Encounter at the Metropolitan Museum of Art

 

Johannes Vermeer, Study of a Young Woman, 1665-67

Some man said you weren’t as beautiful as

that floozy in a turban, but at least you have

a measure of gracefulness to offset your plain

features, thank goodness for virtue.

I had a laugh when he compared you to Mona

as if you had anything to do with her Leonardo

amused, together in that imaginary space

the gallery

admiring your pearl face

from the corner of my eye.

what you know that I don’t is worth a moment

the shape of Vermeer’s dirty brush and maybe

not by choice

and how to sit statue-still, a porcelain lady

hide your teeth and your dark womb thoughts

relinquish even your name

for father’s art.

–Nicole

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Fatal Adventures 1.19.13–Mosex Revisited

MUSEUM OF SEX
233 Fifth Avenue (@ 27th Street)
New York, NY

In my head I’d imagined it bigger. Something on the scale of the PMA, or even Philly’s City Hall. From Darragh’s description of her first visit, I’d built up a picture of an endless maze, a pictorial journey through the History of Sex. Standing on fifth ave, my expectations around my ankles, I held back the urge to mutter “Really? That’s it?”

The first floor sex shop was surprisingly less shocking and more, I don’t know, coy? It seemed a little too clean, too well put together, like Barnes and Nobles trying to be kinky. There were popular novels, too, such as 50 Shades of Grey, and shot glasses, and coloring books. Hiding in the back of the shop were the actual sex toys, which were only vaguely intriguing. (Why a cupcake?) The shop itself could have made a succinct exhibit, Commodification of Desire, or The Sexual Consumer. But the next floor above made up for all that.

The museum calls it Universe of Desire. To me it will always be the floor where I first saw porn. Or as they put it,“As human behavior becomes more clickable than physical, we can’t help but wonder what this means for our most basic, biological impulse: sex.” says Mark Snyder, Director of Exhibitions and Co-Curator of “Universe of Desire.”  The black walls really help the screens of copulation to stand out, as if they weren’t going to have all your attention anyway. Out of all the kinks, all the video installations, it was the animated cartoon sex reel that made me nauseous. I think because of how exaggerated the motions were. Come on, cartoon dude, she’s not a kabob. I stood there wincing until I’d seen the video through. At least this exhibit helped me discover what I’m not into. One object that I did like on this floor was the orgasm quilt. It was, as you might imagine, a quilt with orgasming faces on each panel. The images came from this project, The Beautiful Agony, dedicated to the beauty of the human orgasm. It gave your eyes something still to rest on, pleasurable instead of demanding. There was a lot of stimuli in that room.

Beyond the digital sex exhibit, the floor I liked the most was called Sex Lives of Animals. It came closest to fulfilling my desire for information as well as arousal. Besides learning about the shocking and ridiculous ways animals get it on, you also get to look at some fun sculptures and pics. Deer threesome, anyone? Or if that’s not to your taste, how about camel masturbation? People laughed in this room, or snorted with embarrassment, or grabbed their friend to point something out. Not the hushed, dark, weird space of the porn floor at all.

MOSEX is an experience that everyone relates to in some way. But going through it feels more like a carnival atmosphere than a museum. There are huge holes in the structure and content, none of which seems logically organized. Sexy sex in other cultures is omitted (Anime? Manga??). Religious attitudes towards sex are never referenced. This is not a scientific inquiry, ladies and gents. But that’s okay, because its target audience is the 18-25 crowd. Girls taking pictures of themselves in front of the exhibits, guys copping a feel of their girlfriend’s butts….the visitors themselves are sometimes more interesting than the exhibits….galleries….whatever they are. I’m still mentally digesting everything I saw there, not sure if there’s any real insight to be had…other than, as much as we may like to have the sex ourselves, perhaps we like even more the suggestions and the possibilities available by watching others have it?

Turbo boobs

If you’d like to check out their other exhibits, here’s the website: Museum of Sex.

–Nicole

Fatal Friday (actually Tuesday) Diez – Tiny Post!

I have just missed Nicole so much

For weeks we have been out of touch

I’m in need of a hug

And the sight of her mug

Made my heart do flips, twirls and such!

_

I’ve been dying from a cold

I feel like I’m 50 years old

It’s a sad thing to see

There’s not much left of me

But I’m still here, or so I’ve been told

We spent our time together

On the web, for worse or better

Finding articles and art

And other sites world’s apart

Some that will be shit forever: http://www.jesus-is-savior.com/Evils%20in%20America/Feminism/feminism_is_evil.htm

My limerick could be brighter

My rhymes could be tighter

But this will have to do

And we still love you

This is all you’re getting out of this writer.

