Mirror Cube

When we look, we see ourselves.

One can look at the image above through his/her lustful eyes and see a tempting female body, the other will see the concept. 

We are not accepted for who we are, and we naturally

impose our subjective perception on others.

 This thought occurred to me for the first time in September 2015 , when I was 20 years old. I met an artist at his art opening. I rarely like gallery openings in Boston. They're usually full of mundane and unoriginal works. Every once in a while there are great shows around, and this was one of those times. I walked into the gallery which reeked of quality and originality. The body of work and curation was so bold, crisp and contemporary that I instantly got an urge to meet the artist and have a full conversation with him. There was only one man in the room that could be the artist: an extremely stylish, clean and crisp looking man in his forties with classy rectangular optical glasses on. He looked very enthusiastic and open for conversations. From first glance I could tell he was a man of action, who can't be stopped by any obstacles. Clearly an intimidating macho character. 

I was still a junior in college and had zero knowledge about how art world operates. The only thing i had was smart looking eyes, a taste for quality everything and a black natural silk collar shirt tucked into a warm yellow pencil skirt on. Oh and an hour glass body. I looked good and nothing could intimidate me, even my knowledge about my lack of knowledge. 

So I walked up to him and introduced myself as an art student, who was fascinated by the show and would love to meet sometime to hear the artist's story and life experience. I approached with the most innocent intentions, although, as I write I start to realize why things went into the wrong direction. 

He was very nice to me and gladly agreed to converse in the future. We exchanged emails and I left the gallery. 

I was very disorganized in college. Balanced schedule, was something I thought I'd never achieve. Thus, it took me 3-4 weeks to find a free night to meet up with this artist. He was a professor at a university, so nights worked the best for him. (RIIIIGHT)

I was so disorganized that I was late for the meeting for exactly an hour! He obviously didn't wait for me. I called him to apologize and explain my believable excuse fairy tale. He was very patient and nice and offered to reschedule. We agreed on another day and time and hung up. I started to drive home, when I received a text from him saying "Or you can come over and stay here tonight." 

I. was. shocked. I was only twenty years old career oriented little girl, who was daring enough to assume that the artist saw an artist in me rather than a fuckable toy. I had to stop the car and smoke a cigarette to digest the disappointment in myself and the world and the entire human race. It felt like a slap on the cheek from an artist to an artist. I gathered myself and sent him a nice text refusing his offer and went home. I was not sure how to act, and decided that I will still go on the first meeting despite his wrong perception of me.

Couple weeks later we met up at a bar and had a very interesting and somewhat awkward conversation. We continued meeting up once a month or two for a drink. Nothing extra; just conversations. I gained so much art knowledge from those meetings, more than MassArt ever provided. He opened my eyes to pop art, which I did not appreciate before. To me it was a cat and mouse game, so was for him. He would meet up and answer to my endless and sometimes dumb questions, hoping for a happy ending. And I would act slightly flirty to push my own boundaries and come out of my comfort zone. 

Me, You and Louboutons

Soon, I got too busy with school and another existential crisis hit me and I had no idea what the hell i was doing with my life. Meeting him became extremely intimidating and confusing for me. We were on very different mental and life levels. Even though I successfully  kept up with his level before or pretended to, I could not do it anymore. It felt like such an artificial bullshit. 

 

Strangely enough, I still have lots of respect for the artist, because our

interaction made me experience, question and explore new horizons.

I've always had a confidence of a man, who can do everything and who is respected for her mind and behavior. The artist made me feel like a delicious piece of steak, for the first time in my life. He made me realize that my mind and ideas aren't what interests him and many many others, it's my female organs combined with my sharp mind.  

 

A human is composed of personal experiences and of acquired knowledge, and this is the foundation for subjective judgments.

The manner of perception of reality is correlated with our perception and understanding of ourselves. One can look at a street full of trash and notice the beauty, such as the natural light and the shadows created by the smelly chunks or simply the color combinations spread around the street. Meanwhile someone else will only notice the trash and complain about it. It's not about the trash it’s about the viewer.

The better one understands him/herself the easier s/he will understand every other individual, simply because one is composed of everything existing in others to some extent. 

 

Picture being in a square room with no exit. The room is made of mirrors; anywhere you look you see yourself. It's made of mirrors from outside as well. When other people look at it, they know that it’s you inside, but all they see is the reflection of themselves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also:  Exploration of the ideas of female surrealists concerning  the perception of females and female body, through mergence with the legacy of the virile minimalist movement of mirror cube.