Lucy Watson was excited when I said I’d write about her performance at The Anthony Greaney Gallery in the South End. I’d performed with her act Smarty, which is hard to explain, but suffice it to say I had some idea of what she was about.
Naked women dancing was enticing to me. That said, I still had a pubescent idea of feminine beauty. That changed tonight as I witnessed women without cookie cutter bodies arouse me more sexually than Penthouse pets.
But there was so much more to the night than that. Art writer and critic Sampson Wilcox enlightened me thus when I met him after the first performance, with his grasp and vocab of the medium about ten times as great as mine. With his spur of insight I was able to step beyond my essential base in sexuality and music, into the actual phenomenon of women’s bodies, and how they articulate their desire through art, in the notes that follow.
Madge of Honor
Reaching up for a rope on a bell a body like a cut d’Anjou pear curvaceous voluptuous chunky see the peach tan flesh sweat red the twenty minute sexual feat of wild sex she shows her secret parts skipping falling down and rolling missing the rope trying again bending flexing breasts pushes pussy rings the bell
Slight contortions as she slowly moves her black clad body across the white gallery wall rubbing her cheek against it leaving a rouge smear line from lipstick gestures with her hand against it
Four lined handwritten sheets of paper on the hardwood floor she moves them around like playing cards in a game of solitaire there are more than four she stretches them up contiguously one next to another rips of tape and plastic eats the paper she’s nuts her black hair in a bun skirt and boots slowly chews silent tears shreds from clear sticky plastic backing pensive gaze closed eyes
Gobs of pablum spit upon the floor slight look of disgust or anger in eyes revolving a thought round the brain then she licks up the spit like an animal is it sexual or gross I don’t know gross is sexual
Strolls loosely and silently in semicircle round corner of the floor sweet abstracted gaze and screams like a beast
That I understood it’s me in my apartment every day
Maria in silver dress sensual mode with her slender neck graceful as a nightingale slight plump pulp to her legs and arms from bee venom pretty little eye blinks otherwise still both hands on right hip feet apart at angles shadow grand and tall behind on wall switch of hips little lithe shrugs slight curve of lower breast beneath shine of silver
Plié like a dancer touching her toe slight swivel little head nods slips of lips
Lucy Watson & Venus Alba
Lucy in blue light onscreen in the background song about my shadow on camel caparisoned humps with friend behind plaster head big waving cardboard hand she’s not afraid of her shadow
Now she’s asleep on the floor blowing a pipe under sheet she tosses aside primps her face in a mirror Venus in blonde wig “I don’t know do you think this is good” Lucy tells her not to touch her dirty hands to the art Lucy’s at the playground again the little girl now they strip down and have a pillow fight with gauze rags covering each others’ heads with blue scarves duck tape belts holding silver skirts
Pas de deux hand dance with silver masks
Now Venus has naked breasts she’s making her bed she has red hair
Bridging the art and music communities Lucy’s got a strange kind of techno children’s music playing and Venus is shuffling tarot cards
The pair eat candy kneeling across from each other Venus does an ink drawing on paper and on her left palm
The floor is a mess and Lucy’s got red stuff on her face she’s doing something with what looks like a fold up table she’s under it kissing a guy Venus is back looking sexy with bare breasts the two gently sweetly hug