 

….for tonight.

 

Fatal Friday – Seis

10.5.12

This Fatal Friday began like another other…. I was locked in a battle, for an unknown amount of time, with a student trying to take out equipment from the office where Nicole and I work, although she wasn’t on shift. The student and I fought, tooth and nail, he, for his camera, I, for my need to leave the windowless cave. Fifteen minutes later I was free and finally on my way to Nicole and her loving embrace.

When we reunited on grassy turf near our campus library, truly reminding each other that, yes, we do exist apart from one another, fireworks shot out of our faces and the leaves on the trees began to sing out songs of joy and merriment. On a non-fictional note, there was a live jazz concert being played farther down the slope and there was a small crowed gathering.

While Nicole and her special man friend listened, and danced, I ran around photographing the three-piece band and mingling with other photographers who seemed to pop up out of no-where. Apparently I was distracted by the spontaneous jazz for so long that Nicole stole my bike and rode it around our bell-tower for four loops to get my attention and I even had enough time to (accidentally) completely ignore my special man friend when he came to visit me in between classes. Oops. I felt like a douchey douche. Creatively I tried to mend the situation by writing an apology poem, but as the sun set, we all realized that there is only one thing that can truly fix all problems: food.

We retired to Nicole’s apartment, a lovely home with the best fridge imaginable (to my knowledge, it always houses ice cream and cake). There, as I ranted about potentially quitting one of my jobs, Nicole and her room-mates cooked homemade Chinese food and even made me a vegetarian side-dish! Oh the love! But the food-gasms didn’t stop there. We chose unanimously to crawl into Nicole’s boyfriend’s van, a juggernaut of vehicle, and ride in search of frozen yogurt. Down one street and up the next we went, crossing through Philadelphia’s Center City in vain, until we gave up and settled on making a bee-line for West Philly.

After successfully gorging ourselves and agreeing that we felt less guilty about the dessert because we ate ours together, we jumped back into boyfriend’s van and headed home for snuggles and Brendan Fraser. The four of us, one room-mate, one significant other and two feminists, fit like puzzles pieces onto the couch as The Mummy Returns (2001) flickered onto the screen. I’m not to proud to say that I hid in Nicole’s armpit when the scarabs began to eat people alive, but you do what you gotta do. It was worth the cuddles.

Brendan looks like a parakeet in this picture…Or perhaps he can see into your soul. Definitely one of the two.

About 30 min. into the movie I had to leave to catch my train at mid-night, but I was concerned that zombie mummies were going to eat me. Nicole, walking me out to my bike, took time to reassure me that she wouldn’t let anything bad happen. “I promise that if you are killed by CGI zombies, I will make sure your soul is guided into the proper after-life.”

All I have to say is, Go Team! Cooked Bananas!

Fatal Friday Cinco

The gods must have willed it, or the stars were in the proper arrangement, because this Friday Darragh and I finally had our painting session! For awhile I was afraid it wouldn’t happen, but when Darragh showed up she explained that she had been detained by a conversation with one of our professors. He had asked if she was on her way to a “Freidal Friday”? That was a euphoric moment for us.

Once at home, we fortified ourselves with chips, salsa, and fresh waffles (provided by my lovely housemate. Merci!) While listening to the comforting scream of Prince music, we unleashed our week’s stress on whatever unsuspecting paper came our way. As we loosened up throughout the evening, we tried more and more experiments. “I’ve given up my need for lines.” Darragh used mainly watercolor and graphite, often splattering the surface with a brush. At one point as Prince was walling, I heard a slap. Out of my peripherals I saw her simply hitting the canvas with her hand. (It became the penis drawing, don’t you know.)

 Meanwhile, I was incising an apple and using it to apply paint like a stamp. Overall, I used graphite, acrylic, watercolors, inks, apple pieces, and my teeth. At one point, Darragh looked up with a flash of joy and exclaimed, “I just learned how to paint tears!”

The night’s revelations only gained momentum from there. We had been invited to see the debut of drag queen Miss Scarlett Bleu at 11 pm that night. So we showed up, fashionably late, at The Venture Inn. We were in the heart of the Philly Gayborhood. What can I say if you weren’t there? Miss Bleu knows how to work it!

The Femmes ended the night dancing in our own little squares of the universe, at a nightclub recommended by Miss Bleu. Darragh had the supreme pleasure of meeting Mirror Man, a guy who ran his hands through her hair and then pushed her aside to look at his reflection with come-hither eyes. From my first drag show to Darragh’s first experience of really ill drunk ladies, this fatal friday was truly a night of firsts!