It was Friday, and the clouds had been clear long enough for the first termination dust to be visible - a warning of winter's approach and an excellent addition to the view of the Chugach from Anchorage. And I was in the parking lot, staring at them in awe, bedecked in a black leather motorcycle jacket I found in a dumpster, and a conservative silk tie.It was a duality that didn't really work for me - I could remove the jacket and mix in polite company, but at Body Art '95, attached as I was to my shirt and tie, my dress had left me sorely out of place. Leather, piercings and tatoos were in abundance as the crowd mingled in the parking lot, misted by a light rain and bone-chilling temperatures.
I was standing outside schmoozing, and waiting for a meeting which, I would realize later, maybe wasn't such a good idea. Jyl arrived on schedule. She had called me earlier that day, looking for a subject for her UAA English project - a profile. We decided the Body Art show would be an excellent setting. This way, she would get a chance to see me working, a chance to meet people I knew and watch me interact with them, and have a fascinating setting to put it all into perfect, chaotic perspective.
There was the additional postmodern surrealism of one writer, writing about another writer, writing about an event - both writers encompassing the event and the authors to produce two likely very different pieces of work.
I was enthralled, dizzied, and above all apprehensive about what was to come - I heard there would be an opportunity for the audience to try play piercing, and I wanted above all to avoid that contingency.
So my biographer arrived, and I gave her a brief run-down on the circumstances that led me up to that particular moment, and the parking lot schmooze-fest continued. It was long and lively, involving the usual array of colorful people and more.
We entered the theater to Kara Thrasher's drumming - a series of soft, mellow rhythms constantly varying in tempo. Later, she would go all-out, but for now the crowd is pleasantly conversing, awash in the gentle waves of drumming flowing through the room. Red and Blue lights reflect off the curtain, and Angela Ramirez, curator and local artist, occasionally slips in a few words to stall the crowd.
"We're waiting on a Sharp's container," she says, explaining that proper handling of play piercing needles is essential to a safe and enjoyabl masochistic experience.
The show opens with a pair of models, male and female. Both are topless and both have just been play-pierced for the first time. Play piercing is when you stick a needle through the skin and it comes out the other end, reaching about 1/2 inch deep at the deepest part. Participants can be pierced anywhere they choose, but these models had chosen easy locations for their first time -he was pierced through the arm and he through the chest. Each had two needles as a preliminary test, to see how they liked it.
I am amazed, and when they went backstage to debrief, I run after them, to see in greater detail what's going on. While the female model doesn't want her name on the record, Nate Holm agrees. Though apprehensive about the full-on play piercing session that's about to ensue, both models are ready, and already energized by the two needles they'd been pierced with earlier. "Okay, I'm getting a rush now," the woman says, positively giddy at the sensation she's experiencing.
Bliss Frings, a professional piercer from Chicago, leads the debriefing along with her assistant Lesli Bramyk and Kevin, owner of Anchorage's Body Piercing Unlimited. Bliss says she left a successful "corporate life" to pursue a career in body piercing. "This is not about abuse or mutilation" cautions Frings, "It's all about altering your state of mind through acting on the body." She explains the stringent safety precautions the body artists will observe throughout the evening, a ritualized set of safety procedures involving latex gloves, proper needle disposal, and quarantine of people pierced with hypodermic needles.
The models come back on stage for the real play piercing action, and Bliss gives a brief introduction to piercing. "You may really like it because you don't like it, or you may just want to feel something intense you're not used to feeling."
- "This is not about abuse or mutilation" cautions Frings, "It's all about altering your state of mind through acting on the body."
Bliss pierces the models with streamers to create an even more artistic effect, and even introduces a Lite Brite into the mix with an off-hand, "You may remember this from your childhood," as she sticks it into Holm's shoulder. When a needle pops out of Holm's skin, she points out that play piercing is one sport where tight, youthful skin is definitely not a plus.
And through it all, Ramirez narrates as only she can. Oooh's and Aaah's, comments on the movement of the needles, on the reactions of the piercing participants. "Ooh, look at all that ribbon" exclaims Ramirez, "Oh look, she's getting some more." Throughout the woman's piercing ordeal, she's clearly nervous, and taking deep breaths. I wonder if she's really enjoying it or just enduring because of her commitment to the cause. So do the people behind me who are practically wincing with her, and commenting about her breathing. Upon later inquiry, she insists that not only did she enjoy it, she'll probably do it again - and it felt great.
