You may not remember the last project to appear on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. It was a red, yellow and blue glass sculpture resembling the floors of a building, entitled Model for a Hotel, and it was up there for a full 18 months. You can't fail to have noticed the latest project on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. It's one person an hour, dumped on top of the stone platform by a JCB and left to do whatever they choose. It's One and Other. And I know which of the two projects I prefer.
I've been along to Trafalgar Square twice since Anthony Gormley's latest presentation began, and on both occasions I've got absolutely drenched. You might have seen me on the webcam, shirt dripping wet, looking up at the better-prepared umbrella-carrier on the plinth above. I bet they had visions of a delightful sunny summer's afternoon in the centre of London, but instead they got the windswept drowned rat option. That's the danger of agreeing to take part in a public-facing art raffle - you never quite know what weather you're going to get.
On my first visit I got to see Rupert, a "symbolic modeller" from Derby, standing in his three-quarter length trousers doing nothing much. I only discovered he was called Rupert when I got home, because there's no hour-by-hour schedule or scrolling Twitterfeed in the Square. His 60 minute slot was typical of one particular type of plinther - those that are up there for the experience. Rupert just wanted to soak up the atmosphere, while others have simply chosen to sit and sketch, or sit and read, or stand and stare. Great for them, but not so thrilling for the rest of us. "Is that all he's going to do?" asked one disappointed lady passer-by who'd paused to watch. Yes, that was all, and how selfish of us to expect to be entertained throughout. Not every piece of individualistic art has to be a performance.
On the opposite side of the square, closer to Nelson's lions, is a large green two-storey portakabin. This project doesn't run itself, and all the organisers, crew and technical boffins have to be housed nearby. This is also where the participants await their turn, and presumably where they get a jolly good rub-down with a dry towel afterwards. Every hour, on the hour, a yellow truck with an extendable platform scoops up the next volunteer, chugs across the piazza and raises them to plinth-top level to be exchanged. If you need something while you're up there, be it a placard, a cup of tea or a spare raincoat, better make sure you're carrying it with you when you go.
On my second visit I got to see Bobbie, a former headteacher and a Lancashire lass. She was being rather more interactive, having brought copious notes to read from, and peered down from on high through half-rimmed reading glasses. It was rather like being back in school assembly, but without the hymn singing and sports notices (and rather more interesting too). Bobbie was an example of the other category of plinther - those with a message to get across. Not all deliver it as eloquently as she, and not all use words. Some resort to actions (Tai Chi, anyone?) or costumes (did you see that man in a cow suit over breakfast) or blatant advertising (no, just no), whichever they think best tells the world why they're here.
One and Other is two very different experiences. For those watching in real life it's an unlikely intrusion into the everyday, high above and very real. It's also very difficult to hear a word the plinther is saying. Trafalgar Square's a fairly noisy spot, not least because of the nearby fountain, so better to make your point visually or to utilise some form of portable amplification. Meanwhile for those watching elsewhere via the webcam, microphones ensure that every mumbled platitude can be overheard. Viewers also get the opportunity to watch the crowd interacting with the action - some staring up intently, others walking by without even stopping to look. And everybody's hour will be archived for posterity, all 3-months-worth of them. Maybe online is the more complete experience.
Last night I sat at home and watched Fran, a doctor from the West Midlands. She arrived on the plinth with a blue holdall within which her entire 60 minutes was carefully plotted. First a Shelter t-shirt and a stand to hang it from, then an oversized pack of playing cards. She fought the wind to attempt to construct a house of cards, utilising a handy grabber when some blew over the edge into the netting. The online crowd was critical... "can't believe she didn't think of tape before building a playing card sculpture OUTSIDE. #oneandother" At which point Fran produced some tape from her bag and set about constructing a rather sturdier habitation - all planned, all part of the charitable allegory. Quite the best use of an on-plinth hour I've yet seen (but then I've not seen many).
There are more than 2300 on-plinth hours still to go. Some participants will give it everything they've got, others will be there solely for themselves. Some will make you cringe, others may draw you in. Some will get the nightmare pub-chucking-out slot and struggle against London's finest hecklers, others will be up there at dawn performing to two pigeons and a roadsweeper. One could even be you, because they haven't selected the participants for August to October yet. Being a Londoner is a distinct disadvantage here, there's far too many of us chasing our allocation of places, whereas Northern Irish souls are currently "almost guaranteed" a spot. You might even get allocated a time well after the rest of us have lost interest, weeks after we've all stopped watching, months after the Twitterbuzz has died down. But somehow I doubt it. I think this one will run and run. Hope the rain holds off for you.
On my first visit I got to see Rupert, a "symbolic modeller" from Derby, standing in his three-quarter length trousers doing nothing much. I only discovered he was called Rupert when I got home, because there's no hour-by-hour schedule or scrolling Twitterfeed in the Square. His 60 minute slot was typical of one particular type of plinther - those that are up there for the experience. Rupert just wanted to soak up the atmosphere, while others have simply chosen to sit and sketch, or sit and read, or stand and stare. Great for them, but not so thrilling for the rest of us. "Is that all he's going to do?" asked one disappointed lady passer-by who'd paused to watch. Yes, that was all, and how selfish of us to expect to be entertained throughout. Not every piece of individualistic art has to be a performance.
On my second visit I got to see Bobbie, a former headteacher and a Lancashire lass. She was being rather more interactive, having brought copious notes to read from, and peered down from on high through half-rimmed reading glasses. It was rather like being back in school assembly, but without the hymn singing and sports notices (and rather more interesting too). Bobbie was an example of the other category of plinther - those with a message to get across. Not all deliver it as eloquently as she, and not all use words. Some resort to actions (Tai Chi, anyone?) or costumes (did you see that man in a cow suit over breakfast) or blatant advertising (no, just no), whichever they think best tells the world why they're here.
Last night I sat at home and watched Fran, a doctor from the West Midlands. She arrived on the plinth with a blue holdall within which her entire 60 minutes was carefully plotted. First a Shelter t-shirt and a stand to hang it from, then an oversized pack of playing cards. She fought the wind to attempt to construct a house of cards, utilising a handy grabber when some blew over the edge into the netting. The online crowd was critical... "can't believe she didn't think of tape before building a playing card sculpture OUTSIDE. #oneandother" At which point Fran produced some tape from her bag and set about constructing a rather sturdier habitation - all planned, all part of the charitable allegory. Quite the best use of an on-plinth hour I've yet seen (but then I've not seen many).
