RIBA Part.02 (2013) | University College Cork, Ireland
- Mnemonic Landscape imagines a near future scenario whereby a reformed Italian State confiscates Vatican assets and the contents of the Vatican Secret Archives owing to corruption and questionable practices beginning with the Lateran Treaty  and the wilful acceptance of ‘Mussolini’s Millions’.
The project morphology becomes situated between ground space and aerial space. Early design investigations establish new indexicalities, describing multiple layers of sectional inhabitation, charting site blast patterns from the Allies aerial raid and the flight path trajectory of the B17 Bomber and imagining an intra-textual network of geometries and intersections between.
I regret writing the first piece of Sherlock graffiti in a toilet cubicle at my college in Ireland last year while I was bored and timewasting. it clearly inspired some of my fellow students to come out of their weird tumblr shells. if only I had known back then just how terrible the whole superwholock fandom shite was gonna be. what hath I wrought
I held my boyfriend’s hand the other day. I caught it and held it until we reached the main gates of University College Cork, as I usually do on campus, only this time I didn’t let go after we’d passed through. We moved along the Western Road, toward Washington Street, and as we reached the innards of Cork City, something strange lingered over me.
I had become anxious, and soon I wasn’t speaking. I was afraid.
In my silence, I shot glances around, searching for anyone who might do us harm. I felt an unease as cars slowed down next to us. I wondered whether they would shout “Faggot!” or “Queer!” at us, as they had done before when I had been in previous relationships or had otherwise felt like showing my love and affection through the simple act of hand holding. I wanted to keep holding because it was cold, and my boyfriend’s hand felt so comforting, but I did not want to put him through the hurt and pain that words can cause. It was then that, having consulted my conscience, I almost let go.
But something very different happened. I felt a torrent of anger at the world. I felt angry at society for making me feel this way, for telling me that I can’t hold my boyfriend’s hand without feeling fear, without feeling trepidation, without feeling a niggling sense of shame. And I felt angry at myself for even entertaining the idea that this was not something that I should be doing. Suddenly I felt proud, and yet despite the fact that no one had yelled slurs at us, I still felt like it could happen any minute.
That day I felt so scared that I became angry at the homophobia that I had ignored since my teens, and I felt so angry that I couldn’t let go. I held my boyfriend’s hand all the way to Paul Street in the center of the city. I felt defiant, and elated that it felt normal to me, but I still felt afraid. I still felt anxious. I still felt homophobia.