This huge 4.5-metre-long sculpture shows a stylised version of 11-year-old me, at the point on 1st August 1980, at 2.54pm, when I was diagnosed by my consultant. The figure is in a hospital bed, ‘dressed’ in medical paraphernalia such as a surgical collar, which I wore because I couldn’t hold my head up, a spinal brace and hand splints. There’s a small bedside table with a bowl of fruit on it.
The figure proudly wears 1970s purple-and-yellow Y-front underpants. I didn’t have any body privacy in hospital, so this is my way of taking this back and owning it. I see it as an act of rebellion, with me finally deciding that I can share this intimate aspect of myself, and see the humour of the situation I found myself in.
He’s pointing with both hands straight ahead at the sculpture of Seb Coe. Seb Coe is pointing back at him, urging on the virus soldiers in the space between them, towards the figure in the bed. His feet are oversized because my neurological condition caused me to experience heightened sensations – so sometimes I would get a sense that my feet were on fire, or they might have been the only part of my body I could feel. His toenails and fingernails are bright red. He wears a mask, like a superhero would wear, on the top part of his head. This is a tribute to Mum, who used to paint and decorate my face, as this was the only part of my body which I could feel. I see this as a total act of love and portray this in all my work.
As a tribute to the ‘Operation Game’ from the 1970s, in which the player had to remove bones and organs with tweezers, I’ve included windows into the inside of my body, so aspects of the internal battle can be seen and touched. You can feel the ribs and the colon, a shin bone, an elbow joint, and some of his skull and brain.
The surface of the body is littered with other details, such as fairground lights, which are used to demonstrate how the messages from my brain to my body were disrupted, because of the polyneuropathy, to the point where I could only move my head. The lights move up and down the body and initially light up in order to illustrate that messages are being sent from my brain successfully, but then this is disrupted, as the lights don’t come on in order and randomly light up to demonstrate my neurological condition. You can make the lights come on by pressing the button on the side of the bed.
There are virus soldiers all over my body, who are trying to get in and deliver the virus. The body is highly decorated with psychedelic patterns, which reflect the war which was going on inside my body at the time. He’s also got tattoos, which represent aspects of my life as an 11-year-old boy experiencing puberty without having any body sensations.