Blarney Castle, Co. Cork, Ireland
June 17, 2008

Gil writes:

Being a Spencer Tunick regular, you'd think that by now I'd be somewhat jaded by participating in an installation. So though I do not display as much excitement and anticipation as first timers, this does not go to say that I'm not excited by the prospect of being a part of Spencer's art.

Quite the contrary, because time and time again Spencer surprises me with his originality and inventiveness, which turns each installation into a unique experience, and makes the forthcoming art as spellbinding as ever.

As a serial ST model, I feel a certain degree of responsibility to help the proceedings, guide other participants, shush them when they are too noisy, and show a good example of how to cooperate to make Spencer's work progress smoothly and quickly. There is also a lot of time invested before an installation, encouraging newbies on the Spencer Tunick Forum before their first experience, meeting new people for a pre installation drink and pep talk, during which I will attempt to unravel some of the mysteries involved in an experience or organise car pools as was the case in Cork. But all this does not detract from the excitement and buzz of being a part of it.

The installation at Blarney Castle will probably be one of my favourite ones, and for a variety of reasons, not least Spencer's creative genius, which I will detail a bit further down. I spent close to 48 hours in Cork and Blarney, and during this period I met some really wonderful people. The necessity to arrange carpools to Blarney Castle at 3am opened a whole new level of pre installation activity between future participants, which one rarely sees on other occasions. A pre installation meet at the Shelbourne Bar turned out to be quite successful, with 10-12 participants showing up at different times of the evening. In the 24 hours following the installation, I kept meeting people who had either been there or knew someone who had. 

It seemed that the whole of Cork was buzzing with excitement in anticipation of the installation, no doubt fueled to a certain degree by Irish radio presenter Ray D'Arcy who decided about a month earlier to take the plunge, and hasn't stopped talking about it since. This buzz continued throughout and after the installation and at the time of writing is still going on.

What I have found in Spencer's installations in the past two years is that he has considerably expanded on the standard four setups (1. laying on your back, 2. crouched on the ground, 3. gently falling where you happen to be, 4. standing) that characterise his earlier works, and has begun to integrate the participants into the setting in a far more profound way, including the use of various props.

There is no question that the setting at Blarney Castle, home of the famous Blarney Stone, was magical. The place itself looks stunning without the nudes, so assembling  1,100 naked bodies in the foreground added a whole new perspective of the castle. We stood - first facing the camera, then away from the camera, and then bent over to appear as cobblestones. Several bursts of laughter accompanied this latter variation as people arranged themselves so that they were not too close to the next person's backside. Quite a few comments about it being good craic started to circulate at this stage, again met by hoots of laughter.

I do not think that Spencer has made use of flowers as held props on previous installations. Participants taking red (for women) and white roses (for men), colours significant to Cork, immediately created a sea of alternating colour, blending beautifully with the multishaded skin tones and the different greens surrounding us. Again, we were asked to stand facing the camera while holding the roses up in front of us, as the sea of people created a winding path leading to the castle.

The first unified gasp from 1,100 people came seconds after Spencer asked us to lie down on the ground, heads and knees down, only our arms extend upwards roses in hands. Judging by the image on the left, the picture from Spencer's point of view must have been stunning. Thankfully for many, Spencer allowed everyone to dress after this setup was over.

A third setup followed for women only. In a clearing in front of the castle, Spencer assembled the ladies after they had disrobed again to the cheers of the men who were watching from a distance. The women lay down on their sides on the grass, first facing the camera, and then away from it, holding their red roses up in the air. More cheers followed at the end of that installation, after which the ladies got their chance to watch the men.

100 of us brave men were chosen for the fourth setup, and brave we needed to be because the setup required us to walk into a knee-deep stream. Being a veteran, I was sure that Spencer would not pick me for this one, so I decided to take things into my own hands and simply went over and asked him. 

"Are you sure you haven't been in any close-ups?" he asked me. "What about the glacier?" 

