In the heart of Dublin, I recently came across a majestic five-level building, a remarkable testament to the Victorian age’s flamboyant architectural style. Characterised by a royal facade adorned with terracotta tiles and red brick, and topped off by an ornate gable, this edifice served the public interest, rather than being designed for private enjoyment. It is the Baggot Street Hospital, which halted its services in 1987 after operating for almost 150 years, though parts of the facility remained functional until 2019.
Presently, the building is abandoned and gradually falling into increasingly severe decay, although conservation architects have recently been commissioned to identify a potential future use, according to the HSE. As I strolled past the building that evening, I carried out my usual ritual: I used my mobile phone to capture its image. I introduced a website named the Irish Aesthete in 2012, out of my desire to share my deep admiration for the nation’s historic buildings. Despite a slow beginning, the website started gaining attention, both domestically and internationally, and eventually expanded its horizons to other platforms including Instagram.
Fast forward to twelve years later, the Irish Aesthete has gained international recognition as a recurrently visited resource for architects, designers, historians, and general enthusiasts from across the globe, as it continually updates its content. The loyal reader base often seeks more knowledge about the diverse and rich architectural treasures spanning thousands of years, especially prior to experiencing Ireland’s heritage firsthand.
Why is this so, you might wonder? I realized early on that the nature of my content warranted the support of imagery, preferably quality photographs. Having no previous experience of photography – with no ownership of a camera even – I chose to utilise my mobile phone to take shots. I continue to do so to this day and like to believe the evolving technology has enhanced the quality of my pictures over time. I have developed a steadier hand, learned the art of effective framing, and understood the need to be patient for capturing the perfect shot. Nevertheless, my position as an amateur persists: I remain a writer who also takes photographs, not a photographer who also pens down words.
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My curiosity remains fervent, with the knowledge that there is an abundance and more to be discovered. I maintain a steady presence on social media, posting multiple times each week, continuously seeking out ‘new’ (I mean to say ‘old’) content. Any venture begins with a thorough study of possible destinations along the way and arranging a catalogue of prospective pit stops. While the outcomes can often fall short of expectations, there are often unforeseen, but always appreciated, gems to discover: a hidden residence spotted beyond a hedgerow or a monastic ruin tucked away in a proximate field.
Over the trailing dozen years, I have amassed an enormous collection of over 100,000 photographs, yet astonishingly, there remains a plethora of spots yet to be discovered. The impressive variation of constructions in this diminutive isle and the calibre of our dated architecture continues to exhilarate me. I am well aware of the enormous stretches of terrain yet to be surveyed. The Irish Aesthete, encapsulates every corner of the 32 counties – from humble country cottages to stately castles, churches to charity houses, parsonages to engaging garden novelties, ensuring no facet of our architectural ancestry goes unnoticed.
A particular feature that garners substantial attention from visitors to the site is the abundant clusters of disused or dilapidated structures sprinkled throughout Ireland. In the early 1800s, Johann Georg Kohl, a German author and geographer, visited and later chronicled his visit to Ireland. He noted that “Ireland is the country for ruins . . . multitudes of dilapidated buildings are to be seen in every direction.” The scene today hasn’t deviated significantly from Kohl’s depiction, with our vast array of ruins having only expanded in count. Travelling through the nation, one cannot help but notice them and question why the architecture continues to decay?
As for grand residences, known here as ‘the Big House’, it is often posited that the wider populace feels detached from, and devoid of emotion towards these properties, viewing them as relics of a fallen regime, emblematic of privilege and exploitation. While there may be merit to this supposition, ruined country manors constitute only a minor proportion of our nation’s neglect.
Why is it that a facility like Baggot Street Hospital, even if it is no longer fit for its original purpose, is left to rot away rather than renovated for other uses? This is hardly an isolated case, as anyone travelling around Ireland could attest to witnessing numerous buildings in various states of degradation. Consider the case of Drogheda, Co Louth, a place teeming with vintage buildings that could have made it a tourist hotspot. But instead, much of the historical core has been allowed to deteriorate into a miserable state, despite numerous laws that urge both local and national government intervention.
Drogheda stands out as an especially stark example of a collective failure to maintain our historic architectural inventory. Nearly every town in Ireland exhibits a considerable number of structures that are gradually deteriorating. How do we let this happen? Are we collectively oblivious? No one can feign unawareness now, as the information is common knowledge: The 2022 Census revealed that the state had 166,792 vacant residences, while a report from the GeoDirectory Residential Buildings last December established that there were 20,780 derelict units throughout the nation.
The degeneration occurs because we permit it. Our architectural legacy is a national treasure that has been woefully wasted away, a precious resource we often decide to squander. The neglect of our historic buildings, regardless of their location, be it rural or urban, impoverishes us all, blemishes our environment and diminishes what we leave behind to our descendants.
The Irish Aesthete serves not just as an account of this heedless and unnecessary loss but also as an accolade to what remains. Even though I’d prefer if the site showcased more preservation and less degradation, it offers an opportunity to pay tribute to the bountiful heritage our predecessors have left behind. It also allows us to recognise the remarkable skill of past generations of Irish craftsmen and women, whether it’s the intricately carved stone above the 15th century entrance to Clontuskert Priory, Co Galway or the exquisite plasterwork framing a monochrome painted medallion in the Royal Irish Academy of Music, Dublin.
The creators behind these works remain anonymous, making them all the more valuable. Their craftsmanship illustrates that both the volume and the standard of what we have inherited is phenomenal, and it merits greater recognition and admiration. That’s the reason the Irish Aesthete consistently publishes, week after week. The more our unique architectural heritage is publicly acknowledged, the higher the likelihood of its preservation for future generations. The Irish Aesthete: Buildings of Ireland, Lost and Found is a publication by Robert O’Byrne, released through The Lilliput Press.