Word: plaster
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There was never any question as to who should sculpt Mr. and Mrs. Robert Scull, Manhattan's leading pop art patrons. George Segal, of course-the man who has made his reputation by casting his models full size in plaster, then setting them in "environments" that range from a washbasin (for a nude washing her foot) to the whole front door of a brownstone. The only thing holding back Ethel Scull was her dislike of being slathered all over with wet plaster...
...first from the neck down. "Take a natural position," Segal urged. Ethel plunked herself down on a secondhand green velvet Victorian couch, one leg tucked under the other. Segal proceeded to swab down her arms, dress, legs and boots with petroleum jelly. Then, carefully dipping squares of cheesecloth in plaster, he began molding them to her body...
...felt nothing till he got to my bare legs," recalls Ethel. "It was deliciously cool. Then it began to get warm. In five minutes, it was hot." Inside the 1-inch of plaster, her body heat was building up at the same time the plaster itself was heating in the process of drying. "You're doing very well," said her husband reassuringly. "I'm burning up!" cried Ethel, as the plaster dried. To cool her, Husband Scull put a cold compress on her forehead...
Slip & Saran Wrap. In 45 minutes, Ethel was hard. "When they tried to get me out of the cast, I wasn't coming out too well," she recalls. "They tipped me over." Her buttons were imbedded in the plaster, so Segal had to snip her out in her slip. As for the boots, they were hopelessly stuck and remained behind...
...Well," said Ethel, "the exact same thing happened. The plaster hardened. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't talk. I kept moaning, hmmmmm, hmmmmm, hmmmmm! They knew I was suffering, but they made believe they couldn't hear...