Photo © PA
I hadn't been at the glacier I reminded him, and I mentioned that the only edition I know of where I actually appear close enough to be recognised was the first setup at Saatchi Gallery, at which point he said: "Gil, I would like you to be a part of this setup." And sure enough, when the time came to pick 100 people, I was one of the first people to be called into the group. Our assignment: to stand in the knee deep water and extend our arms forward holding coins in our hands. Sounded easy enough.

Wolf calls and cheers accompanied us as we undressed for this setup and collected our "gold" 10 and 20c coins, the ladies being only yards away from us. However, these were drowned out by our gasps as we entered the freezing water, realising that the river bed was covered in rocks and pebbles, and as we tried to maneuver around to our positions. It is a miracle that no one lost their balance - that would have been excruciatingly painful. I found a smooth rock large enough for both of my feet and decided that it would be my square foot for this setup. 

The first two rows of men were smugly standing ankle deep and watching the rest of us with amusement. That is to say only until the point that Spencer asked them to move back between the rest of us and fill out an area in the middle of the group. More gasps rose from the unlucky gents as they reluctantly followed his instructions. Once in place, we held our arms forward, coins in hands as instructed as Spencer began to document the setup, trying to work as quickly as possible because some of the participants were really having a hard time with the cold water. The man next to me was shivering incessantly and his coins began falling one by one into the water. 

There is no installation without a surprise or two, and as Spencer finished this setup, he then told us: "you are now going to do something absolutely insane for me. I want you now to all drop down on your knees in the water." A groan of protest rose from the crowd as most of us realised that this meant we would be up to our waists in the water. "When I give the word," Spencer continued. 

I don't think I have ever heard such a chorus of tortured voices in my life as we all lowered ourselves in unison into the water. There was an immediate cry surrounding me as the freezing cold climbed up our thighs and engulfed our torsos. Men struggled to keep their balance and not lose their coins as we got ourselves into place, some men still crying out at the unbearable cold. Strangely, although I had been shivering earlier, I found the coldness of the water actually calming and for the first time, I found myself not shivering at all.

We held our coins out and Spencer very efficiently continued documenting the setup, some of the men were really having a tough time with the cold by now, and occasionally you'd hear the sound of coins dropping into the water from various directions, the occasional gasp or grunt, you could tell that we were really working hard at this. 

I have to say that Spencer was working really quickly and efficiently so that we could get out of the water, not missing a thing. So when I glanced very briefly at the camera, his response was instantaneous: " Gil, what are you doing? Don't look at the camera! Look down!" Which I immediately and rather sheepishly did.

A few seconds later, Spencer gave us a huge thank you and it was over. Accompanied by the sound of our own cheering and the cheering coming from the ladies on the riverbank, we slowly tackled our way out of the river toweled ourselves dry and put our clothes on again.

So here I was, looking around and thinking how brilliant this last installation was, and what a shame it was over, when I heard Spencer call out for 25 men and 25 women for one more very special setup. Convinced that there was no way I was going to be picked again, I walked over anyway to see what it was about, Spencer almost instantly spotted me and said "Gil, you too." Completely chuffed at being chosen twice in a row I walked over to the assembly area for the final setup for the day. There were 25 men, no women. "We need some women for this one," Spencer called out to a group of people nearby, beckoning the ladies in the group to come over.

Once he had the right number of people we were led up to the castle and began to ascend the keep. Not quite sure what to expect, I was running images in my mind of what type of setup this was going to be. However as we approached the top wall and some congestion began to build up, I noticed that above us people were disrobing again and handing their plastic bags to one of the volunteers. So I did too before reaching the top of the keep, and handed my bag to the volunteer as I climbed up to the wall, only then realising the nature of this setup. On the far side of the wall, Spencer and one of his assistants were taking individual shots of each participant as they lay on their backs and arched their heads down to kiss the Blarney Stone. I thought to myself: this really is the icing on the cake. My turn came and was over almost instantly, but I did kiss the Blarney Stone while naked, and I haven't been able to keep my mouth shut since, so it must have worked.

