Artifice is beautiful at night, in these metropolitan streets, spotted with sidebars and clubs, the air pulses as you pass them by. The body moves, the hips gyrate to the beat and limbs twitch ecstatically to dance.
Music is meant to be the language here in these places but somehow along the way, it has receded into the background, loud but still shoved to the sidelines. It is essential, but music is not the currency or the objective, the prize money is in the exchange of speculative, assessing, side-glances and of lazy but expectant smiles.
Artifice is precious here in these places of false lights, crowds and sticky alcohol laden floors. The flooring is one huge drunk tongue, soaking up human sweat, tasting the moist air between legs and of dancing soles.
All that glitters is gold.
The currency is artifice, the product purchased isn’t just sex anymore, it is the possibility and the titillation of it all. The look, assessment and smile which never quite reaches the eyes.
Body and face are put on display in animation, half in light, cast in shadow. These mannequins on unique shelves, translated onto dance floor and bar stools, constantly moving, slinking and shifting. Each is cast solitary or meshed with another but never truly alone.
Or are they really?
Artifice is in the makeup, harsh and stark in sunlight, but rendered attractive here, unbalanced but shadowy, a touch mysterious and beautiful. It is in the movement, the posturing and posing, the caricatured grace.
Au naturel is not kindly treated here. It looks muddy, especially at the edges, faded and inconspicuous, hardly worthy of notice beside Artifice. True daylight has no place in these places of false moving lights and of flashing disco red and green.
Artifice is nocturnal queen in these metropolitan streets, her mannequins come alive, graceful, sexy and lustful, yet oddly disjointed and displaced. The paradox enhances her power, as nothing is real, nothing is true in what is said or done in these places. Perhaps the music remains the one true language, but is ignored but danced to, shoved to the sidelines, showing its frustration and impatience in its beat.
Or are they really?
Artifice is in the makeup, harsh and stark in sunlight, but rendered attractive here, unbalanced but shadowy, a touch mysterious and beautiful. It is in the movement, the posturing and posing, the caricatured grace.
Au naturel is not kindly treated here. It looks muddy, especially at the edges, faded and inconspicuous, hardly worthy of notice beside Artifice. True daylight has no place in these places of false moving lights and of flashing disco red and green.
Artifice is nocturnal queen in these metropolitan streets, her mannequins come alive, graceful, sexy and lustful, yet oddly disjointed and displaced. The paradox enhances her power, as nothing is real, nothing is true in what is said or done in these places. Perhaps the music remains the one true language, but is ignored but danced to, shoved to the sidelines, showing its frustration and impatience in its beat.
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