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Welcome to the Museum of Water, awash with spit and tears and snowballs Welcome to the Museum of Water, awash with spit and tears and snowballs
(about 17 hours later)
When I meet Amy Sharrocks on the banks of the Thames, I'm clutching a shampoo bottle full of slightly fetid water, scooped from the River Lea. The same river where, the day before, I'd seen a coot nesting on a Strongbow bottle. A river down which dead rats regularly float. The river, incidentally, that flows past my flat.When I meet Amy Sharrocks on the banks of the Thames, I'm clutching a shampoo bottle full of slightly fetid water, scooped from the River Lea. The same river where, the day before, I'd seen a coot nesting on a Strongbow bottle. A river down which dead rats regularly float. The river, incidentally, that flows past my flat.
More than 350 people have responded to the artist's invitation to send her "precious bits of water", to be included in her new Museum of Water at London's Somerset House. You provide the bottle, you choose the water, you write the label, and she makes the museum.More than 350 people have responded to the artist's invitation to send her "precious bits of water", to be included in her new Museum of Water at London's Somerset House. You provide the bottle, you choose the water, you write the label, and she makes the museum.
"I kept it super simple. I just asked for precious water, and people can find whatever meaning they like in it," she says, politely placing my shampoo bottle in the display. "People have brought me conceptual ideas as much as places.""I kept it super simple. I just asked for precious water, and people can find whatever meaning they like in it," she says, politely placing my shampoo bottle in the display. "People have brought me conceptual ideas as much as places."
One woman gave her a watercolour case with the water bottle she'd used for painting during 30 years of travelling in Africa and Asia. "She'd used that water to paint lightning in Botswana, 100 miles in the distance," says Sharrocks.One woman gave her a watercolour case with the water bottle she'd used for painting during 30 years of travelling in Africa and Asia. "She'd used that water to paint lightning in Botswana, 100 miles in the distance," says Sharrocks.
Other bottles contain no water at all. "An artist called Annette Fry brought me a bottle called The Evaporation of Grief. On the day her partner died, five years ago, Annette went down to the river and filled it up. Over all those years, she's watched that water evaporate. As it has lessened, so her extreme pain has lessened."Other bottles contain no water at all. "An artist called Annette Fry brought me a bottle called The Evaporation of Grief. On the day her partner died, five years ago, Annette went down to the river and filled it up. Over all those years, she's watched that water evaporate. As it has lessened, so her extreme pain has lessened."
The Museum of Water is the latest in a line of works by Sharrocks that use water to encourage social interaction and explore our sense of place. In 2007, for the project SWIM, she invited 50 people to swim across London from Tooting Bec Lido to Hampstead Ponds. Then in 2009 her touring show, drift, encouraged people to drift, one at a time, across swimming pools on an inflatable boat. Two years later, she undertook London Is a River City, leading guided walks that traced seven of London's buried rivers. For 2015, she is planning Swim the Thames, a mass participation, live art performance under Tower Bridge.The Museum of Water is the latest in a line of works by Sharrocks that use water to encourage social interaction and explore our sense of place. In 2007, for the project SWIM, she invited 50 people to swim across London from Tooting Bec Lido to Hampstead Ponds. Then in 2009 her touring show, drift, encouraged people to drift, one at a time, across swimming pools on an inflatable boat. Two years later, she undertook London Is a River City, leading guided walks that traced seven of London's buried rivers. For 2015, she is planning Swim the Thames, a mass participation, live art performance under Tower Bridge.
The first exhibit you see when you enter the museum isn't water at all – it's ice. "My youngest son fashioned these snowballs and stored them on his sledge," says Sharrocks. "He didn't want to throw them; he named them like his toys. They'll be displayed in a freezer with this huge ice core pole I've been lent by the British Antarctic Survey."The first exhibit you see when you enter the museum isn't water at all – it's ice. "My youngest son fashioned these snowballs and stored them on his sledge," says Sharrocks. "He didn't want to throw them; he named them like his toys. They'll be displayed in a freezer with this huge ice core pole I've been lent by the British Antarctic Survey."
As Sharrocks says, each store of water is irreplaceable. To create a museum of water is to try to capture something that leaks, evaporates, gets spilled over a kitchen floor or runs out into the sea. It is inherently transient and, as climate scientists have warned us, it's only going to get harder to access. "I have rainwater collected the day someone's brother died. Another woman brought me the tears she'd collected when she miscarried her baby," says Sharrocks. "The museum can find a space for these extraordinary thoughts and feelings."As Sharrocks says, each store of water is irreplaceable. To create a museum of water is to try to capture something that leaks, evaporates, gets spilled over a kitchen floor or runs out into the sea. It is inherently transient and, as climate scientists have warned us, it's only going to get harder to access. "I have rainwater collected the day someone's brother died. Another woman brought me the tears she'd collected when she miscarried her baby," says Sharrocks. "The museum can find a space for these extraordinary thoughts and feelings."