A few minutes later, clothed again and coming down the stairs from the keep, I knew that this installation was well and truly over, and somewhere on a roll of film, the moment I gained the gift of the gab is documented by a photographer whose work I admire, and for 50 of us participants, there is now just a little more to gab about. 

Gil Limor, 2008

Marie writes:

Well I did it. One of the best experiences in my life. I picked up a new friend on the way and we chatted on the way to Cork. I was both excited and nervous. We arrived in cork and met Gil and Robin and talked about their experiences. We deceided to go to Blarney to see what the craic would be like there. 

After arriving in Blarney was disapointed to see pubs closing so i persuaded a local bar man to give us some whiskey to get some dutch courage. We downed 2 double Jack Daniels and coke and we were ready for anything. Parked near main gate and immediately made friends with some fellas who were like ourselves, on their own and felt that in a group situation we would have courage, etc to do it.

The mock protest was brilliant with them trying to re-enact a scene from a Fr Ted episode. We soon got into park and settled down under a tree and chatted to our new friends. Eventually Dawn arrived and we got ready for the off - no going back now. Then before I knew it I was whipping off clothes, laughing at the same time and putting clothes into bags. The funnest thing was seeing so many white bottoms running away in front of me. I couldn't explain how natural the whole thing seemed and how mad it was. but loved the part lying on the grass looking up at sky.

The women's shoot was empowering and liberating, mna na eireann etc. It was great. Looked on in eager anticipation to see if our new male friends would be picked for the male shoot and delighted they were so we cheered them on as they got undressed in front of us. Fair play to them for standing in the cold water. Brave warriors! 

After all that I was exhilarated and felt I could do more, so needless to say jumped to attention when he looked for a few to kiss the stone. I also let on to the guy picking out fellas that our new friends were my husband and friend so they got picked. We climbed the stairs fully clothed and sripped off giggling. I was the last woman to kiss the stone in the nude - the last time i did it was 20 yrs ago, and I think it was nearly the same man holding us at the time. My "new" husband was the last male. It was unbelieveable to kiss the Blarney Stone in the nude and it was the pinnacle of a perfect day. I have a new attitude about my body and how I think about myself, I am just the same as every one. I think I would do it again but in a warmer climate maybe, who knows. It was the best present I could give myself. Back to my birthday suit! 

From Patroclas

Seems to have taken until the day after for me to get warm again after the Blarney ST experience!

I was not too worried about getting naked but I was concerned about the cold - on the day I survived it and managed to subdue several fits of shivers by making myself relax. But the first installations took a long, long time and I think we were naked for over an hour on that cold grass.

I was one of the chosen men to enter the river and I have to say that I felt a bit warmer after being in that icy water. Spencer pointed at me once when selecting the participants and I pretended to ignore him, but he returned to me and said most emphatically YOU SIR! How could I refuse such artistic passion? Then when in the water he pointed at me again and I was taken nearer the front - no idea why. I would certainly like to see the photo of that installation.

I was a little concerned when all the guys lined up to watch the female installation from a distance - but the women got their chance at the river shoot and we had to run the gauntlet of good-humoured women shouting encouragement (at least I hope that's what it was!)

I was glad that I had made contact with Gil and Robin who had experienced other installations and provided welcome support - it would have been more difficult on my own - thanks guys!

There are some good press shots in the local papers today - after my previous post about intrusive photos I now welcome being able to see what it all looked like.

Would I do it again? Not sure if I would, but I am really pleased that I did and the experience will definitely be remembered for a long time. It will be a memory of the best aspects of humanity and community - togetherness, kindness, creativity, the beauty of people and their bodies, free and honest.

Paddy took advantage of the rain on Tuesday evening and wrote a long account:

I first came across Spencer Tunick's work and the Spencer Tunick Experience website while surfing the web a couple of years ago.  Having read all about it online, I soon included participating in one of his installations in a list of my lifetime ambitions.

