The newly-unveiled 26 foot tall sculpture of Marilyn Monroe circa the moment the subway exhaust blew her skirt up in The Seven Year Itch is super groundbreaking. Finally, the female body is being shown as a sexy, silent spectacle, a giant thing to look at. Risque yet comical. This whole thing just goes where society daren’t go; from the depiction of Marilyn Monroe in that dress at that exact moment (a very rarely tackled subject) to the giant, perfect, round boobs, which are never idealized in art or popular culture, to the molded stone panties with the thoughtful lace detail around the edge. What a loving portrait of what couldn’t have possibly been more than a one dimensional woman.
Thank goodness that men (and all people, really) will finally have a chance to view a sexualized image of a woman in public. Our great city’s lonely masturbators will finally have something new to think about whilst attacking their own genitals like an enraged chimpanzee. Concerned mothers will shield their children’s eyes from it not because of its completely cliched presentation and subject matter or the boring collegiate sexism it conveys, but because bodies are dirty. Chicago’s uncreative bachelor parties will have a place to take a billion pictures. Maxim will mention the statue for its readers, who fancy themselves to be well-put together, sexpert Bradley Cooper types but are usually more like Kevin Federline types. And finally, this sculpture will give cool girls who only have guy friends from coast to coast another opportunity to prove how cool-and not like other girls, who are lame- they are, by saying “I think it’s fine! Everyone needs to relax, okay?!” (accolades, plz!) Keep on keeping on, giant Marilyn Monroe sculpture on Michigan Ave.
Unless the artist plans to attached the words “YOU ALL CAME FROM ME” and suspend them from what would be the sculpture’s vagina, I’m not impressed. This sculpture doesn’t enrage me as much as it disappoints me. There’s so much better art to be had, and we’re stuck with a giganticized prop piece from a Planet Hollywood restaurant? Was every single artist in the whole world too busy? I’m not mad; I’m bored. (This guy agrees with me)