A wedding couple poses for photos with The Telectroscope, a creation by British artist Paul St. George that allows people from London and New York to see each other through what is described by the artist as a huge Trans Atlantic tunnel. (Emmanuel Dunand/AFP/Getty Images)

On a recent sunny day on London’s South Bank, a crowd formed around a strange telescopic contraption that appeared to burst from the ground. The device had appeared overnight on a scenic spot on the Thames River overlooking the famous Tower Bridge. A backstory circulated that someone had drilled a hole from London to New York City, and had connected each end with a newfangled and mysterious contraption called a “Telectroscope,” which would allow people to see each other in real time. Fitted with industrial light bulbs and dials and finished in polished brass and dark-tanned leather, the machine looked like it had materialized from the Victorian age. But the sight of ushers in matching T-shirts suggested that the device had a more recent provenance.

It was, in fact, a contemporary installation of interactive public art. For a mere pound, passersby were invited to peek into the lens of the machine. People in New York City — where an identical contraption sat in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge — would be looking back at them, they were told. What they weren’t told was that the telectroscope was in fact a large webcam hook-up.

Despite the ruse, people got into the spirit of it. On the London side, a man in a yellow shirt peered into the mouth of the machine and offered a cautious wave. On a circular screen inside the tube, a group of New Yorkers stood under umbrellas — the weather there was overcast and drizzly — and dutifully waved back. The man in the yellow shirt laughed; he waved back twice, and reached for his camera.

Two young mothers with strollers approached. “What are they saying?” said one as she waved enthusiastically across the ocean. There was much gesticulating in New York. “I think they want us to hold up the babies,” the other said. The women happily brandished their young for display. The babies received thumbs-up from the New Yorkers.

British artist Paul St. George poses in front of The Telectroscope on May 27 near the Brooklyn Bridge in New York. (Emmanuel Dunand/AFP/Getty Images)

Public art isn’t usually as immaculately produced as a theme park attraction; typically, it’s sculptures in front of office buildings, in atriums and courtyards. It’s rarer still for it to be interactive. But according to the creator of the Telectroscope, 53-year-old London-based artist Paul St George, a touch of showmanship is just what the form needs. St. George, who is known for making miniature replicas of famous statuary (like Antony Gormley’s Angel of the North), is specific about his tastes in public art. For example, he thinks the massive sheet metal sculptures of Richard Serra are “literally threatening”; St George much prefers the work of Jean Tinguely, the deceased Swiss artist, whose Dadaist mechanical sculptures contain equal doses of artistry and whimsy.

The Telectroscope is actually named after an early, failed concept for the television. When St George came up with the idea for his cross-Atlantic video link, he hoped that people would begin to develop their own way of communicating. “Left without speech, I thought they’d create their own kind of semaphore,” said St George, referring to the method of visual signalling over large distances, usually using flags or lights. For the first couple of weeks, people were mainly waving and smiling, taking pictures. Some wrote greeting messages on the white boards that were provided for them. (One person boldly advertised for a sublet.) Then, a group of friends got together and spelled out “YMCA” with their arms, their heads nodding to an internal rhythm.

The Telectroscope’s faux-Victorian aesthetic lacked the sophistication of other works of interactive public art. Just a little farther down the Thames, the Tate Modern has led the way with large-scale, widely popular and free interactive installations like Olafur Eliasson’s giant indoor replica of the sun and Carsten Höller’s tubular slides, which are as beautiful as they are interactive. Another fine example is Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate in Chicago’s Millennium Park, a permanent sculpture that blends elegance and interactivity — its mirrored, bean-shaped surface reflecting viewer and city in sublime, playful abstract.

The Telectroscope was, however, undeniably fun and ephemeral. Fitting, perhaps that it was only on display until mid-June. But like any piece open to widespread public scrutiny, success hinges on its ability to appeal universally. Bad public art is open for ridicule and charges that it’s a waste of public space or money, or simply ignored. (For the record, the Telectroscope was funded by Tiscali, a European telecommunications company, but also received support from the Arts Council of England.)

Lorena Yeves, left, 21 of Manhattan, and Elizabeth Castillo, 21 of San Pedro, Calif., are reflected in the Telectroscope glass as they exchange phone numbers with someone in London on May 22 in Brooklyn, N.Y. (Mary Altaffer/Associated Press)

Initial reviews were good. The Sunday Times called St George’s machine “an utterly zany but quite brilliant installation” and opined on its deeper meaning: “The undersea tube is a metaphor for our new connectivity, and the Victorian styling – deliberately chunky – evokes a time when technology was wondrous and physically heavy, a muscular rather than merely a mental effort.” The Observer was impressed with the Telectroscope’s interactive qualities, too — so much so that their coverage was published in their theatre section. “These were the beginnings, mutterings, collaborative nudges of conversations that could last for weeks,” wrote Susannah Clapp, the Observer’s theatre critic, on opening weekend. “What will it be like to look down the tube when something extraordinary has happened, or to be there – miming at people you don’t know and who aren’t part of the crowd – when London is sober and New York is staggering in the small hours?”

“I’ve always tried to take art out of the gallery and put it in the real world for people to interact with,” said St George. “None of these people walking along the Thames or in New York intended to go to a gallery today, yet they’ve just stumbled on this, and they’re trying to make sense out of it.”

Earlier in the day, I saw a shirtless British toddler approach the Telectroscope. He pressed his tiny hands up against the glass, and stood transfixed by the people he saw waving at him from inside the tube. “Show them your muscles,” said his mother. “Show them your muscles, Charlie.” But Charlie stood wide-eyed and motionless – much to the enjoyment of the New Yorkers trying to cajole him into action through exaggerated mime. Whether participants are elated or simply confused, it seems the Telectroscope is capable of broadcasting the full spectrum of human emotion.

St George later summed up the scene: “For me,” he said, “it’s the people who complete the piece.”

Jakob von Baeyer is a Canadian writer living in London, England.