Naked in public again. This is getting to be a habit.
As you know this past three weeks has been Mardi Gras here in Sydney, and when I wasn’t embarrassing myself by seeming to be a stalker (that all turned out ok, by the way; Dr Lego was very sympathetic and found it highly amusing) I was reverting to type by spending extended periods of time getting naked in public. This will be my last opportunity for legally exposing myself in front of crowd for a while, but in my defence I wasn’t the only one: this time I had 5000 friends along to join in the fun. It can only mean one thing: Spencer Tunick was in town.
Anyone who has lived with me, slept with or near me, or tried to wake me up of a morning knows that it is not an easy thing to do. It’s not that I’m “not a morning person”, because I’m perfectly charming once I’m awake. It’s simply that waking up is such a chore, and going back to sleep is almost too easy, so I’m always drawn to the route of least resistance. Last Monday morning was a personal challenge for me not because I had to strip naked in front of thousands of people and a national landmark, but because I had to get up at 3am to take part. I spent 20 minutes sitting on the edge of my bed wondering if I really wanted to go. My bed was so warm and inviting and the prospect of walking to the Opera House on a crisp autumn morning before the sun rose was almost enough to put me off. Thankfully I snapped out of it and forced myself to hit the streets. I didn’t shower or do my hair though – what was the point? Who would be looking at it?
The route from my flat to the Opera House took me down Oxford Street – the gay party strip – on the biggest weekend of the Mardi Gras. It was a strange experience heading out for the day at the time I would normally be coming home, seeing people partying away or ending their night just as my day was beginning. However, as I closed in on the harbour the party atmosphere picked up, though it was an eerie excitement as everyone tried to stay quiet. I’ve mentioned before how residential the CBD is; I’m sure it was quite a sight when people opened their curtains in the morning to see 5000 naked bodies waving back at them, but at least we all did our best to let them sleep while we got ready. For the record, Circular Quay on an autumn morning at 4am is a pretty nippy place to be, and don’t let anyone tell you any different. The waiting around in the cold sea air was worth it though – the sunrise usually happens while I’m in bed so seeing it from the steps of the Opera House was a pretty rewarding experience. No time to waste though: no sooner was the sun up than the trousers were down and the most surreal couple of hours of my life began.
It’s difficult to explain how odd a sight 5000 naked people moving in a crowd can be. From where I was standing I had a pretty good view and I can only describe it as a swarm of nudity, like those massive clouds of starlings you see from time to time, but pink, giggly and wobbling. There was the inevitable looking at people’s bits without looking like you were looking, but after 15 minutes the novelty rather wore off and one person’s bum looked just like the next. I thought it was infinitely fascinating to see the difference between the skin on people’s faces and that on their arses. I know it sounds obvious, but seeing how weathered your face cheeks are compared to your ass cheeks really drives home the message about sunscreen. I’m never leaving home without it again. I was also reassured that, in the entire crowd there was not one person with a perfect body. Being a Mardi Gras event, I had imagined the place would be full of toned Adonises who had been in the gym since the day they were born in preparation for this moment. There wasn’t a six pack in sight. As I looked around I saw bodies of every shape and size – some fatter or thinner, saggier or drier, paler, hairer, balder or bonier – and I realised that really I’m not that bad after all. I have bits that I hate, but so does everyone else. No one is perfect. We should treasure our blemishes: they make us unique.
We all assumed our positions and did as we were told while Tunick took roll after roll of film. A squeal would ripple through the crowd whenever a breeze came in off the water, followed by the clapping sound of 10,000 hands slapping 10,000 forearms, trying to stay warm. We all laughed awkwardly when we had to lie down, unavoidably resting hands on strangers thighs or torsos, trying not to touch anything too fleshy. We talked to the people next to us, waved to friends and identified people with kooky tattoos or outrageous hair colours so we can spot ourselves in the final picture. We discussed the weather, the traffic (at 3am there wasn’t much) and whether or not we would be on tv. It was pretty run-of-the-mill, except for being completely naked, outside, and waving to commuters on their way to work.
After the exterior shots were finished, 2000 people ran into the concert hall and filled every seat, lay on the stage and packed the walkways. I wish I could say it felt odd sitting on a plastic bag in the concert hall of the Sydney Opera House naked as the day I was born, but by then it really didn’t. Tunick directed from the lighting box, a disembodied artist booming out of nowhere to sit down, stand up, move left or right or turn around. It’s hard to know what left or right is when you have no frame of reference, but we managed nonetheless. When we stood up the bags we had been given to protect the seats from our naked bums stuck to everyone’s thighs: the sound of plastic sheets ripping off 2000 naked arses simultaneously is something few people will get to enjoy. After that we assumed various poses and just as we were coming to the end, while I was draped over the chair with my foot on someone’s should and my arm in the air, I looked around the room. The entire place, floor to ceiling and every gap in between, was covered in flesh in every conceivable shape, colour, texture and condition. It was a living sculpture and it took my breath away. People may laugh and think we’re all mad for doing it, but to get a moment like that was definitely worth getting out of bed for.
