The wrath of Antony Gormley is terrible to behold. As we sit on a rooftop terrace Mayfair, in London, he berates my "rudeness" and reels off some of the nasty things I have written about his art. I stop him before he can get to my favourite: "he dominates and squats on British art like a lead toad."
While not exactly a lead toad, Gormley's latest sculpture, which towers over the south-west corner of the garden square where we are tensely chatting, is a crouching steel man. A cubistic man, all blocks and angles; or maybe a metallic Lego man, shining in the joyous June sun. But this colossus contains a surprise: the figure emerging from the facade of a building is just the outer shell of his new artwork. The real treat, if you can afford it, is the luxury hotel room hidden within the statue.
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