DEATH

EgG MASSAGE (starring Julian Simmons)

EgG MASSAGE (starring Julian Simmons)

Universal Egg

December, we bought 750 free-range eggs, a good start.  
Simmons made a series of films documenting what we did with them : 

HONEST VENDOR
NOB ON THE ROCKS
EGG BRITISH PAVILION
EGG MASSAGE (starring Julian Simmons)
EGG DANCE
EGG QUARRY
EGG MARROW.

Lucas introducing the latest of her ongoing performance-based series ‘ONE THOUSAND EGGS FOR WOMEN’ in New York -

“I’ve always had eggs in my work. It started with TWO FRIED EGGS AND A KEBAB back in the early nineties, which was the piece of work that launched me on the world. Since then I’ve tried to keep an egg in things, in most exhibitions. Now this - a women’s egg throwing event, which I’ve done twice before, once in Berlin and once in Mexico. For women as I like to do things for women, because eggs are relevant to women …and they are finite. They are not like sperm, you can’t just endlessly wank and spurt them everywhere. So it’s kind of about futility, not just women’s futility, futility in the world.”

A statement from Sarah Lucas and Julian Simmons about their brand new work being shown as part of ALIVE in the UNIVERSE, Venice Biennale on Saturday 11th May

HONEST VENDOR

A beautiful day very early in the new year, this year that is. On Christmas Eve I procured seven hundred and fifty eggs from a couple of local suppliers. One each for me and Julian for every day and a few left over for visitors. A year’s worth.

Both of these egg merchants had stalls on the street with honesty boxes. On the last visit to one of them, prior to the swoop, we discovered that a revolution had taken place. An Egg Vending Machine had been installed, not on the street but deep within the interior of the farm. An American style stainless steel affair with glass windowed compartments, numbered. Shit, how are we ever going to come up with that amount of change in the requisite denominations?

EGG DANCE

Christmas morning, a beautiful bright one and we’re planning a traditional egg dance for the film. The three of us saunter out of the garden, down the bridleway and into the meadow, carrying eggs. We walk through two fields, cross a road, which is also a bridge over a beck, and continue through another meadow on the other side. Another fields worth elapses. We’re deep in dingle by now, and we come to another bridge across the beck, a flat one this time, without sides. It’s for tractors. There are none about. All this while, in the long grass, Julian has been wondering how the hell anyone’s ever going to spot the eggs in the long grass. It’s a damp frosty morning and all about is slippery.

A few weeks before this Julian turned up, on the web, some footage of an egg dance. The dancers, two men wearing blindfolds, dance up and down in the street among a grid of eggs, laid out at two and a half feet intervals. They are Morris Dancers. They skilfully and narrowly avoid the eggs. At one point one of them kicks an egg. It rolls away but doesn’t break. This is traditional, by which I mean it always occurs in the dance. We checked.