TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
Ha. I'm such a scaredy-cat that I send Joe or Annie (a.k.a. my moral support) on my snap-a-snapshot-of-performer mission. Last night, I hid my face behind my hands while Joe stalked Astria Suparak, who exclaimed and stepped back as the flash went pop!
Funny that tho' I am often shy, I am hired to hunt the story down, chase these bodies angling for a few words, more words, another texture that might otherwise be known only privately. Perhaps that is why I am so shy of making such a obstrusive presence as one of the photo/reporter flies buzzing around stage and performer. Culture vulture? I don't know, even as the flashbulb of a stranger's camera confronts the performer, the feasted-upon, the adored, the iconized, the star and starring, if only for a moment, in that moment.