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Statue duty
The Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square – a previously empty plinth that now houses periodically changing artworks – has a new installation since last week. It’s a project by the sculptor Antony Gormley, where people randomly selected by a computer occupy the plinth for an hour, doing whatever they like while they’re up there.
Now, Abel already reflected on the Spanking Writers about getting up onto the plinth to enact a scene from school life. That made me smile and squirm, but not as much as a recent interview with Mr Gormley himself did.
“It’s not exactly hanging, drawing and quartering,” says Gormley, “but it’s got a bit of the stocks about it. There’s a public square with a body that isn’t allowed to leave… It’s a real bond. And, barring a heart attack or some very serious epileptic fit, you’re going to have to stay up there.”
All I can say is “yes, sir”.
A long time ago, at the dawn of my life in the scene, my friend K introduced me to the concept of “statue duty”, which, in a story she’d written, was just what it sounds like: serving as a living statue for a period of time. This is an attractive idea for me: on the one hand, you’re appreciated and highly valued – a work of art, – but on the other hand, you’re completely ignored. There are no bonds, but you can’t leave. The scene, whatever it is, is not about you at all.
I revel in this kind of submission.
P.S. And then, of course, there’s the magnificent novel “The Art of Murder” by Jose Carlos Somoza, which is set in a world where living people are painted and posed, sold and exhibited as works of art. It maybe a psychological thriller, but it’s erotica to me.
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If the exhibit on the plinth indulged in some bare-bottom exibitionism, would she be allowed /compelled to remain in situ for the allotted time?
I doubt it. But Gormley being the artist he is, obsessed with human bodies, he may well have stipulated “if they want to get naked, let them”.
It’s good to see you’ve recovered from exhaustion, Adele. I was about to send you message of sympathy.
What I find fascinating is how you combine your topping and bottoming proclivities.. Or do they operate on different days?
They’re mixed in fantasies, but in reality it’s usually different days, or at least different scenes: I can’t switch in the same scene.
Adele – where’s the stuff with you topping, anyway? I dunno, you ask for views and then nothing. Six for idleness, Haze.
(Can I have six for cheek?).
No, you can be pointedly ignored to discourage future cheek.
Keith – there’s a scene with Adele topping in the forthcoming Edwardian film by Roue :)
Adele – funny you should mention this, I went to see it at 6am last Saturday on the way home from clubbing. There was actually a crowd, despite the grey drizzly morning, gathered around a smiling brown man with a big placard of religious symbols, opening a sketchbook at random. Each double page had “may peace reign on earth” in different languages. Took ages for a language to come up that I could read, though, so for a while it was more like those North London newsagents with the adverts in Polish and Urdu and Swahili in the windows. Then when you realised what his message was it was actually strangely affecting.
We discussed the erotic potential quite earnestly on the way home. Our conclusion was a) it would be much easier to get away with being rude in the middle of the night; b) you wouldn’t want to do it in the rain, and c) a woman would find it much easier to get away with having a wank than a bloke.
Splendid idea.
1 hour cornertime. Get up, get naked, kneel down, hands up high. Dont move. Somebody get it on disk.
(But it didnt say in Gormely’s site either just how tall that plinth is… is it like Nelson’s)
The plinth is 8m tall – 25 feet in old money
Adele, I’d say the Somoza is both a psychological thriller and erotica. Not the only book of which that’s true! Christa Faust’s CONTROL FREAK comes to mind (mine, anyway).
Ooh. I don’t know that one, Ramsey – thanks!