We came in our droves, early this morning (2.30am, to be precise) and . . . we waited. Despite the slight odour of sewage (this is Dublin’s docks and there is a sewage treatment plant there so, while disgusting, this was not surprising), the ominous-looking rainclouds and the possibility of rats (where there’s water . . .), we came with enthusiasm, a lot of nerves and a towel each – in case of rain.
People were friendlier than usual; obviously knowing that, before long, you will all be naked ensemble, without so much as a friendly fig leaf, breaks down whatever barriers might have existed. People shared cigarettes, jokes and anecdotes. Anything to break the monotony of the wait.
The portaloos were insufficient; but, then, it seems that they were expecting fewer people. It was surprising: somehow, people signing up to partake in an “artwork” doesn’t always translate to the amount of people who show up, but show up they did, and in their thousands. Conservative estimate – 2,000 people, united in nudity but otherwise very different.
Our bodies are undoubtedly functional, but no two are alike, and all of them were beautiful. Larger ladies, red-haired Celts, a woman who, in usual circumstances would have elicited a gasp and a cry of “anorexia” was with us – the group was “we”. We were there, we were naked, we were laughing, we were smiling. We didn’t know each other’s names but, somehow, it didn’t matter – one could even go so far as to say that knowing names would have lessened the impact of the event. It was irrelevant who you were in the real world; for four hours early on this Saturday morning, the longest day of 2008, we were all equal.
And somehow now I find myself on the verge of tears; while glad that I partook, I wouldn’t do it again. The cold was unbearable, the ground was stony, the wait was difficult and my patience wanes easily. My tears are for the fact that I will most likely never again feel so free. Even when we were told to put our clothes back on, there was a tangible difference in the air. Those who struggled to get dressed, those who couldn’t find their plastic bags, they were to be pitied; once we had our jeans back on, being naked seemed positively mortifying.
One poor soul took a while. His plastic bag was lost in the abyss of bodies and he scurried through the [now fully-dressed] masses, attempting to find his armour. We had ours, and he was defenseless. Vulnerable and almost laughable, a naked man in the midst of a clothed crowd.
I can still feel the cold in my legs, in my arms; we lay on the stone for much longer than I had anticipated, and the winds were high, and the rain was coming. I am feeling sad, for the feeling of freedom that is gone now, for the feeling of camraderie that you just don’t get any more. There was even a couple who shared our taxi home; they gave us €8, but we didn’t want to take it. You just don’t see things like that any more.
For a while, early this morning, we were all children: innocent, trusting, equal, and with a whole lot of hope for the future, and for the present. Now that we have our clothes on, our armour, we are back to the reality we have created – Baudrillard has a lot to answer for in my philosophical ramblings, but what I saw this morning, that was reality. Your jeans? They’re the mask.
14 comments
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June 21, 2008 at 8:35 am
aphrodite
fair play to you! What an experience – and very eloquently described – I could feel the cold through your writing!
June 21, 2008 at 11:37 am
1ofthesedays
Lovely post Rosiebuds. During our conversation I was interested in your comment that they were more men than women present. As I said I think it must be easier for men to get naked, less pneumatic, perma-tanned, groomed examles to which to compare themselves unfavourably. Well done and fair play dhuit!
See you later!
x
R
June 21, 2008 at 11:26 pm
ams
Definately sounds like a very interesting experience – its a pity the cold didnt help things along – fair play to you for having the guts to take part!
June 22, 2008 at 12:23 pm
le craic » Spencer Tunick in Dublin
[...] Rosemary Mac Cabe has a very touching and thoughtful piece. In particular, these words were striking: [...]
June 23, 2008 at 1:06 pm
Darragh
An excellent post Rosemary. Like yourself, I’m glad I did it but wouldn’t again.
Thanks for sharing it!
July 5, 2008 at 9:24 am
Dave in Cork
I feel for your tears. What an honest and self-aware reaction. Blarney was like that for me. When you try to re-capture something that is very special, it can never be the same. That is the feeling I have about it; the beauty of Blarney stands in my memory as a marker in my life, exactly for the same reason that you name: the freedom.
July 5, 2008 at 3:08 pm
Brigid
I just think it is a pity people have to keep commenting on other people’s bodies. “Larger ladies…a woman who, in usual circumstances would have elicited a gasp and a cry of “anorexia”. What’s all that about? I am glad not to have any body hangups but maybe some “larger” anorexic-looking (in your opinion) women are reading this and feel hurt. I hope you are happy with your shape but I doubt you are since you feel the need to scrutinise others in that way.
