I was working in London, then, as an artist's rep. Terrible work: they're terrible people, artists. One of them had a lady friend, called her 'Poodle'. Real name was Gwen. She was one of them, the 'growers'. Ended up about forty feet tall, as I recall.
The artist couldn't have cared less. Was working on an 'installation'. I saw it when it was done: he wrapped Nelson in some crepe paper and ribbon. Pastel. Hideous. City had it taken down, eventually, because of the uproar, but they'd funded the damn thing in the first place, so they couldn't look too keen. Anyway, he had me look after the girl.
Everything had to be ordered special, of course. Food in bulk. We had a sailmaker for the clothes. She said the canvas itched, but what could we do? When she eventually shrank to normal size, she nearly suffocated in the stuff.