Everyday People: The Organiser’s Perspective

Michael Simpson, Head of Visual Art & Engagement, The Lowry

Day One

The first thing that struck me was how cold it was. But at least it wasn’t raining, or at least not yet. I arrived at The Lowry at around 1.30am - shortly before my colleagues, and fellow organisers, Kate and Emily - and made a point of checking in with security first. They were sharing a cup of tea with the local constabulary. Had anyone shown up? I asked, preparing myself for the worse. Yes! They were queuing, as planned, around the back of The Lowry. I thought they might like some moral support - there were still a couple of hours before they could even register, with photography still maybe four hours away.

And there they were. The most beautiful, marvellous, outstanding bunch of people I had ever seen. Without them we had nothing. With them, we had everything - the event, the photographs and the exhibition. I walked down the line, introducing myself, telling everyone they were wonderful and promising them that they’d be warm again … soon-ish. They looked cold but excited, eager to chat. They were dressed in pyjamas, dressing gowns, tracksuits, trenchcoats – whatever would be easiest for them to whip off when the time came. 

Soon after, Kate and Emily arrived. We set about preparing for registration: 500 large Ikea bags for the participants to stash their clothes; 500 bottles of Vitamin water; 500 pairs of medical slippers to wear on the mean streets of Manchester and Salford … The volunteer helpers started arriving; and the police went outside to ensure everyone was behaving themselves and keeping quiet - there were local residents fast asleep and completely unaware of what was going on.

Finally, at 3.30am we could open the doors. In groups, the participants trooped in, delighted at the warmth of The Lowry foyer. They made their way through the registration process, with plenty of minor questions and queries. At one point we feared we had too many participants for the buses but we just made it. They collected their bags, water and slippers and were urged to go to the toilet before we set off - we had some portaloos laid on but possibly not enough…

Then the buses were brought round and the first participants queued to get on the first bus, and eventually we were off. Kate and I jumped on the last bus, feeling absolutely shattered already, partly because neither of us has slept properly for 24 hours, and partly because we were pretty nervous. We knew there were so many opportunities over the next two days for something to go hideously wrong. We wanted Spencer to have a great weekend but, having met the participants, we also felt a huge responsibility to make sure they got the experience they were looking for.

Over the weekend, Kate stayed close to Spencer; I stayed with the participants; and Emily kept an eye on all the logistics. She was always one step ahead of us - if ever I thought of some loophole we might have forgotten, or some potential problem, Emily already had it covered.

The buses drove across Manchester to Corporation Street, an insalubrious part of the city at the best of time, but distinctly dodgy at 5am. It was getting light by now. All the buses had collected in the car park of a local company that had not only given up their car park for free, but also let us set up two portaloos in there as well. Wonderful support.

Spencer was already waiting for the participants. He’d arrived earlier on the open top bus from which he would take some of the photographs. There was a buzz of excitement that here was the great man himself.  He spoke briefly to the participants. He has done this many times, but he still manages to make it sound fresh, to be encouraging but at the same time to make it clear it was his way or the highway. This event was not about any individual; it only worked when people came together en masse.  Listen out for his instructions, do as you’re told, and DON’T SMILE!

It was time to troop the participants from the buses to the first location - nearby Angel Meadow. Kate, Emily, and our friendly neighbourhood police escort went with the participants while I stayed on Corporation Street because, although it was empty of cars now, the early morning workers would soon be turning up.  We had to keep the location clear of cars at all costs, as they would spoil Spencer’s shot (he had even wondered aloud on our recce about removing some lampposts!).

I watched the participants walk up the hill and then, to my horror, realised a car had driven past me and parked in exactly the spot where the next photo was due to be taken! I ran over and knocked on the driver’s window, realising too late that I was interrupting some nefarious goings on inside. The driver looked furiously at me and I saw my life flash before my eyes. His companion looked resolutely in the other direction and he reluctantly wound down his window. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said, ‘but we’re just about to set up an art installation here and I’ll have to ask you to move on.’ He just stared at me. ‘I can ask one of my police colleagues to come and tell you more,’ I continued. The driver stared at me for a second more and then without saying a word started up his car and drove off.

Two minutes later I heard a loud cheer go up from Angel Meadow. I’d managed to miss the first photograph being taken. Soon everyone came streaming back down and the next set up began, in exactly the spot where I’d just had my small adventure. By this time, I was 200 yards away, stopping taxis from driving down the road towards 500 naked people. The look on the taxi drivers’ faces was priceless. Reluctantly, they backed up and took another route. A third photograph followed a little further down the road, outside a car wash. Throughout the weekend, Spencer splits the participants into groups - men only, women only, over 65s only and so on. Here, it was the men, lined up outside the car wash, shivering with the cold.  Spencer asked them to stand still and they tried, but for some the cold seeped through their entire bodies, giving them a permanent tremble.

All this time we have had our very first paparazzi sneaking around. The police refused to move him on - he wasn’t breaking any law - but the police told us there was also no law against us blocking his view, so Marie-Claire from our press and marketing team gamely followed him everywhere, sticking her clipboard in front of his lens until eventually he gave up. He didn’t believe us when we told him that the next set up was at Peel Park, where the press was invited anyway.

It was around 7am when we got to Peel Park, and the sun was trying to come out - not to Spencer’s liking. Direct sunlight presents problems - too much light and shade to contend with. The press was indeed there, a healthy throng of reporters and cameramen from national and regional newspapers and television. They briefly interviewed Spencer and took shots - under strictly controlled circumstances - of the installation. However, towards the end of the shoot, Spencer asked the women participants to move up the slope out of the direct sunshine and, as it happens, closer to the press. There was a sudden, mad frenzy of clicking camera shutters from the media area and some of the women became uncomfortable at this increased press attention - for some it was too much and I had distressing conversations with some of them afterwards.

And then it was back onto the coach and back to The Lowry. Day one finished! I chatted to one of the women participants. What was she going to do now? She laughed. She was off to Tesco’s to get the weekly shop. Already, the morning seemed like a surreal dream. For me, the best part of the whole two days was talking to the participants. They all had different stories and I was moved at their willingness to share them. I felt guilty at asking but I was so in awe of these wonderful people that I couldn’t stop myself. Some, it turns out, were there for the adventure; some for the art. There were a number of men and a few women with large scars across their stomachs. Many were there to celebrate or confront various body issues. There was a transsexual - looking perfect top and bottom; a man with the biggest, wobbliest, most glorious belly. One woman had had a boob job she was proud of; another was utterly flat-chested and told me how she’d ‘wasted’ 40 years worrying about it and would now quit obsessing about it. Some had overcome bulimia or anorexia or serious eczema. All embarrassment had left our conversations hours ago; I couldn’t believe how generous these people were in sharing their stories.

What impressed me more is that they were all willing to make such an incredible leap of faith. Participating in one of Spencer’s installations is possibly the most courageous thing some of these people have ever done. They took their clothes off in front of complete strangers. Outdoors. For a photograph. Seen by thousands in an art gallery. By millions in books and online. It was a giant leap of faith, and Spencer understands that only too well. He is incredibly protective of the participants, grateful that they are prepared to stand in the cold, at an ungodly hour of the morning. He also knows them so well: 99% of everything Spencer told us would happen, did happened. As for me, I couldn’t wait for day two…