Of course, something precious can also be prosaic. One woman sent water from a relative's tap because, says Sharrocks, "there is something sacred about that ritual of going round to her Auntie Margaret's every Sunday for tea and cakes".Of course, something precious can also be prosaic. One woman sent water from a relative's tap because, says Sharrocks, "there is something sacred about that ritual of going round to her Auntie Margaret's every Sunday for tea and cakes".
Water is at the heart of many religious rituals because it is a substance that adapts, transforms, revives and replenishes. As Sharrocks says, the metaphor of water "can capture impossible-to-define feelings and ideas without feeling stretched". For instance, a six-year-old girl submitted a huge Evian bottle full of crystal-clear water. When Sharrocks asked her what it was, she said, "They're my tears." "She had a new brother and was very cross about it. So I asked a Roman Catholic priest about the transubstantiation of that water – if she says they're her tears, then they're her tears."Water is at the heart of many religious rituals because it is a substance that adapts, transforms, revives and replenishes. As Sharrocks says, the metaphor of water "can capture impossible-to-define feelings and ideas without feeling stretched". For instance, a six-year-old girl submitted a huge Evian bottle full of crystal-clear water. When Sharrocks asked her what it was, she said, "They're my tears." "She had a new brother and was very cross about it. So I asked a Roman Catholic priest about the transubstantiation of that water – if she says they're her tears, then they're her tears."
The Museum of Water is in the dripping, damp-walled bowels of Somerset House. Visitors will be met at the entrance and guided past a sound sculpture by BBC recordist Chris Watson, written stories about the water that couldn't be collected, and shelves full of beautifully lit bottles that say as much about the person who donated them as the water itself. Sharrocks is even flooding one of the old coal stores with water from the neighbouring Thames: "We'll bring it in, bucket by bucket, along a human chain. I love that we're leaking the river back into the building."The Museum of Water is in the dripping, damp-walled bowels of Somerset House. Visitors will be met at the entrance and guided past a sound sculpture by BBC recordist Chris Watson, written stories about the water that couldn't be collected, and shelves full of beautifully lit bottles that say as much about the person who donated them as the water itself. Sharrocks is even flooding one of the old coal stores with water from the neighbouring Thames: "We'll bring it in, bucket by bucket, along a human chain. I love that we're leaking the river back into the building."
The river room aside, most of the exhibits are modest in scale. "Each bottle seems entirely right for the water they've brought me," says Sharrocks. "A tiny old lady gave me this water from her greenhouse. She has taken such care of her plants, but she's concerned about how the world is going to take care of itself when she's gone. The water she brought me was in this small, thin bottle because she'd recycled all her others. But then she realised it had stored her homeopathic remedy for anxiety ... so the bottle spoke directly to the water."The river room aside, most of the exhibits are modest in scale. "Each bottle seems entirely right for the water they've brought me," says Sharrocks. "A tiny old lady gave me this water from her greenhouse. She has taken such care of her plants, but she's concerned about how the world is going to take care of itself when she's gone. The water she brought me was in this small, thin bottle because she'd recycled all her others. But then she realised it had stored her homeopathic remedy for anxiety ... so the bottle spoke directly to the water."
Sharrock's project was commissioned by the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine as part of the bicentennial of John Snow, the man who made a pilgrimage around the streets and pumps of Soho to track down the source of a cholera epidemic in the city, which had one anomalous case in Hampstead. "There was a woman in Hampstead who had just moved from Soho and she got her sons to bring her the water from that pump," explains Sharrocks, "because she said it had the best water in the world."Sharrock's project was commissioned by the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine as part of the bicentennial of John Snow, the man who made a pilgrimage around the streets and pumps of Soho to track down the source of a cholera epidemic in the city, which had one anomalous case in Hampstead. "There was a woman in Hampstead who had just moved from Soho and she got her sons to bring her the water from that pump," explains Sharrocks, "because she said it had the best water in the world."
"This one," says Sharrocks, handing me a TCP bottle, "is the toothpaste spit gathered by an entire family one morning. I've been travelling a lot recently, so this one made me miss my family and my sons.""This one," says Sharrocks, handing me a TCP bottle, "is the toothpaste spit gathered by an entire family one morning. I've been travelling a lot recently, so this one made me miss my family and my sons."
In the Museum of Water, water isn't just an exhibit; it is a way to capture and observe people. "So many of our metaphors for creativity – the flow of words, the stagnation of a thought, dredging up an experience – come from water," says Sharrocks. Water is the force that flows through birth, love, loss, home, holidays, danger, adventure and grief. It is life, death and all the washing up in between.In the Museum of Water, water isn't just an exhibit; it is a way to capture and observe people. "So many of our metaphors for creativity – the flow of words, the stagnation of a thought, dredging up an experience – come from water," says Sharrocks. Water is the force that flows through birth, love, loss, home, holidays, danger, adventure and grief. It is life, death and all the washing up in between.
Which is what you want from a museum – the whole of human life. Bottled.Which is what you want from a museum – the whole of human life. Bottled.
• The Museum of Water is at Somerset House, London, 6-29 June, and is part of LIFT 2014