On April 24 this year, I awoke and turned on RTE Radio 1 just in time to learn at the end of the Morning Ireland progamme that Spencer Tunick was due in Ireland for installations in Cork on June 17 and Dublin on June 21.  I immediately jumped out of bed and by 9:09am had signed up for the one in Cork, and for the Spencer Tunick Forum, where I have lurked shyly ever since.  I figured that in the early morning it would be easier to get from my current home to Cork (72 miles) than to Dublin Docklands (110 miles).  Having been born and lived for the best part of 40 years in Dublin, but having visited Cork city only once in my life, I also figured that there would be less chance of running into someone I knew in Cork.  (But by the time I got to Blarney, I was wandering through the crowd hoping to spot a familiar face!)  I could always have stayed with my father in Dublin for the Dublin installation, but explaining to him where I was going in the small hours of the morning would be problematic.

By the time the e-mail with details of the Cork installation arrived on June 9, I had decided what I would wear - a bright turquoise blue T-shirt (which I thought would stand out in a heap of bags of discarded clothing), shorts and sandals, all of which I thought I could discard quickly when the moment came and which would acclimatise me to the prevailing temperature.  The e-mail instructions to "Please wear warm clothing" and "Wear good shoes for walking" prompted me to add a woolly pullover to the outfit.

I told absolutely nobody that I had signed up, and my shyness would not even allow me to sign up for the car pooling website.  I wanted the control that bringing my own car would provide, and was afraid that I might let down potential passengers if I had to cry off due to some last minute exogenous crisis.  I regret now that I didn't car-pool, as some of those who met that way seemed like lifelong friends by the time the installation got under way.

Out of the blue the day before the installation, a good friend that I hadn't heard from for almost a year dialled my phone number by accident.  We were in almost daily contact when she was a graduate student in art school, where one of her duties was to recruit nude models (including herself on one occasion) for life drawing classes.  I did ask her some years afterwards why she had never asked me to volunteer, and wanted to tell her on this occasion of my plan for the evening, but didn't get the opportunity to bring it up in the conversation.  I can't think of any other friend with whom I have ever discussed nudity.

As I have always been something of a night owl, I knew that there was no point in going to bed and trying to get up again for a 72 mile drive before a 3am start, so I tried to adjust my body clock by staying up until after 3am and sleeping late the previous couple of nights.  I didn't have dinner until after 11pm on Monday evening, and set out alone at 1:05am on Tuesday morning, with a full stomach.  It was a dry but cool evening, but began spitting rain as I circled Limerick city on the ring road.  I listened to John Creedon broadcasting from Cork on RTE Radio 1 as I drove.  He read out a text from a listener with good wishes for all those on their way to the Spencer Tunick Installation; but he hadn't a clue what she was talking about, and wondered was it a North Sea oil platform!!  Another listener enlightened him later on.

I had left more than enough time to get to Blarney and was there in 90 minutes.  Both the car in front of me and the car behind me also turned off at Blarney.  We were greeted at the entrance to the Castle by a group of mock protestors dressed as priests with large crucifixes round their necks.  I didn't manage to read their placards until I saw them in the Spencer Tunick Experience Gallery as (a) it was still pitch dark and (b) I had to watch the numerous traffic marshalls wielding flourescent red batons to direct me to a parking spot at the far end of a distant field.  As I drove through the very narrow gate into the very large field, I wondered what sort of traffic jam would materialise if everyone wanted to leave the field at once.  I parked beside a car in which two women were having a last-minute smoke - and was astonished as the night went on at the huge number of smokers (and of people with tattoos) among the attendance.  I thought smoking was a bad habit that had been virtually stamped out in Ireland by the ban on smoking in workplaces introduced in 2004.  I was too shy to say anything to my neighbours, dumped everything that I had brought with me (bar my spectacle case, watch and signed consent form) in the boot of my car, and joined the steady flow of people already making their way to the Castle entrance, 25 minutes before time.

