Saturday, July 05, 2003
KNOWING WHEN IT'S OVER, Sex and Lies continued...
The thought of someone wanting to use my feet as a model for a piece of sculpture takes me aback. I'd never thought of my feet as being particularly attractive. I'm suddenly self conscious. "Do you think they're good enough?" I ask, slightly incredulous. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think they would work" he says. He explains he is trying to finish a figure, a stone carving he started in New Mexico, but the feet were giving him trouble, he needed a reference.
I'm intrigued and asked how do we proceed? The space we were standing in was only temporary. He'd already found a permanent studio down on Melcher Street, just three blocks from where I was constructing my new space on "A" Street in Fort Point. I felt my blood rising. He'll be moving in within the next few days. His space is also not zoned as a legal live/work space but he'll be living there anyway as the landlord looks the other way. His main concern was the structure of the building as the floors in his studio had to carry a lot of weight. Near life-size pieces of limestone and granite have to be taken seriously. So far I'd only seen the plaster relief he was working when I walked in. My curiosity is killing me. I've never known a stone carver before, and certainly not one who works from life. He seemed like an anachronism. We were living in a time when abstract expressionism was dead and minimalism was king. I forced myself to try some minimalist drawings in grad school and it seemed so fake, so not what I loved to do, which was draw the human figure. It was the source of what ever power my work had - so regardless of the trends, I stuck with the figure. Evidently Robin had made the same decision. We were kindred spirits in that regard.
"How do we proceed?". He suggests I come meet him at his apartment later on that evening and we can make a plan. He warns me that it is just a temporary crash pad that a friend is letting him use while she is out of town. The "she" part made me sweat. Who is this "she" I wonder but don't ask. I agree to meet him there for a drink after work.
The rest of the day is a fog. I remember entering the building on Newbury street. The apartment number he gave me is a few flights up. I'm worried he won't be there. I'm also worried that he will be there. I knock. The door opens immediately. It is him. The apartment is very dark, sparsely furnished. He has some candles burning. Awkwardness. I've never felt so awkward in my life. My body was getting in my way. He offers me a drink. Wine is sure to help the situation. He disappears and soon returns with two glasses and a bottle. He's prepared. That pleases me. I ask him about his work, I want to see more. He tells me he came to art later in life. He'd been in the navy, done a tour of Vietnam. He's about 5 or 6 years older than me. He bummed around, searching for himself, did a few years in the forestry service - living alone in the woods for long periods of time. He also did a stretch working in the Lawrence Livermore Radiation Labs in California. He made many attemps to finish college and get a graduate degree. Nothing worked until he stumbled into art. The physicality of stone carving and I suspected the release of agression that occured in that act was a perfect fit for him. He had photos. I was eager to see them. He went and got two albums. We sat on the sofa together and page by page he showed me his life's work. Complete from his days on a submarine when he was the guy who painted figures, just cartoony things, below decks. This was before he went to art school. The rest of the work blew my mind. It was so beautiful. Female figures in various stages of dress or undress, but often where the clothing was a chance to seductively hint at the body underneath, besides reveal a spectacular skill at his craft.
I was so excited. What a talent. I could not contain my enthusiasm. He had his arm behind me and then his mouth was on my mouth. He was devouring me. I felt I was being sucked up, enveloped, eaten alive. We were suddenly standing. I felt his hands all over my body. My skirt was at my hips. He backed me against a wall and he was inside me. I felt electrocuted. I'd never had sex standing up. I was flying. I slowly descended. When I left for home later that evening, I knew my marriage was over.
The thought of someone wanting to use my feet as a model for a piece of sculpture takes me aback. I'd never thought of my feet as being particularly attractive. I'm suddenly self conscious. "Do you think they're good enough?" I ask, slightly incredulous. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think they would work" he says. He explains he is trying to finish a figure, a stone carving he started in New Mexico, but the feet were giving him trouble, he needed a reference.
I'm intrigued and asked how do we proceed? The space we were standing in was only temporary. He'd already found a permanent studio down on Melcher Street, just three blocks from where I was constructing my new space on "A" Street in Fort Point. I felt my blood rising. He'll be moving in within the next few days. His space is also not zoned as a legal live/work space but he'll be living there anyway as the landlord looks the other way. His main concern was the structure of the building as the floors in his studio had to carry a lot of weight. Near life-size pieces of limestone and granite have to be taken seriously. So far I'd only seen the plaster relief he was working when I walked in. My curiosity is killing me. I've never known a stone carver before, and certainly not one who works from life. He seemed like an anachronism. We were living in a time when abstract expressionism was dead and minimalism was king. I forced myself to try some minimalist drawings in grad school and it seemed so fake, so not what I loved to do, which was draw the human figure. It was the source of what ever power my work had - so regardless of the trends, I stuck with the figure. Evidently Robin had made the same decision. We were kindred spirits in that regard.
"How do we proceed?". He suggests I come meet him at his apartment later on that evening and we can make a plan. He warns me that it is just a temporary crash pad that a friend is letting him use while she is out of town. The "she" part made me sweat. Who is this "she" I wonder but don't ask. I agree to meet him there for a drink after work.
The rest of the day is a fog. I remember entering the building on Newbury street. The apartment number he gave me is a few flights up. I'm worried he won't be there. I'm also worried that he will be there. I knock. The door opens immediately. It is him. The apartment is very dark, sparsely furnished. He has some candles burning. Awkwardness. I've never felt so awkward in my life. My body was getting in my way. He offers me a drink. Wine is sure to help the situation. He disappears and soon returns with two glasses and a bottle. He's prepared. That pleases me. I ask him about his work, I want to see more. He tells me he came to art later in life. He'd been in the navy, done a tour of Vietnam. He's about 5 or 6 years older than me. He bummed around, searching for himself, did a few years in the forestry service - living alone in the woods for long periods of time. He also did a stretch working in the Lawrence Livermore Radiation Labs in California. He made many attemps to finish college and get a graduate degree. Nothing worked until he stumbled into art. The physicality of stone carving and I suspected the release of agression that occured in that act was a perfect fit for him. He had photos. I was eager to see them. He went and got two albums. We sat on the sofa together and page by page he showed me his life's work. Complete from his days on a submarine when he was the guy who painted figures, just cartoony things, below decks. This was before he went to art school. The rest of the work blew my mind. It was so beautiful. Female figures in various stages of dress or undress, but often where the clothing was a chance to seductively hint at the body underneath, besides reveal a spectacular skill at his craft.
I was so excited. What a talent. I could not contain my enthusiasm. He had his arm behind me and then his mouth was on my mouth. He was devouring me. I felt I was being sucked up, enveloped, eaten alive. We were suddenly standing. I felt his hands all over my body. My skirt was at my hips. He backed me against a wall and he was inside me. I felt electrocuted. I'd never had sex standing up. I was flying. I slowly descended. When I left for home later that evening, I knew my marriage was over.
