Gemma-Rose Turnbull

I should so be in bed. Sleeping. I’ve been awake for more hours than I want to think about but it was totally worth it. And before we delve too deeply, and you get too excited there is no nudity in this post*. Sorry but this time I got my chance to be naked in front of the camera, leaving mine safe, sound and unused in my hotel bedroom.

Today I stripped off with 5,000 other people (including two of my sisters) on the steps of the Sydney Opera House for Spencer Tunick. Like the Spencer Tunick, one of my favourite artists in the world. And it was a totally, profoundly, amazing moment. We took our clothes off, stuffing them into plastic sacks, as the dawn broke overhead, cloudy and cold with no sun to warm us. I grabbed my sisters and the couple of friends we had accumulated and hand-in-hand walked through a cheering crowd to take our place on the Opera House steps, where, for an hour or so we jiggled and giggled and became part of a massive piece of art with bodies of every shape, size, colour, sexuality and age.

But while today was about me taking a significant turn at being in front of the camera, alternatively it could become known as the day Spencer Tunick assessed my breast. Let me clarify, (and quickly!). He was assessing our tan lines. He stopped on my breast. ‘Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe you’re okay’ he said as he stared at the colour graduating from my chest where the Australian sun beats its harsh stamp to the milky white of the side of my breast that gets hidden under clothes. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much?’ he continued as he looked a little longer. At my breast. While I’ll admit I felt mildly panicky I was going to get the boot from the smaller women-only group photo it was funny because I didn’t feel looked at. Not like a individual body, but like I was a canvas and he was the artist. And it felt fine.

I’ve been asking people to show me their tits for a long time, and my series, Show Us Ya Tits, has taught me to appreciate that my body, like all bodies, is no less beautiful for its differences. And that’s why I chose to support Tunick’s installation, stripping both my clothes and inhibitions. Because his art redresses the judgments we have of our bodies, seeing them instead as magnificent canvases with which to view the art of gender, sexuality, health and the ageing process. And I love him for continuing to push that agenda. But today I loved him because he gave me a taste of my own medicine. I showed Spencer Tunick my tits. And, in the end, he never did make a definitive judgment call on them – which is, essentially, what he is all about.

*Oh okay then. Here’s some nudity. See if you can spot me and the sisters.