I have a love hate relationship.
With old brick churches.
I love their architecture.
But I hate what they stand for.
I find myself conflicted as I walk the streets of Dublin. I find myself conflicted as I walk through any and every Irish village, town and city. I know what has me conflicted; it is these pristine, beautiful, remarkable but blood soaked buildings.
Places of worship to this Christian God.
These buildings can be beautiful on their day, they can be stunning even. At first sight, my first thought is often one of wonder and awe. How can people so feeble create something so permanent, so rooted and almost frozen in time.
Something so majestic.
My thoughts are sobered then as I recall the need for these structures.
I’ve almost been fooled.
I’ve almost been duped.
Into the age old con of ‘impress them now, own them forever’. I’ve been oppressed for too long to fall for that. I know the tales, the stories and the myths. I grew up on them and I have outgrown them. But these structures, beautiful as they are, are always there. As a reminder to me to always stand tall.
Just like the structures themselves.
I am Timi
– Clarendon Row, Dublin, 16th October 2015 –