SCP-173 — An Anartistic Analysis of the Industrial-Biological-Sculptural Contradiction

"Why Does SCP-173 Shit?"

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SCP-173 — An Anartistic Analysis of the Industrial-Biological-Sculptural Contradiction

by Agatha Rights

Why does SCP-173 shit?

For the decade plus that 173 has been in our care, many theories have been put forward surrounding the origin, function or rationale behind how SCP-173 works. Researchers have argued back and forth over how SCP-173 functions, and how we can create advanced systems or complex safeguards to exploit its design — all of which have failed.

We often forget that SCP-173 is more than just an icon, more than just a dangerous anomaly that we've adapted to. SCP-173, first and foremost, is a sculptural piece of art. So why haven't we examined 173 from that perspective?

The answer, obviously, is due to the 'scientific men' who only focused on containment.1 In this, I want to dig into what it means for SCP-173 to be a piece of anomalous art and examine why, from an artistic perspective, SCP-173 is the way that it is.

So, what are the fundamentals of SCP-173?

SCP-1732 is an anomalous sculptural work created from mixed mediums. The work is created of predominantly concrete and rebar, with Krylon branded non-soluble OSHA-compliant industrial spray paint used for coloration throughout. The sculpture cannot move when observed directly by both humanoid and non-humanoid individuals — when SCP-173 is not observed, it will attack, commonly resulting in the loss of human life. SCP-173, in addition, also appears to produce a mixture of feces and blood, most commonly human, at a consistent rate.

SCP-173 is fascinating because it is a contradiction.

The materials used in the creation of SCP-173 evokes hyper-industrialized mass manufacturing. Concrete and rebar have been utilized throughout sculptural history due to a number of factors; they are cheap materials, quick to create with, and draw direct parallels to the industrialized and brutalist sculptural works that emerged from the Ready-Made tradition.

In fact, looking further at anart in general, AWCY and the progenitors of the anomalous artistic tradition were heavily based on Ready-Made and assemblage art.3 Duchamp, Freytag-Loringhoven, Salcedo, the Dadaists; each with a foundational approach towards sculptural works, but focused on the reoccurring images of concrete and metal rapidly changing the world through industrialization. Anart is built directly from that tradition - think about the number of 'anomalous' art pieces that are a piece of art first, with the anomalous properties added after the fact.

In that way, isn't all anart a form of the Ready-Made tradition?

So we have SCP-173, a sculpture made out of industrial materials, and then painted with a commercial brand of spray paint designed for use in marking OSHA safety requirements — the irony of the choice of the artist to use materials that are meant to focus on the safety and protection of regulations on the industrial complex are in striking contrast to the fact that SCP-173 is so deadly.

There is a spark of comedy in the fact that this deadly artwork is painted in colors used for occupational safety and health regulations. By creating such a dangerous anomaly, and then utilizing these colors within it, the artist is tempting us into looking at 173. The colors scream that this is an unsafe object, and the danger matches that. The irony of selecting that specific line of paint instead of another is intentional — the artist acknowledges that, for art to exist, it must be scrutinized. By selecting such bright, intentional colors, the artist entices us to observe their art — more than that, they are forcing us to look at their art for our own survival.

This is a piece of art that not only wants to be looked at, it needs to be observed. In that way, the artist has created something that is impossible to forget, impossible to ignore; we will always remember their work, long after the artist has died. We don't even know who created it — we just know that they did so because it would outlive them.

So wait — what about the poop? Why would a piece of art so focused onto the industrialization of creation be able to engage in the organics of bleeding and excretion?

I argue that SCP-173 is intended to be the artist's child. SCP-173 is their baby, their newborn, their infant hewn from concrete, rebar and the artists own soul; this theme is echoed throughout the work. We do not remember the artist, but we remember the art; too often, parents sacrifice themselves to better their children.

SCP-173 is no different.

