As part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival
American artist Spencer Tunick asked for people to strip off and pose nude on mass for a
photo shoot. On a cold and rainy Sunday morning in Melbourne 4,300 people turned up. I was
one of them. This is my story of this remarkable and exhilarating event.
Several months ago my wife showed me an article from a newspaper that reported on a Melbourne Fringe Festival event where a photographer from America was planning a photo shoot of naked people on mass. She wanted to know if I thought we should attend. I said "yes" immediately. It seemed like a lark and I was feeling that we were getting too mundane and predictable. It was a long way off and, as such, did not have those characteristics that events acquire close to their occurrence. Those "fine grain" details that we only confront in hours prior to an event, practical issues such as logistics and personal issues of current and anticipated feelings. In the early stages it made a marvellous, controversial topic of conversation. Friends seemed both intrigued and a little incredulous, as we were not particularly renown for outbursts of ratbag behaviour.
It was a relatively busy time for us and, as happens in such periods, time slips by quickly and the event drew close with disarming speed. It still had that "not quite real" feeling however. Then on Friday night we received, almost simultaneously, the location and time of the event and the weather forecasts. Needless to say fate played its hand and the prediction was for cold wet weather. Decision time, do we attend? Hard to see how we could not after getting such excellent mileage out of the controversy. It was not really a big decision but it had to be made in the new context of the poor weather and jumble of feelings that we were both now experiencing. Would we do it?
Three AM and the alarm punctuates a night of restlessness. It is nothing so grand as fear or excitement but merely many small matters that present themselves when approaching a social context for which one has no prior experience and for which there are no social norms to use as guidance. The normal morning routine, though somewhat earlier than normal, seems simultaneously reassuring and surreal. I am not preparing to head off to the office but to stand naked on Princess Bridge. We have been instructed to wear warm loose fitting clothes. A tracksuit and, unfortunately, a raincoat seem to fit the bill.
We are in the car and my wife and I talk about what we are expecting. We know so little of the specifics but, when it boils down to it, there is only one specific; we will soon be naked with a lot of people that we don’t know. "How many?" that is the question that preoccupies us on most of the journey. We speculate on whether it will be in the tens, the hundreds or the thousands. Naively we rule out the thousands and agree on the fervent hope that it is not in the tens. Surely it can’t be only ten or twenty or even thirty, now that would be embarrassing, but the weather was so bad there are bound to be a lot of "no shows". Too late to pull out now, Loraine says she is feeling a tightening in the stomach that is increasing with our increasing proximity to the site. I empathise but I am past that stage, into that mindset of recklessness that immediately precedes adventurous activities where caution is thrown to the wind.
As we turn left into Linlithgoe Avenue we are confronted by cars everywhere. We laugh and joke that, unless there is a football match starting at 5:00AM, we are safe. We had to park a fair distance away and as we walk towards the meeting point outside the Arts Centre I am struck by the bizarreness of the situation. We are one couple in a large crowd making their way to an event. Dressed in much the same way as a football crowd is, rugged up against the cold and wet and yet soon we will all be naked. It still seems hard to process. There is the distraction of a lone protestor standing in the middle of the footpath. "What point are you trying to make?" she cries out. "Are you a Christian?" someone cries in response. "Yes" she replies in a somewhat quieter voice obviously surprised by the question. So often in situations such as this there is animosity towards the protestor but this crowd displays a warm hearted tolerance that invigorates the soul.
On arriving at the Arts Centre we are greeted by sight of a sea of people and we wait patiently for the light in a spot near the centre of the road. Around us are couples and small groups making polite conversation to kill time. I spend considerable time eves dropping on conversations and looking at the groups. "What will that person look like naked?" not "What would they" but "What will they". Then the artist comes out. There is a cheer from the crowd. He is trying to explain what he wants us to do. The instructions are not difficult but the crowd is getting more festive and anxious shed their clothes. Yes, all these ordinary people who would not dream of showering with the bathroom curtain open are champing at the bit to get their clothes off. Bizarre, bizarre, bizzare!
"Three, Two, One" comes from the loud speaker and everybody is getting undressed. The act of public disrobing is lost in the confusion and excitement of the moment and we are walking along the middle of St Kilda Rd in a sea of nudity. It is so confronting to the senses that it is impossible to process it in a normal fashion. Those furtive glances at topless women on the beach and flicking through magazines just seem so pointless and inadequate when confronted be this congestion of naked humanity that represents the full spectrum of ages and body types. Suddenly it occurs to me that I was not embarrassed, not when I took my clothes off, not now. When I was speculating on how I would feel, embarrassment was what I was anticipating most. As a middle-aged man with a physique that is characteristic of someone who has spent many years at a desk I expected to feel self conscious of my appearance but I felt nothing but exhilaration.
We lie down on
the wet bitumen, I swore I wasn’t going to get a tram track but somehow it happened.