There appeared to be a number of press and TV cameras around the entrance for those who had yet to sign up, but I was ushered straight through the `tickets only' entrance where I exchanged my pre-signed consent form for a clear plastic Cork recycling bag.  It was still spitting rain and pitch dark, but the area immediately inside the entrance was lit up by a generator and powerful lights such as one sees illuminating night-time roadworks.  People were gathering in the shelter of numerous large trees, and the vast majority seemed to have come in small groups, whether car-pools or otherwise.  I had an exploratory walk around the perimeter of the lit-up area and found rows of roses laid out on black plastic in the darkness: 1,000 red roses and 1,000 white roses, to match the GAA colours of Cork, the Rebel County, I later learned.  Most of the accents that I heard in the crowd had the distinctive Cork lilt, although there were also some foreign languages to be heard.

It was almost 4am before the first authority figure with a megaphone appeared on top of a ladder and encouraged people to come forward from the shelter of the trees and to sit on (their plastic bags) on the grass.  I ended up beside two Irish women (who I now think must have met through car-pooling) and an Australian man (who had come alone to Cork for a long weekend from London, where he works, and travelled up from the city by bus).  I soon joined in their conversation.  All were very pleasant company, although I never even learned their names, despite sitting with them for at least an hour.  Both women had been to the Leonard Cohen concerts in Dublin the previous weekend.  Someone mentioned similarities to Woodstock, which gave us a chance to reveal our ages: `That was the year I left school'; `That was the year I started school' and `My parents hadn't even met yet when Woodstock happened!'

The older and more talkative of them turned out to be John Creedon's initial texter.  I couldn't even remember her name (Jane) from what he had said, but I learned enough about her from our conversation that I easily reminded myself of it by finding her website when I returned home.  She had worked as an artist's model in a past life, and amused us with tales of one particularly shy student who attended classes for three months without looking at her, instead always copying from the drawings of the girl beside him in the class.  She also had the full support of her mother for her participation.  She went off to the toilets at one stage and came back with another woman that she knew and had met in the crowd.

The younger woman, one of the many smokers, asked me a question I had never been asked before: `Are you a natural redhead?'  I have never even considered interfering with my natural hair colouring, but perhaps the unsual lighting was playing tricks with it.  I always considered myself to have brown hair until I grew a beard, which was admittedly on the red side of auburn until it started to show flecks of grey.

The Australian man was a Spencer Tunick veteran, having participated in the installations in his home city of Melbourne and also in Newcastle.

After various standard announcements from Spencer and his crew, we were left sitting around in the dark (or, should I say, artificial light) waiting for the sun to come up.  I didn't realise that Spencer travels everywhere with a team of eight helpers, some of whom were introduced to the crowd, in particular the Irish-American P.J.  After hearing Spencer's comments about tan-lines, my companions began looking for theirs in fear that he would ban them.  Not having much time for sunbathing, I didn't think I would have a problem with tan-lines.

As the waiting continued, some people stretched out on the grass, covered up and fell fast asleep, although there wasn't enough room for everyone to lie flat.  Strangers were heard to offer `It's OK, put your head in my lap.'  There were one or two false alarms - in the form of streakers - before the signal was given at last to strip off around 5am.  I worried as I followed orders how I would cope with the excitement.

People were so tightly packed into the waiting area that there was barely room to undress without bumping into each other and and not much opportunity to see full frontal nudity (or to be seen) as the mass of people all turned to face the Castle and marched off in the direction of the first set-up.  I had been looking forward to continuing my conversation with my new-found friends naked, but almost immediately became separated from them in the crowd and didn't find them again until they had their clothes back on.  Instead, I found myself walking close behind well-known Irish broadcaster Ray D'Arcy, whom I recognised from the shouts of others around him and from having seen him presenting the Rose Of Tralee beauty pagaent on TV once or twice.  I feared that any media cameras present would be trained on him and wished that I could slip away from him in the tightly packed crowd.  All the media pictures that I have seen so faar appear to have been taken from a very safe distance, so I was worrying unnecessarily.

