Condom Cloud 2025 | West Hollywood, California
> DAY ONE | FRI 25 JUL → Plummer Park
Normally, I’d inflate a bunch of condoms and attach them to my body so the entrance has impact. But because we had three hours to fill (and previous versions hadn’t invited much public interaction) I decided we’d start minimalist: just one condom each. We'd slowly build the “cloud” over time.
As we dressed in the parking lot, my final note to Brigitte was that we should be solemn but approachable. I used the example of a funeral director: warm, composed, with a comforting gravitas. I imagined our presence as statuesque and the action as quiet, steady, and purposeful, with occasional interaction.
That all changed immediately.
The park was small and enclosed, mostly filled with families and young children. The moment we entered, we were swarmed. There was no space for solemnity so we recalibrated quickly. Smiles. Innocent banter. Playfulness. We weren’t quite used to the materials yet. We had prepared 100 ribbons with metal rings (to attach to wrists and to weight them down, keeping them eco-safe).
After the first hour, we found our rhythm and (admittedly) felt like balloon vendors. Not what we expected, but not unwelcome either. On the way to the venue, I’d told Brigitte my dream was to see 100 inflated condoms scattered across the landscape as a living sculpture. Plummer Park exceeded that by far. We had to return to the car for more materials. In the end, 150 balloons floated through the park, mostly on the wrists of exuberant children.
Some parents were really cool. Others, visibly uncomfortable. One couple asked if they were condoms (obviously!), and when I confirmed, they declined for their child. I get it. Still, it plants a seed—forces a conversation. That’s a form of micro-activism I fully embrace.
Early on, a bold, attention-seeking child (future artist, clearly) looked at a deflated condom and declared, “It looks like a cucumber!” She wanted to know what kind of balloon it was because she’d never seen one like that before. It was early in the day, and we were still cautious, worried the villagers might rise up. They didn’t. All was well.
Later, out of nowhere, a small child looked at me and asked, “Are you a boy?” Flustered and not wanting to ruffle feathers, I answered reflexively: “Sorta.”
Photo: Still from video by Jamie McMurray
