the communities they serve.
Acknowledgements: I would like to sincerely thank the staff and volunteers of the Galway International Arts Festival for what they bring to a city of Galway’s size each year is truly astounding. Particular thanks to the Artistic Director, Paul Fahy, without whose vision, creativity, and drive, this project would not have been possible. Elena Toniato, the volunteer manager, and all the fantastic GiAF volunteers who made this level of engagement possible. Thanks also to colleagues at the University of Galway, staff at the buildings office, and friends in UrbanLab Galway (Ulf Stohmayer and Mark Rainey); in particular, I am grateful for the hard work of students Lena Jätschmann and Danny Whalen. I would also like to acknowledge funding support from the University of Galway’s Strategic Funds.
Notes
| ↑1 | Ming Cheung, Natasha Smith, and Owen Craven, “The impacts of public art on cities, places, and people’s lives.” The Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society 52, no. 1 (2021): 37–50. |
|---|---|
| ↑2 | Meghan Ashlin Rich, “‘Artists are a tool for gentrification’: maintaining artists and creative production in arts districts,” International Journal of Cultural Policy 25, no. 6 (2019): 727–742. |
| ↑3 | Ann Markusen, “Urban development and the politics of a creative class: evidence from a study of artists,” Environment and planning A 38, no. 10 (2006): 1921–1940. |
| ↑4 | Patrick Collins, Galway: Making a Capital of Culture (Orpen Press, Dublin, 2023). |
| ↑5 | Martin Zebracki, “Just Art, Politics and Publics: Researching Geographies of Public Art and Accountability,” Art & the Public Sphere 2, nos. 1–3 (2012): 117–127. |
| ↑6 | Claire Bishop, Artificial Hells: Participatory Art and the Politics of Spectatorship (London: Verso, 2012). |
| ↑7 | Suzanne Lacy, ed., Mapping the Terrain: New Genre Public Art (Seattle: Bay Press, 1995). |
