june-2010

20
JUNE 2010 | UNITED.COM
CANCUN, MEXICO
OCTOPUS’S GARDEN
English artist Jason
deCaires Taylor’s latest
installation, while still a
work in progress, already
boasts more visitors
than any other in Latin
America—provided we’re
counting fi sh. Located just
off the coast of Cancun—and
about 20 feet below the
sea—the creation consists
of more than 200 statues
(at a weight of three to six
tons each) bolted to a coral
reef. The project resembles
a sort of ready-made lost
civilization, a fi eld of
monuments to our time
slowly being covered in
coral. “Many people who see
it think it’s a few hundred
years old,” Taylor says.
“When in fact the oldest
pieces were put in less than
two years ago.”
This confusion is, of
course, part of the point. The
artist purposefully picks
images and items that are
representative of today. A
scuba diver prowling off
Grenada, where Taylor has
60 sculptures, might come
across a typist with hands
permanently poised above
a concrete keyboard, or a
bicyclist frozen midpedal
propped against the edge
dispatches
of a reef, or a table set for
breakfast, complete with a
bowl of stone oranges. “I’ve
gone back to visit some of
my older pieces and found
long beards of sea sponges
growing off of a fi gure’s
cheek, or big fans of coral
on the forehead,” says
Taylor. The statues are built
from a special kind of pHneutral
concrete that’s more
than 10 times stronger than
the stuff used in parking
garages, a perfect anchor for
growing sea life.
Taylor, who spent
his childhood living in
Malaysia, Spain and
Portugal, seems perfectly
suited to this project. The
36-year-old has worked
as a diving instructor and
engineer as well as sculptor.
But perhaps his biggest
infl uence, he says, was
the graffi ti he began doing
after his family settled in
southern England. “Graffi ti
is so uncontrolled—it’s
governed by chance and
opportunity,” he says.
“That’s what I love about
underwater work. Now
I’m just providing the walls.
The sponges and coral
decorate them.”
—MATT THOMPSON
JERASH, JORDAN
Channeling
History
“Charlton Heston was wrong,”
announces Stellan Lind, a tall
Stockholm native wrapped in
a toga, speaking to the 500
spectators in a large hippodrome
50 minutes outside Amman, in
the Roman ruins of Jerash. “The
chariot race was seven times around the Circus Maximus,
not nine! And the spikes on the chariot wheels in Ben-Hur?
Another Hollywood invention.”
With that, a trumpeter sounds the signal and a Roman
legionnaire clad in full regalia enters the arena. From under
a steel helmet, the centurion barks a command in Latin.
Rows of soldiers emerge from another door and march
toward one another, raising their shields and clutching their
gladii. The soldiers advance and begin the “fi ght.” Amid
the loud clashing of metal, the unmistakable sound of an
imam’s call to prayer drifts across the crowd.
Lind sweats in his seat high above the action, surveying
the scene like Emporer Titus. He’s the unlikely founder of
the largest Roman historical reenactment in the world, the
Roman Army and Chariot Experience, or RACE, and de facto
general to the 45 actor-legionnaires who battle bloodlessly
below (shows are twice daily, Saturday through Thursday).
“I’m the crazy guy who moved to Jordan to make his
boyhood dream come true,” he says, mopping sweat
from his brow with the fringe of his toga. As boyhood
dreams go, this is a pretty eccentric one, but the result
is a meticulously researched blend of history lesson and
Hollywood spectacle.
The soldiers amass in formation and prepare to launch
their javelins as the onlookers fl inch. Soon chariots appear,
harnessed to Iberian-bred steeds, and begin racing around
the ring—seven times. Eventually, the RACE reaches its
climax: Two gladiators emerge, dressed in rags and animal
skins. One wields a trident and a net, the other a ball
and chain. After a heated match, the crowd signals its
disapproval for the vanquished soldier.
Lind pauses and thrusts out his hand: thumb down.
With that, the defeated gladiator kneels, and the winner
stands above him and fi nishes him off with a splash of red
dye.—MARY WINSTON NICKLIN