'An Art Story'

Fellow art lover,

You might like one of my recent adventures....

A few nights ago I was engaging in my hobby of gallery crawling with the digital camera. Dark, rainy night. One stop is at this sort of...feminist sextoy shop downtown Toronto that shall go unnamed. They were having a kind of painting/video/installation show. Now normally I'd take an establishing shot of the outside of the gallery, then enter and immediately do a wideshot of the interior. I'm a documentarian, after all. But I thought better of it with this establishment, as I'm not sure what manner of reaction I might get. You see it's the sort of place where women may come for seminars to lie around in a circle, naked, and help each other to pleasure themselves in the name of education.

I enter and I'm the only man on deck. Roughly ten women turned to face me as I stood inside the door, adjusting myself to the pink wall paint and the the biggest collection of strap-on dildos and lesbian sex guides I have ever seen. I moved into the crowd, like a pro I should hope, and approached someone who looked like she worked there.

"Is it alright for me to take some installation photos of the show?".

"I don't think so, the artist has been in the Dominican Republic for a year because she was deported. I don't know if she would approve".

"Very prudent of you to consider her. No problem at all. Thank you", and I turn to leave, as I've other galleries yet to visit.

She says, "But have a bottle of beer. We don't want to carry them home". (I should have replied, "Perhaps you could use a man's help", but didn't).

I graciously thanked her and took a bottle from the tub of ice (as a gentleman must comply). I opened the bottle and really took a look at the paintings for the first time as they hung above the butt plug and vibrator displays.

"She likes her reds" I said, almost to myself, taking a swig of beer.

"She painted them with her menstral blood."

Praise Apollo! It took all my self-possession not to spew the beer in the woman's face. I really do think I hurt myself.

"Hmm...", I replied and walked to the relative safety of the hardcore porn section.

Then (sensing eyes followed me), I actually forced myself to look at the paintings as if I were considering them deeply. I didn't want to simply swill the beer and leave. Slowly, after a long enough time had passed to honour the works, I set my eyes to rest on a rack of cat-o-nine-tails and nipple clamps. They calmed me a little. By the time I'd finished the beer I knew all I know about the range of books dedicated to gay and lesbian kama sutra positions.