Putting an art installation in a Martello tower required a lot of consensus and organisation, writes Caroline Cowley.

A public arts coordinator in this current climate is a lot of things. Public art used to be associated, traditionally, with sculpture. In the last ten years, it has extended to installation work, performance art, theatre, music -- it's become everything. So, it's quite an interesting role within the arts.

As a public art coordinator in Fingal County Council, my job is to be the middle man between the artist and the council. A couple of years ago, when I started, we advertised for a panel of artists, the idea being that we would spend time working with the artists on a one-to-one basis, figuring out what they wanted to do in the county. Our only brief was that the artist would respond to some aspect of Fingal's history, culture, geography, people -- very broad themes, but to have these themes as part of their own practice, of their own interest.

That's been reflected in the artists that we've worked with. Most of them are quite refreshed by the fact that they have this type of freedom. They also have the support within the council to make their project happen. In public art, a lot of negotiation is needed, brokerage is needed between various different parties. In Tattered Outlaws of History, opening that Martello tower involved at least four people in Parks, three people in Heritage, four architects, the arts office and the artist! It's one of the parts of the job that I find a challenge, but it's a good challenge. It's about changing perceptions, really; it's about coming in and saying: "Listen, we have this idea; it's a bit tricky, but do you think we can work on it here; do you think we can do something?"

When it comes to fruition, it's really amazing that you've actually managed to do all that. When the artist has conceived a particular idea, as much as possible you try and look after that idea, so that it's not compromised in an unfair way, and the original can float if we can get the right people around the table, and get the right kind of relationships going within the council. I think that's a really important part of the job as well.

Dan Dubowitz and Fearghus O'Conchuir met when Dan was giving a talk at a conference in London. Fearghus, who's a choreographer, was very interested in photographs. Dan takes a lot of photographs of derelict buildings, and Fearghus had just started a new exploration of how the body relates to buildings. He spoke to Dan and said: "I want to be in your photographs." He wanted to be part of what Dan was doing, going to these derelict buildings and exploring the feeling in them. So they applied together as a choreographer and a visual artist who were interested in collaborating, which hasn't happened in Ireland before.

When we spoke to them, the first thing that I did was take them around the county: we drove round Fingal, sitting in the car, chatting; I told them a little bit about the place, its history, and they were very taken with the Martello towers ... and it started from there.

We spent a lot of time getting into the towers, climbing up the towers, meeting owners -- that was kind of a long process as well, but everybody was really interested and supportive. We identified the Fingal-owned Skerries tower, as a fitting site to fit the installation in -- it seemed the proper place for it.

The Martello towers in Fingal are a complete set. Throughout Ireland there are other towers like in Cork and Waterford, but there are only, maybe, three in an area, but on the Dublin coast, between Sandycove and Dún Laoghaire, the towers are quite a complete set. The Fingal towers are all intact, as part of a group. There's such interest in the towers in general, and at the first weekend of the show people wanted to know things such as how much a tower would be to buy, or what were we going to do with the tower next? Everyone feels a kind of pride in these solitary, disused buildings.

There are 12 films playing on flat-screen televisions in the derelict tower. The artist placed a tripod on the top of each Martello roof, in the exact same point on each place, and built a motor that allowed the camera to rotate continuously 360 degrees. The camera completed 12 revolutions in one hour, during which time the performance took place. Feargus intercepts the film through his dance and movement. There are interviews as well. Every film has flow, and they all relate to each other, in terms of the positioning of the people and the landscapes. They're quite hypnotic; the fact they're moving slowly in front of you, really draws the viewer in. It's a surprise, a shock to see how the modern installations show in this old, shabby, run-down tower, and the effect is spectacular.

So many people are involved in public art, in terms of the community, in terms of getting a piece of work to where it is. People maybe don't see it as public art, but see it as art, and I think it's a line that's often blurred. I suppose it's the difference between being in a gallery and being outside those walls.

Public art is everywhere and it involves a real sense of an artist responding in a unique way to a place, and really seeing that place through an artist's eyes. I think a lot can come from that, because the artist meets a lot of people along the way. As with this project, so many people felt they could engage with it -- it's turned into something else, this project. It has brought a lot of people together.

There's something subtle about what public art can do. It can be so significant, in the way it changes the landscape and the people within the landscape. The more ambitious you are for a particular project, the better or more challenging your next project will be, because you're building this audience all the time.

Tattered Outlaws of History runs at the weekends in the Skerries Martello Tower until August 30th

- Caroline Cowley