Most of the set-ups had the Castle in the background.  For the first three, there were no props, with people first facing Spencer, then facing the Castle, and finally sideways on, in what Spencer described as a cobblestone effect, with everyone bending forward and down as far as possible, gripping shins and navel-gazing, or, for the more supple, touching toes.  I am sorry now that I paid too much attention to every word of Spencer's instructions and not enough attention to getting to know more of my fellow-participants.
After those first three set-ups, we were directed to the collection of roses, red for the women and white for the men.  The second group of set-ups took place with everyone holding at least one rose and Spencer facing the castle from a different angle.  I was given a second white rose by one of Spencer's clothed assistants, as 2,000 were more than enough to go around the estimated 1,100 attendance.  Attempts to line the crowd up in ten alternating rows of men and women failed and I ended up at Spencer's left hand side with about five other men, all of us unable to get through an unyielding wall of naked women to join our fellow white roses.  We had to open out the petals of the roses so that they would be more prominent in the photographs, and to hold them high in the air - and as still as was possible, given that everyone was shivering from the cold.  For the last of these pictures, we all had to lie on our backs on the recently-mown grass (which, contrary to other reports, was not freezing, merely somewhat dewy).  On this occasion, the crowd had spread out and there was plenty of room to lie flat without having to lay one's head in a stranger's lap.  Everyone was covered in damp grass clippings when they stood up.  Some had friends to brush their backs down, others (myself included) had to try to do this ourselves.

Spencer then told us all to go back and get dressed.  My bright turquoise blue T-shirt was not a success: I was still looking for my clothes several yards away from the right spot when the younger of my new-found (or recently-lost) female friends, already almost fully-clothed, re-appeared at my side to direct me to the right spot.  As I dressed, the women left for a women-only set-up on the other side of the river which runs through the Castle grounds.  Two male stragglers were still wandering around in circles searching for their clothes long after the women had left, one covering his modesty with someone else's empty plastic bag.

My Australian friend and myself walked down to the riverbank, initially to check out what might be involved in the final promised set-up, involving men IN the river.  It appeared only ankle-deep at that point; I had been fearing the prospect of total immersion, à la some extreme religious sect like the Dippers.  We were followed to the riverbank by most of the remaining men, and all watched the women-only installation from what proved an unsafe distance:  good-humoured shouts of `perverts' echoed across the river as the women undressed again.  While it was not part of the installation, watching from a distance as a multicoloured mass of clothed women turned rapidly into a monochrome flesh-coloured mass and then back again was quite beautiful.
It was after 7am by the time the women were dressed again and Spencer came back to pick out his 100 men for the installation in the river, from among the not much larger number who had hung around.  The third time he passed me in the crowd, he pointed at me and said "You", to my surprise.  He had just loudly rejected ("You're too tall") a man a couple of inches smaller than me - but with gleaming silvery grey hair - on the grounds that he stood out so prominently in the front row in one of his San Sebastien pictures that it was unusable.  That was the point at which I finally lost my Australian friend, who didn't seem to catch Spencer's eye, and my two white roses.

We were directed to an area upstream (or was it downstream?) of the footbridge from which Spencer planned to take the last group picture.  After undressing again (much less nerve-wracking for me second time round), we queued up to take fistfulls of gold-coloured 10 and 20 euro cent coins from a small suitcase: the petty cash float for the Cork Midsummer Festival, we were told.  I had held my glasses in one hand or left them by my feet for the earlier poses, but neither of those strategies would have worked on this occasion, so I was sent back to leave them with my clothes before I clambered down into the water downstream from the bridge - where it was nearer knee-deep than ankle-deep.  Some poor souls more sensitive than myself screamed in pain from the cold.  We stood with shivering palms (covered in coins) outstretched towards Spencer.  Worse was to come, for he then asked us all to kneel on the riverbed for the last set-up!  Several of my coins fell from my shivering palms into the water as Spencer took his pictures.  I was still picking bits of gravel from the riverbed out of my knees after I got home.

