Blue of Night, 2009
The club is real but is a territory of sexual fiction where the lewd nakedness of bodies is shrouded in a dark light. On entering into the faded grandeur the mind registers a deafening anticipation of availability. The place is consumed in a heady mind bubble of fantasies. Wide glances through the eye slits of masks glimmer with a thirst for fluid connection. Intoxicating lines funnelled into the central nervous system accentuates the libidinous mindset of possibilities. This is a playground of desire where the need to grab hold fades like an apparition, a dream like substance, familiar yet unattainable. Skin collides, mixes, entwined, sweating. The voyeur skulks around the moans attempting to steal the whispering forms in all their obscurity, squinting through the inky blue hue looking for the light with its potential to fix.
Timeless, the need to connect traces through the primal gut to connect in the communal cave. It is here that the outside strictures relink control lets go into our imagination led by the twilight of base urges.
‘Most of us carry a sex club of some description in our heads’
Jeffrey Silverthorne, Paris, 2009
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Hôtel Paul Delaroche
58 rue Saint Lazare, 75009 Paris
+33 1 53 01 85 85
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