July 5, 2008 at 5:52 pm
rosemarymaccabe
Brigid, I think it’s a pity that my describing women – or men for that matter – in terms of body shape becomes anything more than it is. Some people are larger, some people are, sadly, anorexic. Anorexia is sad because it is an illness; being large, small, medium-sized – all of these things are not sad, they are diverse and therefore they are beautiful, each in their own ways.
I think this whole argument about avoiding the body shape issue is much the same as the racism one; if I was describing a black man or woman to someone, the first thing I would say is that they were black; if I was describing a very overweight person, ditto, I’d say “you know, she / he’s quite big”. I’m not meaning either “black” or “big” in any kind of derogatory fashion.
I was nothing but happy that there were people of all shapes and sizes there; I saw no shame and nothing to criticise there. But in order to describe people physically, you end up describing them, well, physically. And physically, some people are large, and some people are small, and some are average.
I wasn’t “commenting” on anyone’s body; I did not go into detail, nor did I dwell on the body size issue. But I have eyes, and they work (with some minor issues), and I will describe people as I see fit. If I had said “there were some redheads”, would somebody be going ‘I don’t see why people have to comment on people’s hair colour’. We’ve all gone political correctness-mad.
Are you happy with your body size? I find that quite a catty, and personal comment to make, when you are the one criticising me for even mentioning body shape. Maybe even a tad hypocritical.
Sorry if I seem overly defensive, but body shape and people’s perceptions of it, obsessions with it, denials, are all issues that continue to interest and perplex me in equal measure.
July 8, 2008 at 4:01 pm
Brigid
I understand that it is natural to observe other people’s bodies, even gawk at them, but it is bad form to insult people. “Larger” is subjective. “Anorexic” as you rightly point out is an illness – have you medically examined those women? Why would you normally feel the urge to scream “anorexic” at their type? You are obviously only happy when you are in the company of other women when they don’t make you feel ugly. Sad.
July 8, 2008 at 4:06 pm
rosemarymaccabe
In the interest of democracy and free speech, I’m going to leave that comment up (aren’t I brave!) but you obviously are determined to insult me, which is fine. If it makes you happy!
I am perfectly entitled to describe someone as I like. I saw a woman at Spencer Tunick who definitely was anorexic. One doesn’t have to be medically trained to be able to see. If I had described someone as morbidly obese, would you be demanding to see my surgical scales?
I wasn’t insulting anyone. “Large” is not an insult, nor is “anorexic”. The only person insulting people here is you – insulting me. Sob.
July 8, 2008 at 4:28 pm
Babaduck
My oh my – some people are awfully pernickity about bodies, aren’t they. Brigid, I can only assume that you weren’t at the Spencer Tunick event because how on earth do you differentiate loads of different people with similar bits? The one over there with the frizzy hair? The one over there with the flushed complexion??
It’s only natural to categorize by body type and shape if there’s very little else to go on (i.e. no clothes…) and being of “comfortable build”, am not one bit offended by Rosie’s blog. In fact, it’s exactly how I would have reacted too. With me, larger isn’t subjective, it’s the truth!!!
July 8, 2008 at 4:58 pm
Tina10
I thought it was a eloquent piece, and beautifully described a very unique event. The whole idea of the event is to get people naked and focus on bodies. I fail to understand Brigid taking offence at the descriptions. Surely Rosemarie’s point, is that nudity is the great leveller. For one moment, everyone left their status back with their folded and crumpled clothes. The unemployed, bankers, rich, poor, mothers, big, small, young, old, bald, hairy – everyone’s contribution was equal.
July 8, 2008 at 10:58 pm
Betty
Rosemary, I loved this post! I found the description of your experience v. moving and I thought you managed to bestow a quiet dignity on the event and All who took part in it by being so eloquent. It is a great shame that people cannot respect their own individuality and the differences of others and have to resort to snide, personal comments which missed the whole point of this post.
July 13, 2008 at 12:54 am
Conor
Hello hello… I believe I may well have been that “vulnerable and almost laughable” poor soul you mention. I was certainly one of the last to find their bag (handed to me, in the end, by one of the attendants after my unsuccessful scurrying along the quay wall). I know there was still a few bags going spare at that stage, but I was by far the last naked person I saw.
I have to say, while I was a bit embarrassed about having misplaced my bag, I didn’t feel vulnerable or abashed about my nudity in the slighest, despite sticking out like a sort thumb. It’s a fairly stupid thing to get mortified over, given what had gone before.
Mind you, I was desperate to find my clothes, but only because it was so bitch-ass cold out there.