That was cold. The shot took longer than was expected because they had to dislodge a
protestor with a sign. A religious fanatic who, like most religious fanatics, was giving
little consideration to the comfort of his victims. After a while the load hailer
announced that the shot was complete. A roar arose from the crowd and everyone jumps to
their feet laughing and talking as we head back to temporarily put our clothes back on. As
we are leaving the bridge and returning to our clothes I notice for the first time a
number of late adolescent males who have come for a perve, you know the type, hotted up
commodore, full of bravado, only comfortable in small groups for moral support. If you had
asked me before I would have said that I would have been annoyed by their small-minded, in
the gutter approach to sexual titillation but all I felt was pity for them and I did not
notice anyone else seem particularly annoyed either. I am not the sort of person who
confronts strangers but if I was I would have said to them that the quality of their
experience was so low compared to mine and that they should join in for the next two
photos.
In warmer circumstances I suspect many people would have remained naked for the move to the new location but the weather being what it was, very cold, everyone was diving into their outer clothes. At the new location we get detailed instructions on the next shot and it’s off with the clothes again. Loraine and I take up a position towards the front and wait sitting on the grass while everyone gets into position. During this time two amazing and surreal aspects of our situation strike me. Firstly, we are engaging in conversations with the total strangers that surround us in a manner that is far more relaxed than we generally manage to achieve when we are clothed. The situation is so invigorating and empowering that it is a joy share it with the people who are similarly invigorated and empowered. Secondly, there is this seemly endless stream of genitalia moving past at eye height. The surreal becomes, for a short while, normal.
This photo shot
relies on everyone kneeling and bending over forward. It is a very exposed position and
could have, in different circumstances, been quite threatening. Although it had been less
than an hour that we had been together there was a degree of camaraderie that transformed
the situation into a relaxed and humorous experience. Everyone had just settled and
something happened, I didn’t see what. Someone yells "streaker" and the
whole group erupts in laughter. This experience is possibly the most joyous one that I
have experienced in many years. I cast my mind back to the protester who was begging us
not to proceed and I am saddened that such narrow minded attitudes deprive so many of a
wonderful and unique experience, not the least the person who was protesting. The shoot
proceeds with sporadic comments from the group within earshot. References to farting and
other normally taboo subjects send little waves of laughter through our local community.
The announcement is made that the shot is finished and again there is a roar of success
from the crowd and we move to the next shot by the Yarra.
The shoot on the
banks of the Yarra necessitated the move of clothing to take it out of shot. This activity
saw a great milling of the crowd as people shifted clothes from on site to another. Think
of the milling of crowds at a large event, a football match or perhaps the Show. That is
what it was like except everyone was naked. Bustling around, brushing against one another,
apologising when you bumped into someone. As with any crowded situation, concepts of
personal space went out the window. You would have thought it would be somehow different
in these circumstances but I was struck with the overwhelming normality of the experience
in very abnormal circumstances.
The shot by the river was our final one. As with each of the others we found ourselves with an entirely new group of people. We chatted and joked casually whilst the shot was being set up. This was a narrower venue that the previous ones and a quick look up showed an expanse of human flesh spreading along the Yarra bank for as far as the eye could see from that low elevation. Whilst everyone had seemed surprisingly relaxed from the beginning by the time this shot was taken a sense of playfulness had crept into the group psyche. A "Mexican wave" was started that was initiated and travelled through the group with an ease that many cricket fans would envy. How amazing to be in the midst of 4,000 naked Australians doing a Mexican wave on the banks of the Yarra at 7:00am on a cold and rainy Sunday morning in Melbourne.
Walking back to our clothes the grass is warm under
foot. Warmed by the mass of bodies that have been recently lying there. The warmth is a
small and fleeting piece of evidence of our shared experience. Then it was over. Everyone
got dressed and headed home. Groups of people walking along the footpath talking quietly
on the way back to their cars. The same groups that we had walked with on the way to the
shoot, the same people with which we had shared a couple of hours of naked intimacy. All
are walking back to their cars quietly talking in their own groups. The magic had passed
and we were back to the world of normality and I was left to ponder the experience.
One day out I can say that it was one of the most joyous and liberating experiences of my life. I have been trying to establish in my mind why. There are so many contributing factors. Clearly a certain type of person undertakes this. Maybe it is a meeting of so many like minds. Maybe it is the liberation from the normality of day to day life. Maybe it is the sharing of a unique experience with so many others. I don’t want to over analyse the experience for fear of diminishing it. I have one piece of advice for all that did not attend. If an opportunity like this arises again DO IT. I look forward to seeing you there.
I have included on the left a link to a DVD on Spencer Tunicks work by HBO called Naked States. If you came here looking for flesh then there is plenty there but more importantly if you came here to learn about how it feels to participate then you will find that out from this DVD there are many fascinating stories from across America.
Chris Padgham
1st November 2001