By 6pm this evening the contractors were packing up crane and tackle and tarpaulins and rowing boat, and preparing to leave. And Antony Gormley's figure stood alone in the evening sun, deep in reflection. It looks stunning.
A small group of strangers congregated on the nearby bridge, sharing information, comparing reactions.
An art student on his way to revise for a Modernism re-sit told me several things about Gormley which were incorrect.
A slightly unsettling local expounded knowledgeably about how public sculpture could be broken. He thought this one would survive, but feared for its sibling in Stockbridge where a swan piece was recently damaged by flood waters. He wished the male figure could have been modelled on a more perfect original such as his own (apparently), and revealed ambitions to attach floating detritus to a vertical scaffolding pole, name it 'Plastic Phallic Kebab', then pocket £20,000 in prize money.
A third man, with a lived-in face, suspected some late-night wanderer with a few drinks inside him might mistake the figure for a fellow soul and wander out into the water to embrace him. 'I hope it's not me,' he concluded.
Finally, a quiet woman with dog, both of whom seemed to know more about Art and the Water of Leith than the rest of us put together, ruminated on the sculpture's rustiness. 'For £380,000,' she mused, 'you might wish for a bit more permanence'.
Gormley's piece has only just put its toes in the water, and already people are speculating. It works. AM
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