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A New York Escorts Confessions
Alexa and Eva
Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words. And sometimes it ain’t worth squat.
I was lucky enough this week to get a private tour of the Eva Hesse exhibit at the Jewish Museum. I say lucky in retrospect. A private tour of a museum, of course, is always a difficult and wonderful invite to receive. But as to the show itself, I went in pretty medium about it. I’d seen picture of Hesse’s sculpture before, and was pretty sure I knew what they were about. She was a minimalist. She worked with repetition. She used industrial materials. Her forms were suggestive of the body. End of story.
I was so very wrong.
There’s something about seeing the dozen of her works together in a gallery that is so incredibly evocative. Hesse was clearly obsessed with texture. She has this series Repetition 19 III, of nineteen molds of dented buckets, which she cast out of polyester resin and fiberglass. They were just crying out to be touched—luminescent and strange and compelling somehow. You could see where her hands must have run over the material. And then there was this other piece Ascension V where she threaded rubber tubing through this cube. The outside was slick and smooth, but the inside was like one of those sea urchins with all its little feelers sticking out. I was having a whole lot of trouble resisting plunging my hand inside when nobody was looking. Finally I couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Um. Sorry,” I stammered.
“Yes. You had a question?” our guide asked.
“I know this is weird. But can I reach in and touch it?”
“You’d be surprised. Not so strange actually. Everyone asks that.”
“OK. So can I?”
“Alexa—,” said C, my now horrified date.
“It’d be quick and clean. Promise. I just went to the bathroom and washed my hands. See?”
“Sorry. The works are delicate.”
I knew he was right. In theory. This wasn’t the children’s section of the aquarium where you got to pet the horseshoe crabs. But still, industrial tubing was delicate? Since when?
The point was, I’d seen lots of exhibits of pieces by Donald Judd or Richard Serra, the big minimalists, and I’d never wanted to touch them before. There’s something about minimalism’s interpretation through the hands of a woman. There’s soft as well as the hard. There’s heart as well as intellect.
My biggest shock though came at the end of the exhibit where they had movies of Hesse. The story is that she escaped the Nazi Germany in 1938 and settled in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan. She grew to prominence in her twenties and then tragically died of a brain tumor when she was just 34.
I’d seen pictures of Hesse before. Lots of black hair and eyeliner. The kind of picture where you think she was a part of then the Sixties. But there’s something about a film that was so different.
I saw a woman in her late twenties with a chic hair cut, a cute mini and fabulous heeled and tailored loafers. Something I might wear myself. And there she was smiling and walking through all of the oversized and strange fiberglass and resin pieces. I loved that even though she was “serious” and an “artist” and that she was working in the milieu of men, she still wanted to look nice. I liked that about her.
We were just saying our goodbyes and thank yous when I realized I couldn’t yet leave.
“Oh shoot! I forgot my scarf,” I said, grabbing my neck.
“What scarf? You weren’t wearing a scarf,” said C.
“I must’ve dropped it in there. Be back in a jiffy.”
I ran into the previous gallery. I headed straight for the little box. I stuck my hand quickly inside. Cold metal squigglies. Smooth and bouncy. Childlike and funny.
“Hey!”
I looked up to see the guide coming right for me. I was a kid caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Or the proverbial cube with rubber tubing.
So I’m probably banned from the Jewish Museum for life. But at least I got to touch a little part of Eva.
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about me
So why am I writing this blog? I have an inner exhibitionist that just needs to be let out. I've always wanted to bare myself completely in front of strangers but have always been held back by fear.
As strange as it may sound, I've never really truly bared myself in front of any of my clients. For all that they've seen, they've never seen me be me. And for all that I've seen, I simply need to share it with you!
So why should you come? To be tantalized and teased. To get release by knowing the true me.
I promise that I won't bite, and if I do bite, I'll make sure you like it!
my favorite posts
- Caveat Vendor - Part II
- Selling Out (Part III)
- Poops!... I Did It Again!
- My First Escorting Experience
- My First Lesbian Experience
- Daddy's Little Girl (Part II)
- Selling Out (Part III)
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That's what art is really all about in the end, emotion, feelings, and how to communicate those to the public and for the public to receive it.
Posted by kahuna on Jun 9 12:56PMSome artist you barely learned about can touch you in more ways then one, and some big fancy artist (let's not give names)with the millions dollars pieces can let you cold.
Everyone got to eat, beter do it with something you like, but that's why in a way you can't put a price on Art.