First, look at the shape of 173. A larger head; a vaguely humanoid body. It is not representative, but the shape language is clear; in infancy, a human head is proportionally larger to the body than it is in adulthood. SCP-173 does not resemble an adult - the proportions are that of a newborn.

Examining the artistry of SCP-173 through the lens of it being a representation of the artist's progeny reveals that the piece is no more a contradiction than you or I. Furthermore, I argue that the sculpture was always intended to be seen in this way. Why?

Because it explains why the artist went through the trouble of making it excrete human feces.

A human infant is helpless, requires constant observation to prevent harm from falling to the child, and constantly produces an unending amount of bodily fluids. Parents who spend hours watching their child often struggle to stay awake, stay focused, stay watchful — when their observation lapses, accidents happen.

That also describes SCP-173 perfectly.

SCP-173 requires that we constantly observe it for our safety — it challenges the status quo, where the infant is in danger, and parallels the pain that a parent endures when their child is injured. We are both the parent, terrified of taking our eyes away from it, and the infant, placed into a state of immediate danger when we fail to observe 173.

SCP-173 requires that the room is constantly cleaned as it continually produces bodily fluids. An infant too requires constant cleaning; the unending repetition of diaper changes and Band-Aids have been replaced with mops, squeegees and industrial cleaners, but the actions are no different. We could choose to leave SCP-173 in its own filth, but we don't — we choose to take the risk for the sake of keeping it clean and unsoiled?

Why?

Because we have to observe it. We must look at it. We are a victim to the artistic vision. We are parents, we are art critics, we are victims — we must watch 173, because the artist cannot. They most likely died in the creation of the art piece; in that way, SCP-173 is an orphan that requires constant care. By choosing the materials, the appearance and the effects of the anomalous work, they have ensured that somebody will always look after their creation; they ensured that SCP-173 would be adopted.

It goes further than that, though. We need to look at SCP-173 as a cohesive whole as was the artist's intent. Why create a baby from concrete and rebar? Why those materials? The artist made that deliberate choice as a commentary on how we, as a society, engage with ideas of birth and conception.

A womb is a soft, squishy thing, and an infant is no different — these are fundamentally organic, the natural cycle of life and death. The few biological creations we do have are cared for, doted upon, and protected. We protect that which we create, because we want to help it survive beyond us, to grow from our mistakes, to be our legacy. Art is the same. We create artworks to last long past our time, to impact future generations, to say something. With both art and children, the goal is the same — we create that which we want to survive.

So I ask a question: if we are creating things to survive, what better way to ensure that permanency than to use robust, harsh, persisting materials. Concrete and rebar are used in construction; we use them because they are strong and they last. We perceive this materials are permanent, bringing to mind imagery of skyscrapers or building foundations — the artist chose these materials because they would survive, and because we think they should. As a parent, why wouldn't you do everything you can to protect your child? The unknown creator of 173 is no different, they did everything they could to ensure the safety and permanence of their offspring.

And we do it too. We recognize the artist's intent, we play by their rules. Just look at how other artists have captured SCP-173 and the trend is clear — we want to care for the sculpture.

Throughout the history of SCP-173's existence, it has been one of the Foundation's worst kept secrets. In that way, the artist was successful. Not only is SCP-173 referenced as a foundational Anomalous sculpture in anart programs across the world, other artists have constantly attempted to capture and render what SCP-173 represents to them across multiple mediums.4 Looking at the diaspora of renditions, one pattern becomes clear: the artist not only captures the work, but they modify it into their own interpretation, their own progeny, a newborn representation that is both the original artist's intent, as well as their own. Each artist is a parent alongside the original, unknown artist, and the work is their child.

FLMfWlEWUAUA5v7.png

untitled by @elmichiart

The first example is the untitled sculptural interpretation of 173. See how the artist has chosen to render the sculpture siting, as if a child at the feet of a parent. Notice the use of negative space, building the isolation of the sculpture, contributing to our desire to care or nurture. The blood does not look like the result of violence inflicted, but rather violence felt — the sculpture is the victim, the assailant unknown. We want to protect 173 from whatever danger faces it, ignoring the latent danger of the sculpture itself.