As we clambered back up the riverbank, Spencer, in a much-appreciated gesture, came down from his ladder and thanked and shook hands individually with every one of the hundred brave volunteers.

Possibly the best part of the night was the genuine applause for each of us from the remaining men and women who lined both sides of the path back to our clothes.  I wonder how often I have woken with a fright from a nightmare in which I have been naked and everyone around me has been fully-clothed.  Now I realise that it is not something to be afraid of!

Some commented on the strange view that they had under the footbridge of our lower bodies only as we stood and knelt shivering in the water.  I hope someone took a picture from that angle.  On my way back to my clothes, I was offered someone else's spectacles by the assistant who had told me to take off my own, but turned down her offer.  As I dressed again, I was sorry I had left my towel in my car, but glad that I was only wearing shorts and not trying to pull long trousers up over wet legs.

Spencer then asked for volunteers to be photographed individually kissing the Blarney Stone while naked - before the Castle opened to the general public at 9am.  I have never liked the idea of hanging upside down to kiss the Blarney Stone even fully clothed, and decided that I had had enough for one night!

I wandered back towards my car, which I found more easily than I had found my clothes earlier!  The car park was nearly as empty as when I had arrived about six hours earlier, so my fears of traffic jams were unfounded.  I ate some of the snacks that I had left in the car before driving off at 8:35am in search of a petrol station.  While the shop assistant there was struggling with a newly-installed but uncooperative credit card terminal, Morning Ireland was reporting on the installation.  I got back to my car radio in time to hear the tail-end of the report and it was clear that studio host Aine Lawlor was still just as smitten with Spencer as when she first interviewed him in April.

I was back home and fast asleep in my own bed by 11am.  I was woken by a phone call after less than 3 hours sleep, at which stage I got up and managed to keep going for the rest of the day.  It poured rain all evening as I typed the first draft of this account, so I guess I should be grateful that weather conditions in Blarney were no worse than they were.

Unfortunately I was unable to go to either the post-installation party in Cork on Wednesday evening or the Dublin installation on Saturday morning due to other commitments.

From Ian:

What an experience!! We set out from Ballincollig around 2:30 in the morning. 3 of us, none of really knowing for sure if we were going to bare all! When we got there we were interviewed by RTE & have since found out that it was played on the BBC News too - we're famous ha ha!

We made our way to the area where everyone was congregating & spotted Ray D'arcy from Today FM under the tree hiding from the rain & probably the crowd too! If I were famous I'd do the same myself, but to be fair I don't think so many would have turned out if he didn't give it pleanty of publicity on his show.

When the time came to strip, there wasn't a hesitation in my mind that I was going to go through with it. It was the most surreal experience ever. I can't even remember taking off my clothes, it was like my mind went into some sort of oblivion. All of a sudden I found myself flocking through the crowd to get away from my house mate & her friend. We don't go round in the nip at home so we said we'd go our separate ways when the time came to get our bits out. Although I'm sure we all took a sneaky look at each other ha ha!! I'm going to get in trouble for saying this aren't I?!!

We were in position before we knew it & as weird as this may sound it didn't feel like we were naked any more. We were there to do a job & that was it. I must say It was cold though lying down on the cold wet grass for over 15 mins with a rose to hold high up in the air. Am still pulling bits of grass out me ass 3 days later! Maybe I should take a shower...

Another interesting pose we were made do was bend over & touch our feet, you wouldn't believe how close my nose came to touching another guy's ass, thank God he didn't fart - that would have been plain nasty!

Anyway I have to say I really did enjoy it & it left me on a high for about 2 days. Would do it again in a heart-beat. Can't wait to get the limited edition print.

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