Depression, much like a hideous squid from the darkest depths of the deepest ocean, wraps its slimy tendrils around us all at some point or another. Tragically, Big Things, despite their beauty and fame and cultural importance, are no more likely than the rest of us to escape its wrath.
Never is this more evident than with Diver, who stands forlornly out the front of the Australian National Maritime Museum.
On the surface, he has it all. Designed by the incomparable Tim Kyle and installed in November 2021, Diver’s the tall, dark and handsome dude all the girls want and all the guys want to be. At five metres from weighted boots to bulbous helmet, he has a splendid view over the Sydney skyline.
Chinese tourists line up for hours for a selfie with Diver, before kissing his plinth for luck. Children stop in their tracks to gawp, overwhelmed by his grandeur. Despite this, Diver remains cloaked in loneliness, his intricately-detailed tunic separating him from the harsh realities of the outside world.
To stand with Diver for a moment, to hold his cold metal hand and listen to the mournful melody of water lapping at his enormous feet, is to understand the folly of mankind. This, my fellow Biggies, is desolation made flesh.
And it was all by design.
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Installed to mark the United Nations Decade of Ocean Science for Sustainable Development (which runs from 2021–2030, and really could do with a snappier title), Diver compares and contrasts the plight of modern man to the solitude of the endless brine. Whilst a regular-sized diver may explore the bottom of the ocean, Diver helps us explore the very essence of humanity.
“The piece presents as a metaphor for anonymity and introspection,” Mr Kyle explained to a wet-behind-the-ears scribe. “The sculpted suit acts as a symbolic armour, serving to reinforce his isolation. The scale elevates the figure’s melancholic presence, while retaining the formal elements of traditional sculptural language.”
Tim, sweet Tim. It’s as if you took all my insecurities and wrapped them in the veil of an anatomically-correct roadside attraction.
And thus, we may never know the real Diver. Like a deep-sea explorer trapped at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, helplessly watching his oxygen run out as the world trundles on miles above him, this Big is an enigma wrapped inside a mystery ensconced inside a three-bolt copper diving bonnet.
Coda
Forever changed (refined?) by the cold indifference Diver showed towards us, Gideon the Guacamole and I wandered through the brisk Sydney night. We gorged ourselves on cookies and cream gelato and boba tea encrusted with cheese foam, whilst avoiding the elephant in the room; the poignant despondency we had born witness to.
“Golly gosh, Mr Bardot,” Gideon finally said, as he wiped foam from his quivering lip. “I sure am glad we have each other.”
“And Bigella,” I replied. Gideon looked so happy I thought he might burst.
“And Gordon and Gordina.”
“And Lee Kernaghan.”
We grinned at each other, pleased to have a loved one to share this moment with.
Without special someone to take along for the ride, we’re destined to drift aimlessly through the pitch-black ocean of life. It’s the people we meet along the way that make this journey through the Land of the Bigs so special.
If you or someone you know are going through difficult times, please contact Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, or visit them at beyondblue.org.au.
