Art is So Subjective

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What I describe in this little tale would never happen, but I've seen stranger performance art in real life than what's detailed here, so... Anyway, it's ridiculous, and definitely geared for the big boob lovers out there, a reinvention of a scenario brought up in a previous story I wrote. Hope you enjoy!

And oh yeah, there's incest, but one might think this story is centered around exhibitionism. It's a slow burn.

*****

One hundred sixty-eight women, all "artists" (rolling my eyes) or models, had volunteered and arrived for Patrick Hennegy's latest project, what he considered would be his magnum-opus in his contribution to the art world. "I'm retiring after this," he threatened on several occasions. At the age of thirty-eight, I knew that was a load of crap. Artists say stuff like that all the time.

Patrick often used nudes in his work, much like Spencer Tunick or Marina Abramovic, and this latest exhibition, being held at the Sampson and Lillith Museum of Fine Art, was no different. Patrick employed many mediums (poorly, in my opinion), from photography to sculptures, to living displays, sometimes a combination of all three. Unlike Spencer or Marina, I thought Patrick was a talent-less hack. He believed his themes pushed boundaries. I felt his gimmicks were overplayed, and sometimes just straight up exploitation, without any depth or meaning.

For instance, once he had fifty nude women lined up on a football field, twenty-five on either side. They stood on the sidelines, facing the field at evenly spaced markers, while an entire football game was played out. The women never moved unless they were bumped or run down by one of the team's players. This, of course, happened on several occasions, even when the poor players did their best to stay in bounds. This ridiculous excuse for performance art was Hennegy's best work to date. I won't even bother describing his less inspired garbage.

After busting my buns for the past month to ensure the museum's latest event would go off without a hitch, I had Winston Danley, the head of the board, reading me the riot act. It wasn't supposed to be 168 models. We were actually two models short. Next to Winston stood the always angry and irritable artist himself, Patrick Hennegy. I'd been putting up with his antics for almost a month, while he and his crew had been working on the exhibition in the west wing of the museum. It looked more like a haunted house maze than an art project, in my opinion.

Patrick and his crew had put up walls made of particle board throughout the four-thousand-square foot space made available for his exhibition. It wasn't so much a maze, rather than a route planned out for the guests, from beginning to end. However, some areas allowed access that circled back to other areas. One could effectively visit the exhibition as long as they desired, without being pushed out.

Considering it was made of particle board and would be packed with people, I spent the first two weeks of work on the project fighting with the city for a fire-code exemption. I then spent the next two frantically searching for enough women to meet Patrick's demands for this stupid thing.

"Amanda, you promised Mr. Hennegy you had 170 models ready for this event," said Winston. "We have a couple hours until the opening, and only 168 are here. You better fix this!"

Patrick broke in, "Miss Cummings, I simply will not allow this exhibition to open without the required tools."

I fucking hated his snide tone. "Tools," he was saying. What he was referring to was women. Nude women.

I knew becoming the curator and manager of the Samson