When I was in high school, I came across article after article honoring Judy Chicago's "The Dinner Party." Finally, it's being presented in a space I can access, and I finally went to see it today. And let me tell you, those photos, those articles just don't do it justice. At one point, I think by the time I got to Sappho's plate, I thought I'd fall over bawling. It was just really moving. And nope, I'm not bleeding or ovulating now, but there was just something very, very heavy in the air. And the details, all those intricacies, all that thought, all that dialogue we have the privilege/burden/freedom of imagining... it's been a long time since art made it hard for me to move.
But it was the conversation I had just before I stepped into the room, a conversation that picked up several hours afterward, and didn't end until 6 this morning, with a man I met at the exbihit, that illuminated Sunday and made me feel truly in love with this body I'm in for the first time ever. Yup. There was a reason why I didn't feel like waiting in line at First Saturday to see it. I am so glad I went back today.
My lover from SA arrives in a few hours, one of my closest friends might be angry with me, and I go back to work Wednesday, but I'm not shook at all.