I was in Trafalgar Square and got to see “Nelson’s Ship in a Bottle”, the new fourth-plinth sculpture by Yinka Shonibare.
It’s what it says on the tin: an enormous scale model of Nelson’s flagship HMS Victory from the Battle of Trafalgar, inside a 5m long perspex bottle. Shonibare writes:
For me it’s a celebration of London’s immense ethnic wealth, giving expression to and honouring the many cultures and ethnicities that are still breathing precious wind into the sails of the United Kingdom.
It’s great fun! The only shame is that you can’t see the ship very well because of the height of the plinth, and because they have painted some fake sea on the bottom of the bottle that obscures the view even further.
It made me reflect on how certain objects don’t just represent particular moments in history, they actually change them. This is part of the theme of the wonderful Radio 4 series A History of the World in 100 Objects which I posted about a few weeks ago.
And it made me wonder about the boat that brought my Chinese grandparents from Hong Kong to the UK in the early 1930s. (They were from mainland Canton, but had to stay in Hong Kong for 18 months to wait for their visas.) What kind of ship was it? What was it called? Where is it now? It’s part of my family history, part of my own personal story. I wouldn’t be here to write this post without it.
These are Adrian Searle’s reflections on the work:
Nelson on his column looks distant and far away. Yinka Shonibare‘s Nelson’s Ship in a Bottle, which has fetched up on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, looks delicate and small in its clear plastic bottle, stopped by an oversized cork and sealed with wax. Less a sculpture than a symbol, it is almost kitsch, and mounted on a vaguely nautical wooden stand whose portholes are actually air vents, whose hidden whirring fans prevent the whole thing from steaming up with condensation – though I rather like the idea of the ship looming in a bottled fog. Shonibare’s work is the sort of thing one might come across in a coastal shopping mall, and it sits on the plinth as though on a mantelpiece. I suppose I oughtn’t to like it; but I do, very much. It brings out the little boy and the sailing pond admiral in me. Perhaps it appeals to a rather conservative sort of artistic taste, like Jeff Koons’s giant, flower-covered puppy, which stands outside the Guggenheim museum in Bilbao (and which has led locals to dub the museum “the doghouse”). But then I’m fond of the mutt too.
Shonibare’s Victory aims for seafaring accuracy, though those bright batik-print sails would have been unwise should Nelson have tried to hide from the enemy. Nor is Nelson recorded as having said: “Pimp my Victory.” But for all its seeming obviousness and disconcerting, almost camp, appeal, the latest fourth plinth commission does manage to celebrate both Nelson’s success at Trafalgar and the postcolonial multi-ethnic mix and mingle of Britain today. It is an ironical corrective to Rule Britannia patriotism, as is the artist’s insistence on using his MBE, which is printed on the wax seal alongside his name (the British-born Nigerian artist was awarded the title in 2004). But the thing about ships in bottles is that they’re not sailing anywhere. Perhaps this is a further symbol of Britain today: a message no one wants to read.
Bridges and Tangents 
I know it is the modern obsession with having everything really big but the scale ( as you suggest) didn’t seem right to me…it wasn’t big enough. The sails and the textiles used to create them (which is the conceptual “point” of the work) were too small to have any visual impact. And the bottle itself and base were so heavy, ugly and utilitarian. Yuk. If you’re going to create a fairground attraction in an urban setting then it needs to be big enough and bold enough to attract the crowds. 4/10
Dreaming of Ancestors
I have a photo of a sketch of the ship my great grand parents (paternal) sailed in as they travelled from Ireland to Port Jackson (Sydney) on the mid 1800’s. It is not much, but it does give me some tangible connection with my past. And like many others, I resonate with the question around family history. ‘What was the name of the ship upon which they came? What was it like on board? Where they driven or drawn to this new land? What conditions did they endure?’ are all beginning questions for yet another journey.
Our pasts are usually complete mysteries save for the closest two or three generations. It is often left to the domain of our imagination to fill in the spaces.
I recall an event where my imagination went into hyper-drive as I let loose and imagined what kind of people my ancestors may have been.
It was a Sunday. What happened amazed me. My eyes closed down and I was transported along a line of people who faced me. At some points I moved at a pace where the faces of these people became a blur. At other points I slowed to a stop to face a woman or man. I recall four people in particular. I can remember thinking, ‘These are my people.’
The first face I saw clearly was a woman who was wearing light brown cloth. Her hair was dishevelled and here eyes were momentarily blank. As I looked at her, she returned my gaze. ‘You were raped.’ These were my words, but they were not spoken. The woman began to look downward but then returned to look at me. She smiled.
The second person was a man who was breathing heavily. His chest heaved and lowered. He was only partially clothed and was bruised and bleeding. He also wore heavy scares on his face and left arm. I glanced down at his hands. They were bound with a flaxen rope. ‘Why are you being punished?’ Tears appeared, but none flowed.
The third person was a young girl who was heavily pregnant. She held her womb-child with both arms. I watched her for what seemed to be a long time, but unlike the other two, she did not see me. She appeared to be deep in thought. Then suddenly she looked to the person standing next to her, a young man about five years her senior. He was staring directly at me. I felt a shudder of terror as a series of flashes occurred. After one flash I was looking into the eyes of the young man, with the next flash I was looking directly at my own face. This happened twice. It stopped when I realised knew what was happening.
Being back in the pew, listening to the prayer after Communion gently opened me to the present.
I have often thought about this journey over the past months. Is there a message here? Is the event a new disclosure or a ratification of some belief or hope? I do not know really. What I can do is ask questions. Here are some that have come to me.
Thinking of the woman who was raped: Am I a child of violence? Would I be alive if that woman had been living in the twentieth century?
In regard to the man who was being tortured: How many of my family were treated in this way? How many held the whip?
Thinking f the young couple: Was their’s a relationship that endured? How did they survive the perils of walking the face of the earth?
What endurance challenges do I face that are similar to that of my ancestors? (There are some).
Thanks for these thoughts Vic…
Perhaps the beautiful thing about representing a big ship in a small bottle is that it reminds us that, whatever we humans create (like ships) and however large they are, they are never as great as those things which God created. I think here of things ranging from the vast oceans to the wonder of the human mind which, in it’s turn, is capable of great thoughts and inventiveness.