Dead Bod, Identity and Art

Someone suggested I had made a typo. Eh? I thought, miffed and defensive. “Bod? You mean body.” No. I don’t, it is bod. Bird.” And then I decided to shrug it off. Dead Bod is kind of a Hull thing, a weirdly obscure piece of graffiti that has survived in the face of neglect, or perhaps because of it. I came across him (or is Bod a she?) about a year ago, when it was given to me on a postcard. The story, or even legend, is that Dead Bod was painted on the rusty corrugated iron by a fisherman, to mark the point of both return and departure of  home on the way to Iceland. Someone else told me that the fisherman had painted it for his daughter. Another that it was a result of a drunken three-day excess on shore leave. I would like to know more. What I do know is that Dead Bod has become a symbol of Hull, a ‘Hull Thing,’ a new Land of Green Ginger, along with Chip Spice. It is now to be rehoused, its rusty home condemned to oblivion like so much of the city I remember from my 1970s childhood. I decided to paint Dead Bod, my tribute. Within minutes the original was snapped up. So I made prints of it. And they have sold well too. They cost £7 and are signed, and p&p is on me if you live in the UK. They are a lovely souvenir of the city so many of us are exiled from, and also make ideal gifts. Order one now at You can order any four of my prints for a discounted price. They are all signed.


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