The Blue Lady and The Empty Throne

On a plinth that once awaited a king, Tschabalala Self’s “Lady in Blue” now offers London its contemporary image of womanhood — at a time when an altogether different understanding of the woman’s place is asking to be heard. Okechukwu Uwaezuoke writes

Really, it is a sad commentary on the present age that New York-based artist Tschabalala Self describes “Lady in Blue” as her representation of the modern “everywoman”. The 10-foot bronze sculpture, finished in a striking lapis-lazuli blue patina, depicts a grotesque yet self-assured young metropolitan woman striding forward. Self says the work celebrates “the diversity and optimism of everyday city life” rather than a historical idol.

The timing, most likely unintentional, should induce reflection. The sculpture was unveiled on London’s Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square on September 10, barely two days after a three-day spiritual festival had called upon earthly womanhood to awaken to its divinely ordained role as Guardian of the Flame of Holy Longing for the Light.

Why this matters is that “Lady in Blue” will hold court in a public square representing the contemporary woman as imagined by the cultural establishment: striding through the city, confident and conspicuous, an “everywoman” fashioned from the stuff of modern urban life. But then, somewhere in the subconscious, lurks another conception of womanhood altogether — not an image to be displayed in a public square, but a spiritual responsibility.

There is also the story of the plinth itself. When Charles Barry designed Trafalgar Square in 1841, he put a large stone pedestal at each corner for a monumental statue. Three were soon occupied: King George IV, General Sir Charles James Napier and Major-General Sir Henry Havelock. The fourth, at the northwest corner, was intended for an equestrian statue of King William IV. But the money ran out before the statue could be made, and the plinth was left empty for more than 150 years.

Then, in 1994, Prue Leith, who was chair of the Royal Society of Arts (RSA), suggested giving the empty pedestal another purpose: a changing display of contemporary art.

The RSA began a trial four years later. Mark Wallinger’s “Ecce Homo”, a life-sized white acrylic figure of Christ, was followed by Bill Woodrow’s “Regardless of History” and Dame Rachel Whiteread’s “Monument”. They drew plenty of attention, as well as the inevitable arguments about what should and should not be allowed to occupy such a prominent place in Trafalgar Square.

An independent Fourth Plinth Commissioning Group was subsequently formed, and in 2003 the programme came under the Mayor of London’s Culture Team. Since then, artists have been shortlisted and members of the public invited to vote. A new work generally appears every two years.

The plinth has since had its share of memorable occupants. Marc Quinn’s “Alison Lapper Pregnant” (2005) was a 13-tonne Carrara marble sculpture of the disabled artist, heavily pregnant. Antony Gormley’s “One & Other” (2009) handed the plinth to the public, with 2,400 people taking turns there for an hour each over 100 days. Yinka Shonibare’s “Nelson’s Ship in a Bottle” (2010) presented a model of HMS Victory with brightly patterned West African textiles for sails. David Shrigley’s “Really Good” (2016) was, quite simply, a giant bronze hand giving a very large thumbs-up.

In 2024, it was the turn of Teresa Margolles’s “Mil Veces un Instante”, a plaster “skull rack” made from casts of the faces of 850 trans people from Britain and elsewhere.

Tschabalala Self’s hyper-feminine, intentional and performative figure, which is the 16th commission in the Fourth Plinth programme, is scheduled to remain in place until 2028, when it will give way to a work by another artist, Andra Ursula. For two years, then, this exaggerated

figure will rent a space in the subconscious of visitors to the iconic square in the British capital.

The work has raised hackles not only over the sculpture’s muscular build, wide girth and stylised limbs, which many have argued border on historical or cultural caricature. It has also elicited arguments that the statue should have depicted a white woman rather than a Black woman to represent an “everyday Londoner”. Other viewers have found the abstract, non-traditional form unappealing, questioning whether unconventional or distorted anatomy should be framed as empowerment. Some have noted that, because the figure represents a completely fictional

“everyday” person rather than a recognised historical figure, it feels out of place among the traditional monuments of Trafalgar Square. Others have argued that the statue celebrates identity categories rather than commemorating a historical figure who made a tangible impact on society.

Much of the criticism hurled at the work so far, however, has centred on the identity of the “Lady in Blue”. Apparently, some of its critics would have had no problem with the muscular build, wide girth and stylised limbs if the woman depicted were white. It is difficult not to wonder whether the objections would have been quite so vehement in that case.

As though anticipating the criticism, the plaque beneath the conspicuous sculpture explains:

“She is not an idol to revere or a historic figurehead to commemorate. She is a woman striding forward into our collective future with ambition and purpose. She is a Londoner, who represents the city’s spirit.”

Not unexpectedly, the London mayor’s press office extolled it as “a symbol of confidence and purpose” at its official unveiling last Thursday. The artist, meanwhile, described it in the glossy language of contemporary art-speak, deploying the familiar roll-call of “histories” and “narratives” before arriving at what she apparently regards as the essence of the work: “joy”.

Now, isn’t it ironical that a pedestal that was meant for a king now carries whatever contemporary culture chooses to put there?