Bliss ends the demonstration with a practical tip: "Most of us have tension that collects in our shoulders. [Play piercing] is a good way to get rid of it," to which many in the crowd respond with cat calls of "Yeah, right." Angela, down with the scene, says affirmatively, "Oh yeah, she feels a lot better now."
At which point she introduces the audience-participation tattoo and piercing contest with a hail of casette tapes donated by Metro Music and Books. The hail gets progessively more stormy as, in response to requests from the cvrowd, Ramirez takes it a little overboard, yelling "harder, harder!" and we begin to hear the screams of pelted audience members. I'm glad they told me I couldn't take home any door prizes...
A long tattooing contest ensues. Categories include men's arms and legs, women's arms and legs, full-front and full-back, and tribal work. For each category, audience members who think they have cool tattoos in each category go up on stage and show their work. Each one says who did the work, and generally whatever else they want to say. Then they pose for the audience individually. The whole category selection returns to the stage and the winner is judges by clapometer. Frankly, I'm a bit suspicious of clapometer judging, but the contest was, nonetheless, exciting.
Interesting contestants abounded. The winner of Men's Legs didn't reveal the story of his tattoo voluntarily. But under Ramirez' questioning, he admitted he had tatooed himself just hours before the show with a large dragon. The full-body contest was interesting. Out of only two contestants, one was clearly a professional tattoo circuit guy, striking poses designed to enhance the appearance of the tattoos through the motion of his rippling muscles underneath. It was cool, but the crowd went with the underdog, a gentleman who was just beginning to cover his back.
As we break for intermission, Ramirez advertises the recommended intermission activity - audience play piercings for $5 a needle. Jyl and I discuss this in the parking lot. She's nervous but thinking about getting pierced, and I'm nervous and leaning against it. I'm the one most wracked with guilt, though. Here I am, covering the Body Art Show, and not getting pierced seems like a total cop-out.
That's what Kevin tells me in the 'piercing room', anyway, as Jyl waits her turn for the needle and I continue to try to squirm my way out of what I must do. Upon being presented with come sort of legal document, though, Jyl's hopes of getting pierced are dashed as she confesses she's not 18.
I guess I wasn't too worried about that, because Wheaton is an intelligent woman in college - I mean, she'd decided to do a writing project on a professional writer experienced at slinging quotes around. And when the shit came down, the organizers of the show didn't pierce her. But the part of the show that came later had me a little worried.
The piercing contest wasn't really organized by body parts like the tattoo show. Basically, all the audience members with lots of piercings got up and showed the audience. All of them had genital piercings ranging from penis rings to labia to clitoris. Two men and three women flashed their private parts to the audience, showing off the piercings, and I wondered if this isn't half the reason of being pierced. I'd certainly show my penis around more if it had a ring through it.
Next came fireplay, the finale of the show. The demonstration got off to a rocky start. The fan kept blowing out the flames, except for when Lesli's hair caught on fire. Bliss had to put that out herself. Then Bliss's gasoline-soaked torch broke, and the flaming tip rolled along the stage towards the curtains. The audience sat in tense silence until Bliss finally recovered the flaming torch, inches from the curtains.
Things got more interesting from here. The flames started going, Lesli was cooing and moaning with peasure, and sporadically on fire. And then Bliss and Lesli started kissing, Bliss touched and kissed Lesli's breasts and then lit her on fire again. It was a very sensual experience, and looked like a lot more fun than play piercing. But then I don't have a T-shirt like Frings' "SADIST - No pain, no date."
I called Jay Brause a couple days later, to see what he felt about the age-appropriate nature of the material presented at the Body Art Show. His position was that people of all ages should be exposed to concepts of sexuality, but in deference to Ramirez, they had restricted the ege of entry to 18. "That should be a decision between individual children and their parents," said Brause, "This show is about art, and the artists are using the human body as a canvass."
Brause also pointed out that the proceeds from the show, which drew 175 people and made $1,000, will fund local artists' projects. 75% of the audience was tattooed or pierced (yes, ears counted), and two "belonged at the Crazy Horse," said Brause, and left at intermission.