She Deserves to Be Put on a Pedestal

If everything goes according to plan, this time next year I will be fixed to a stone plinth in the center of London -- my naked, pregnant, disabled body on display and exposed to the elements in one of the most crowded parts of the city. I couldn’t be happier about it.

I have the honor of being the inspiration for “Alison Lapper Pregnant,” the large, white marble sculpture by artist Marc Quinn that has just been chosen to go on the vacant fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. Marc’s work -- made of me when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with my son, Parys -- shatters one of the last taboos here in Britain, and around the world for that matter, by celebrating the glorious beauty of a disabled body.

For those unfamiliar with London, Trafalgar Square is at the heart of the city -- both geographically and culturally. Just south of the West End and a few blocks away from Buckingham Palace and the houses of Parliament, Trafalgar Square is where we celebrate our military history and imperial past.

The square’s most prominent feature is Nelson’s Column -- a monument to Vice Adm. Horatio Nelson, whose victory at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 was a turning point in the war against Napoleon. Though his navy won the day, Nelson was killed in the battle -- with “Thank God I have done my duty” as his dying words. British mettle at its best.

Nelson has some dubious company in the square. In one corner is King George IV -- the alcoholic, drug-addicted gambler who locked his own wife out of his coronation ceremony -- on horseback in full military regalia despite having never been a soldier. In the southerly corners of the square stand statues of Maj. Gen. Sir Henry Havelock and Gen. Charles Napier -- both known for their ruthlessness in battles in India, if they are known at all.

Trafalgar Square has also been the scene of some of the country’s most intense political protests. Hundreds of demonstrations -- most peaceful, some not -- have taken place here, ranging from the 1990 riot against Margaret Thatcher’s introduction of the poll tax to the million-strong protest against the current military adventure in Iraq.

And in the northwest corner, on a plinth that has been empty for the better part of 160 years, I will take my place in Trafalgar Square and its history.

The fourth plinth hasn’t always been meant for me -- even if that’s what I like to tell my son. It was originally supposed to hold a statue of King William IV, but there wasn’t enough money to build one when he died in 1837. There were efforts to raise money among the public, but the king’s opposition to political reform (William wasn’t too keen on the whole “one man, one-vote” idea) might explain the people’s reluctance to pony up the dough.

And so the fourth plinth sat unused for more than 150 years.

In the late 1990s, the Royal Society for the Arts experimented with a series of three contemporary sculptures on the plinth -- and the experiment was a massive success. Now, the Greater London Authority has decided to commission new works of contemporary art for the fourth plinth every few years. And I’m going up there first.

The sculpture of my naked, pregnant and disabled body will both complement and jar Trafalgar Square’s legacy. Marc’s work is entirely classical in its form and structure. A naked female form carved from white marble, the sculpture couldn’t be more in keeping with the tradition of heroic classical statuary. And -- I’ll admit some bias here -- the work is just beautiful. But because the naked form happens to be mine -- with no arms and short legs because of a congenital disorder -- it couldn’t be a more modern work of art.

And that’s where the political element comes into play. Marc’s sculpture celebrates the kind of body that is usually kept hidden away -- and glorifies a triumph usually ignored.

The work says to the world -- to able-bodied and disabled people alike -- that disability does not mean ugliness. It shows that a disabled body is not a reason for shame. It embraces the humanity, fertility and sexuality of people often patronized or ignored. At a towering 15 feet tall, the sculpture doesn’t ask for pity. It doesn’t play the victim. Instead, it reminds everyone that beauty and strength can come in the most unexpected shapes.

I am so proud to be the model for a work that is simultaneously a beautiful sculpture and a powerful statement of possibility. Marc’s work challenges people to look at the disabled body in a different light -- and to see that it is worthy of art.

The selection of Marc’s work has already prompted Britons to remember that one of our country’s most beloved heroes was also a disabled person. I’ll be sharing the square with a man missing both an arm and an eye -- Lord Nelson himself.