Naked city

The Irish like to confound our own national stereotypes. When American artist Spencer Tunick announced he wanted to create two large naked installations in Ireland, many commentators both great and small suggested that the Irish wouldn’t go in for ‘that sort of thing’ and moreover, being Irish – and therefore pale and flabby – we probably shouldn’t either.

Perhaps it was the challenge that did it. In an interview in The Independent, Tunick noted that getting 1,500 people to pose in Britain had been the hardest thing he’d done and dared the Irish to do better than our neighbours. The call to national pride worked. We were so keen to get our kit off that Tunick had to close registration for the Dublin Docklands event; around 2,500 folks braved embarrassment and the weather to take part. Nor were all the participants young or foreign. In the area where I was standing, I heard nothing but Irish accents. Body hang-ups? What body hang-ups? Contrary to all expectations, if there’s early morning, naked pier action going a-begging, we’re there. Or rather we’re bare!
The atmosphere on the pier was convivial. I got chatting to a 50-something, father of two from Naas, an older couple who’d driven up from Killarney and a young lad who’d flown up from Cork especially to take part, having decided that the Dublin event was preferable to the Cork one in terms of anonymity – “I wouldn’t want to run in to someone I know, like.”
We might have been different ages and from different parts of the country, but all of us were taking part for the same reasons – because it sounded like fun, because it was different, and because you don’t get many chances to get naked with thousands of other people.
As soon as the time came to disrobe, we got naked with speed. Other than a few sneaky peeks – hey, we’re only human – the conversation continued in much the same manner as before, which was the strangest thing of all. Yes, there was a little bit of squirming, but it was minor league – there was no blushing, no desperately trying to conceal the so called ‘naughty bits’ and no uncomfortable silences. You’d almost have thought that standing around starkers with complete strangers was pretty much par for the course.
Despite the chilly temperature the atmosphere was warm, even funny. This may have been art, but we were determined to have a bit of craic. From whooping, cheering and waving a very unusual Céid Míle Fáilte to ferry passengers as they sailed by, to Mexican waves, the crowd was having a great time. Someone started a sing-along to ‘Patricia The Stripper’ and we all joined in. “It’s bloody freezing!” yelled someone. “Group hug!” a woman responded. And there is definitely something surreal about being surrounded by thousands of naked people yelling “cheese” at the same time.
As the morning drew in, it got colder. A large grey cloud rolled in off the Irish Sea as we were completing the first set of photographs. These required three poses. Naked and standing towards the east, sitting with our poor derrieres on the cold concrete in a sun worshipper pose towards the grey sky and finally curled in a foetal position on the concrete.
I’d gone to the event with Mr Body Beautiful himself, my friend Gareth. While neither of us was particular worried about getting naked, we were both concerned about the weather. I was worried it would be too cold, he was afraid it wouldn’t be cold enough. Being male and vain, he was concerned about how his assets would look and behave. Being female and sensible, I doubted anyone would care. Unfortunately he got his wish.
As we finished the last pose, I looked down at my body to note I had turned a vivid shade of blue and that I’d developed an uncontrollable shiver. Lovely. I’d had this vague, romantic notion that I’d feel physically liberated being naked with that many strangers, and maybe I did, but at the time I was too cold to notice.
Ireland’s people may be more than willing to behave in ways that fly in the face of stereotypes, but sadly the same cannot be said for the Irish weather. As we walked down the pier to get ready for the second set of photographs, the weather did what it always does – the sky opened and it began to pour.
Apparently our Celtic warrior ancestors liked to fight in the nip. While that’s not particularly appealing to me, it’s kind of strange that – with that in our racial memory – there is such a lack of naked events these days. More’s the pity – what with the predicted recession coming, it’ll be all we’ll be able to afford. I just have one suggestion – stop recycling. We need all the global warming we can get.