Iceland review - 2007, Blaðsíða 26

24 ICELAND REVIEW
of ten.
I was the second to last to get shot. It’s a simple process,
actually, taking your kit off for the camera. It’s like undressing to
hop in the shower or change into a bathing suit. As one Icelandic
friend pointed out days later, though, Americans will wear their
swimsuit to the pool (under their clothes) long before they’ll change
in a locker room in front of however many other people. It’s true.
There’s a certain etiquette in Iceland, as elsewhere in Europe,
about nakedness. It’s as normal as being clothed. Icelanders have
been raised in the swimming-pool culture, after all.
With that in mind I unzipped my green hoodie and pulled
off my yoga pants, dropping them in a small pathetic pile on the
beach. We had been instructed ahead of time to wear loose-fitting
clothing – no bras, no underwear or tight jeans – because they
leave marks on the skin that take too long to disappear.
Next thing I knew, fine sand began to fill the rift between my
legs, the bends in my elbows, the cavities of my closed eyes, hues
of dusky gray and black camouflaging the whiteness of my skin.
Once everyone stepped away and the footprints were removed, a
silence came over me as I lay face up on the beach. The wind was
calm, my comrades on the periphery quiet. My limbs fell languid
and heavy. I could’ve fallen asleep.
spencer tunick
france 1 (Biennale de lyon) 2005
C-print mounted between plexi
48 x 60 in (122 x 152.4 cm)
Courtesy of i-20 Gallery, new york