As the sun rises Sunday morning over the Quicken Loans Arena in downtown Cleveland, 100 women stand completely nude, holding large, round mirrors facing the arena. They're on an empty lot in between a fire station and a shipping warehouse, right on the Cuyahoga River. It's the day before the Republican National Convention kicks off, but on this side of the river, it's nearly silent, except for the snaps and pops of a camera.

Artist Spencer Tunick stands on a ladder holding the camera focused on the women, wiping sweat off his brow. He shouts, "We love you all! This is beautiful," as he takes photos for his art installation, "Everything She Says Means Everything."

Off to the side, more women stand wrapped in sheets and towels shifting from foot to foot and rubbing their hands together, surrounded by piles of bras, panties, T-shirts, shorts, and sundresses. Since Tunick put out his casting call for the event in May, 1,800 women signed up to participate. Women of all different ages, shapes and races came from as far away as Belgium and as close as down the street. Some are here to send a message to Donald Trump and others just wanted to take the opportunity to proudly show their bodies publicly.

"This is for you and this is for our future," Tunick tells the women. "We will shine your light and power onto the RNC. We're going to shine the light of women into this arena."

The morning started at 5:15 a.m. with Tunick and his wife, Kristin, packing up a van to head to the secret location. In spite of the press swirling around the event, they managed to keep the time and location secret. He emailed the address—a private piece of land, which he had permission to use—to 200 women on Friday, hoping that 100 would show up. In spite of the precautions, Tunick anxiously discusses the possibility of Secret Service helicopters flying overhead or cops showing up.

But Tunick is prepared: He's been arrested five times while attempting to work outdoors in New York. "It would just be me they'd arrest—not the women—and Kristin knows what to do if that happens," he says as he packs up the car. He's written on his hand in black marker the mantra, "Calm, Focus, Tight."

"This reminds me of the old days when it used to just be you and me doing these in New York," Kristin says to her husband on the ride over. They've been organizing nude art installations since 1994; Tunick has been planning this particular one for three years.

Kristin usually stays in New York with their two daughters while Tunick does shoots around the world—he just got back from one in Hull, U.K. involving 3,000 people painted blue. But she says: "I had to be at this one. This one is important. I felt like I had to do something, as an artist and a woman. This is the first time I've felt so called to action."

Trump, the presumptive Republican nominee, has been criticized for offensive comments about women, and his vice presidential pick, Mike Pence, signed one of the nation's most restrictive abortion laws as governor of Indiana.

Why they're here

The women start arriving at 6:20 a.m., tightly holding sheets as they walk up. Tunick asked them to bring a cover in case cops arrived and protested the public nudity, which is illegal in Ohio. His backup plan is to have some women make a wall of sheets along the property's perimeter.

After signing waivers, the women begin to introduce each other and chat. "This 65-and-a-half-year-old Jewish grandma wants to take the best picture I've ever taken," says Cleveland native Marsha Besuner Klausner, who arrives wearing an American flag pin and patriotic bandana wrapped around her sunhat. She says, for her, this isn't a political statement, and she declines to talk about the election at all.

For Cathy Scott, a Republican, being here is a message directly aimed at her party's presumptive nominee.

"Donald Trump has said so many outrageous, hateful, inflammatory things," Scott says. "He underestimated his female, Republican vote. I feel like he shot himself in the foot a little bit. I don't think he knows there's a black, single, 35-year-old mom, like me, who is listening to what he's saying. I don't think he knows I'm in his political party—and that's unfortunate."

Monica Giorgio, a 19-year-old nursing student who came straight from the night shift still wearing her teal scrubs, adds: "Because of his negative views on women. I think this is a great way to contrast that."

"For me, it's less about Trump and more about creating positive energy around the RNC and to create light where there maybe isn't as much," says Sabrina Paskewitz, 23, a student who's done nude modeling.

Harmony Moon, 25, smooths her skirt printed with Pokemon cartoons, and says: "I'm here because I'm a trans woman and we're not supposed to like our bodies and I don't like that. It's going to be great! I'm very antsy; it's like Christmas morning."

Some of the women say they had concerns about safety coming out this morning, with news about violence at protests in recent months.

"I told my husband this morning, 'I hope I don't get killed by protestors,'" says Darlene English, 42. "It was definitely a concern but I felt like this was a very important statement to make, especially with my kids. I've got a 7-year-old daughter, a 4-year-old boy and a 9-year-old boy and I wanted them to know that there are times when it's important for them to stand up. I have the belief that [the GOP] is very anti-women, so I wanted to stand up and make a statement that it is unacceptable in 2016."

'Let's get naked!'

At 6:53 a.m., Tunick gathers the crowd. "The Republican party has given an excuse to hate. We have daughters and we want them to grow up in a society where they have equal rights for women," he says. "The sun is coming up. Now, when I say three, let's get naked!"

As soon as the women get into place, a van pulls up with four cops. The driver says to one of Tunick's assistants: "What's going on here? I just wanted to make sure there was no marching. There's not going to be any marching in my area." Then, they shake hands, and he drives off.

As Tunick gets to work photographing, half a dozen men from the fire station make their way down to the edge of the property to watch behind a fence, holding their cups of coffee and sometimes pulling out a phone to take a photo.

The shoot takes less than 30 minutes, and afterwards the women take turns snapping photos of themselves nude with the city skyline in the background.

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"This was awesome," says Q Cooke, 42. "We put some feminine energy into this world, shined some positivity into the world. I sit at home and I watch everything happening and it feels like there's nothing you can do but watch. But this was something I felt like I could actually do. I want to bring about the change and if this, in some way, does that, then I've accomplished something."

Before packing up, Tunick walks to the road where a row of photographers, cops, firemen and paramedics have lined up to watch. A man in a Cleveland Fire uniform shakes his hand and says: "It happened nice and calm and peaceful. Thank you." A paramedic tells Tunick, "I look forward to seeing it."

The women line up to take photos with the artist, who looks relaxed for the first time today. Driving back to the house, Kristin says, "That's the best feeling ever."

"We're all safe," Tunick responds. "What a great morning. It was wonderful; it was exactly what I envisioned from the onset."

Kate Storey Esquire Writer-at-Large Kate Storey is a Writer-at-Large for Esquire covering culture, politics, and style.

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