I ask about the torsos and vaginas strewn about the room, and he explains that the body sculpting work is sort of his bread and butter. Anyone can come into the studio and have a cast made. Of anything. It's how he funds his main art projects. In some cases he even casts things in latex. Although the latex casts are likely used for purposes other than mere display…
"God I had the worst day yesterday…" He sighs. "I had to make this horrible dildo. It was massive…" 6 Sex Toys That Scare Us
"Was that your Facebook status?" David quips.
McCartney chuckles. Just out of curiosity, I ask him how much it would be to have a separate vagina sculpture made to take home with me. You know, since I'm a volunteer and all… He quotes me a heavily discounted rate and—never one to miss a deal—the choice seems obvious. We agree that he'll make two casts. One for him and one for me.
"Of course," he says, "it won't be ready today. But I can put it in the mail."
I like this idea very much, as I will now be spared any potential awkwardness at Gatwick security.
And then the moment is upon us. David and I stand, and follow McCartney into the room with the dying ET tent. Sculptures are scattered around the room—there's a naked man and woman on the floor, and a voluptuous pair of breasts jut from a wall. We ease our way around the bodies, and my heart begins to do a little rumba as McCartney ushers us into the tent. Inside there is a single heat lamp and a workman's table. Lining one wall are rows of metal shelves filled with various body parts: halves of faces, more baby fists, a smattering of vaginas. It is all very Frankenstein's workshop. David tries to bumble his way into a corner, and hits his head on a jutting penis.
"Oh yeah. I turned that one into a magnet." McCartney apologizes.