Wust_Kleinkind_mit_Rassel_vor_weiter_Landschaft.jpg

Kleinkind mit Rassel vor weiter Landschaft by 'Wust (?)'


Juxtapose this against Kleinkind mit Rassel vor weiter Landschaft by 'Wust (?)'. Here we see the traditional European depiction of an infant at play, a Caucasian infant, surrounded by their toys, in a peaceful meadow. The focus is on the joy the child is experiencing — this is in sharp contrast to how 173 was depicted, focusing on the darkness of the isolation, the inherent danger.



Both figures are seated alone and both are helpless. They sit in similar positions, posed in a duality that exists within 173 alone — what is the line between innocence and danger?

What makes the viewer want to care for one, and avoid the other?

FLBfSUgWQAIc2El.png

untitled by @delomfin

Take this painting as another example. The artist has chosen to render SCP-173 as a cracked baby doll. This pushes the visual dissonance even further; we are taking the form and figure of a traditional child's toy, and juxtaposing that with the danger that we, as a viewer, know SCP-173 holds. If it was a child in this environment, we would feel fear and anxiety; we want to protect them from the dangers.

By contextualizing SCP-173 as a porcelain baby doll, not only does the artist directly challenge the contradiction of the innocence of 173, but it also addresses the contradiction in materials: a porcelain doll made of concrete and rebar is deceptively strong.

tUC8AFR.png

untitled by @dethklok_maggot

The final example is this untitled painting of SCP-173. The sculpture stands alone, in a room, staring directly at the viewer. Very much drawing from the tradition of portraiture, the artist has captured not only the sculpture, but a child-like sense of curiosity in the way the sculpture stares back at us, unsure and awaiting guidance. The background of the painting is blurred, making the 'child' the focus of the composition. SCP-173 is standing still, mouth open in a constant state of confusion, its innocence frozen in time, captured by the artist.

Maria_Teresa_of_the_Two_Sicilies_as_child_-_Galleria_Palatina.png

"Ritratto di Maria Teresa di Napoli bambina" by unidentified painter

We can see direct comparisons to the traditions of portraiture in the Italian renaissance. A portrait of a child was made to immortalize their appearance, so the parents would always have a memory, regardless of any accidents or early death, as was common during the time. In the same way, the painting of 173 is capturing the same innocence and youth as the portrait of the young Maria. See how both figures stare directly at the viewer, observing us with the same curiosity. Notice how both figures stand, clearly posed awkwardly, their head and torso disjointed for the sake of the painting. Look even to the colors being used — both works portray the same paleness and delicate condition.

This is the contradiction — SCP-173 is objectively nothing like the young girl in the painting, and yet, the artists both render the subjects in the same way. We want to see SCP-173 as a child because we want to care.

Look at the examples included above - see how each artist has given birth to their own child, and yet there are undeniable constants. Look at how each piece isolates SCP-173. Look at the ways negative space is used to make SCP-173 feel smaller. Look at how the works isolate the sculpture in contexts of either joy, play or isolation. The threat of danger may be ever-present — but that horror is never the focus. We cannot help but care for the sculpture.

So why does SCP-173 shit?

SCP-173 shits because it is a child, an infant, a mimicry of the parent-child relationship.

SCP-173 shits because we need to see it and remember when we were children, shitting, scared and alone. We need to pity 173, to desire to nurture 173, to want to parent 173 - and when we are hurt by it, those are the consequences for projecting our desires onto nothing more than a mirror.

In that way, we are the same. We bleed, excrete, reproduce and most of all, protect our children; SCP-173 bleeds because it is alive, in a constant state of potential violence. SCP-173 excretes because it needs us to see it as a child. SCP-173 needs a parent, it needs somebody to care.

It needs The Foundation.

This article was originally published in the Spring 2024 Issue of the Foundation Anart Quarterly Journal.

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