I
“It’s just
beautiful! And quite real!”
Mary gazed up at the statue. It
was a female nude in bronze, standing life-sized on a plinth in the centre of
the gallery. There was something outstandingly flawless about the statue, perfect
symmetry, perfect proportion, a clinical
sort of perfection.
She was certainly idealised, like
classical sculpture, but something apart from that as well. She lacked that
characteristic plumpness, she was tauter, slimmer, a more modern ideal of
beauty. Her pose was not of womanly deferment; she looked out with a challenge
in her eyes, back erect and chin raised: a picture of confidence.
While Mary studied the statue, another emotion found its place beside her wonder. It was envy. She often
felt inadequate around slimmer women but never before had a work of art had
that effect on her. She found herself touching her belly as she thought:
“It’s
just a pile of bronze. What’s to be jealous of?”
At that moment she heard a cough behind
her. Turning round she was confronted with by a tall man in a dark polo-neck,
with short, receding hair and rectangular glasses. He was looking at her with
interest, and then asked in a Nordic accent:
“What
do you think of it?”
“It’s
amazing, just so.. perfect. I don’t really know what to say”
“I
should introduce myself. My name is Mr Kettner. I am the artist of this piece”
Mary was caught off guard for a
moment. She didn’t know any artists, let alone eminent sculptors.
“Oh!
Well.. Congratulations! I think it’s fantastic”
“Thank
you very much. I’m afraid I can’t stay to talk to but let me give you my card”
She smiled, thanked him and took
the card. He walked away towards the entrance of the gallery as she put it away
in her coat pocket. She turned back towards the sculpture, and was newly struck
by flawlessness. It was amazing that that man had created it with his hands; he
must have such skill and also such an eye for beauty and understanding of the
human body.
II
Mary hung her coat on the chair
and sat down in front of her laptop. She spent a few minutes browsing diet
sites, a habit she’d had for the last few months. Recently all the advertising
around the pages was for cosmetic surgery, or ‘body enhancement’. ‘Get the Most
from Your Body’, ‘Be Happy in Yourself’. She knew it was all nonsense, a big
scam to take advantage of insecure women. At the same time, she spent so much
of her time thinking about her weight, about the shape of her body and what
other people thought about her. Wouldn’t she be so much happier without all
that?
Just then she looked down and saw
that the man’s card from earlier had slipped out of her coat, onto the floor.
Mary bent to pick it up and looked for the first time at his name.
Anton Kettner MBBS, MD,
FRCS(Plas), RA
He certainly sounded
distinguished to have so many letters after his name. Perhaps distinguished
enough to be famous. Mary idly googled his name. The first result was an article
from the Evening Standard, around a year old:
‘Plastic
Surgeon Blends Art and Science’
Leading plastic surgeon, Anton Kettner opened
his first exhibition of sculpture today at the Vaughn Gallery in Mayfair. Kettner
has found that his skills in moulding his patients into perfect specimens in
the operating theatre are transferrable to the artist’s studio and has created
a series of figurative works. He says that practising as a plastic surgeon
is such an artistic pursuit that there was little difference in changing from
flesh and bronze, just adjusting his technique. ‘For me, the pursuit of beauty
and perfection in the female form is everything. I have been very inspired by
the works of Da Vinci, whose study of anatomy allowed him to create fine
studies of the human body. I hope that, in my small way, I can apply the same
technique to my art and indeed visa versa’. Kettner’s Show ‘Form’ runs until 26th
May.
What a strange coincidence.
Perhaps that sculpture in the gallery had got her thinking about all that. Mary
did remember that strange feeling of envy at its perfect proportions. If she
were that shape, people would certainly see her differently. She could
understand the figure’s assertive pose: with curves like those, confidence
comes naturally.
There was a number on the card as
well. With those thoughts in her head, it seemed like the next natural step.
She reached for her phone and dialled the number. She was answered immediately.
‘Practice
of Mr Kettner.’
‘Hello..
umm.. I wanted to ask about..’
Mary didn’t really know what to
ask for.
‘You
would like an appointment? Let me take your details.’
Within a few minutes she had
booked for an appointment on Harley Street the next week. There were a few
things that struck her as strange during the call but the secretary’s
efficiency was such that she was just swept along. She was told that she wouldn’t
be meeting with Mr Kettner, but that he would be performing the procedure. His ‘philosophy’
was of a ‘universal beauty’ that does not vary between individuals so there
would be no need for a consultation. Mary was quite shocked and wanted to ask
some more questions but was interrupted by the secretary telling her about the
cost. It seemed incredibly reasonable! Mary thought about the surgeon’s amazing
skill, she couldn’t let the opportunity pass her by. As she put down the phone,
she was shaking with excitement.
III
That weekend, Mary was returning
from coffee with an old friend, walking along a busy Kensington pavement. She
saw his name on a sign.
New Exhibition - Anton
Kettner - Progression
As she approached the gallery
window, she was surprised by what she saw. Bronzes were lined up behind the
glass, but they were abstract, twisted figures; they seemed manipulated to the
point of inhumanity. They were clearly his, she could tell from the skill in
artistry and the shape of the still-familiar body-parts. This looked like a celebration
of power over the body and the power was abused to create these shapes; the
natural form had been taken and corrupted. Mary was shocked by own reaction.
Why did she feel so strongly about the art in the window? This man, Kettner,
seemed to be able to move her so much with his work. She shook her head and
walked on.
IV
Mary arrived at the practice in
good time for her appointment. The process was impressively organised. The
secretary gave her a series of forms to sign and she was swiftly taken through
to a private room to change into scrubs. There was barely a moment to observe
her surroundings beyond a sense of cleanliness and order. Soon, attendants in surgical
masks were surrounding her, she was shown to a hospital bed and wheeled along a
corridor.
The ceiling lights were bright,
dazzling her eyes. She heard doors swing open around her and the electric hum
of medical machinery. The lights were brighter yet, but she could make out
ceiling tiles, and the men in masks standing over her. They weren’t speaking,
but moving about, preparing. One mask loomed over her:
‘I
am going to put you under now.’
She just nodded. He brought a gas
mask down over her mouth. Something occurred: she didn’t want to inhale. It
seemed unnatural to breathe away her consciousness, her power over her limbs.
It would leave her defenceless over her body, open to attack. He was holding
the mask down on her face and as she raised an arm, she couldn’t help drawing
breath. The gas acted fast, she was hit by a wave of drowsiness, she didn’t
even feel her arm hit the bed.
Mary’s vision blackened; the
bright lights above her faded. Streams of colour started to seep into the darkness,
washing past her eyes. These coloured ribbons span against the blackness,
forming physical shapes, waving for a moment and then falling apart. The shapes
started to acquire more structure; soon they were recognisable as bodies. They
were naked human forms, swimming through the void. Before her eyes the trunks
and limbs started to twist, as though dancing. They were twisting horribly now,
spinning out of proportion, distorting and changing, pulled by
terrible forces.
The visions flashed away, there
were lights and ceiling tiles again. She saw his face, familiar from the
gallery. He looked at her through the same rectangular glasses and smiled.
‘Ah, you are awake. I feel I have really created art this time. Let me get you a mirror’
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