Lunar Follies

HUMBOLDT

Arrttbbeatt Chelsea

The first chalice holds a glorious naked girl, perfect in all ways, gentle, beautifully proportioned, and, as the artist’s notes inform us, “modest in public and lascivious beyond telling” at home. The small room is dark and the only sounds audible are those from the vintage Wurlitzer jukebox that plays “And the Angels Sing” repeatedly. The moon looks down, the night grows deep, the sky over the bay turns a profound black as the moon “takes a powder.” The girl may well be locked into her own personally invented and meticulously nourished misery, and soon enough. The second chalice holds nothing, as do the third and fourth chalices. These are not true chalices, but grape-jelly jars, although this matters little, since “this” is not about money! A hat rack completes the installation. When queried, the artist, Benjie Kooba, whose “Semen Dreamin’” piece at the Smith Street Atelier last spring was criticized by the Purity Commission as the cause of wholesale nocturnal improprieties among morally susceptible citizens, remarks: “Don’t ask me!” He is wearing loose-fitting trousers of unbleached linen, well-worn sandals, and a black T-shirt, the very picture of the hot young artist. He is just adorable, despite his snaggle tooth and things.