“I very much hope that this place sticks around for the long haul. The buses are electric now, so is Achara.” – Conor Stevens

Tayto is pulling out all the stops for celebrations to mark the anniversary of the day it was founded by Joe ‘Spud’ Murphy back in 1954.

Something fickle is underway in the realm of summer libations. While the spritz retains its charm, a cadre of contenders vies for dominance.

“I made a collaged repeated image of Warhol with the date he died and a quote, “I have a social disease, I go out every night,” and found a silk screen printer and set up a table on St Marks Place to have a go selling them…”

Local libraries will continue to play a pivotal role in fostering social exchange and providing a democratic third space for people.

“Touching on social class, disappointment and the ethics of self-reinvention at all costs, My Old School is at its strongest when acting as a time capsule, but MacKinnon remains an elusive portrait.” – Lucy Ann McCabe

With absorbing essays on everything from Fortnight magazine, Irish Housewife, In Dublin, The Phoenix, and Church of Ireland Gazette; this is a roll call of influence and many headstones marking the path we find ourselves on.

The story of luxurious watches is a tale of intricacy, craftsmanship and innovation stretching back over four hundred years.

“Set your alarm clock 15 minutes earlier and give yourself time to do your face properly before appearing at the breakfast table…”

Bright Eyes return with their tenth studio album…

Jonny Boyle is testing out Sticks, his Omakase concept, through a series of acclaimed pop-ups.

After a plethora of started-and-scrapped formats, does the optimal “fashion week” model lie in spotlighting creativity over commerciality?

Compelling studies of major contemporary issues on the island of Ireland: Feargal Ward’s The Lonely Battle of Thomas Reid and Sinead O’Shea’s A Mother Brings Her Son To Be Shot

In conversation with Donal Scannell, Sally Rooney discusses the privileges of private education and why she considers herself a socialist, Marxist and communist.

We’re listening to albums ranging from the avant-garde, to Nora Jones, to a beautiful, immersive bath of six-string explorations that never outstay their welcome.

The waiters, all young men as it would have been in the ’60s, wear red jackets with black suede lapels, tailored by Louis Copeland. A more senior waiter, dressed entirely in black, even looks like a bonafide mobster. I’m downstairs in Luna, eating dinner like a boss.

Whether it’s the cloud of adolescent pheromones or the compounded nostalgia, there is a magnetic force in cinema’s ether.

On its centenary, the 1914 Civic Exhibition has come back to our attention as the jump-off point for Phoenix Rising: Art and Civic Imagination at Hugh Lane