Preparation
Saturday 18 January 2020, 19:01 - Alone in the shower, I look at this body sitting under my head and think: in an hour, it is in this outfit that you will be facing fifty strangers.
Anxiety begins gently to tease me for the first time since my registration to the nudist visit, conducted by the artist Stuart Ringholt at the PAC in Milan. As part of the show, the great Australian art retrospective
«Antipodean
Stories» curated by Eugenio Viola, the artist, naked, leads a group of people, also deprived of any accessory, through the current exhibition, reproducing therefore a performance where each
of the visitor is an actor.
When this unconventional event was announced, I had no hesitation. Always looking for incongruous experiences and thrills (I am a skydiving addict and passionate about rock climbing), my name was
among the first on the list for the event that has stirred up the whole Milanese art world: in a matter of a few minutes the tour was fully booked.
Running slightly late, to change my habits, I exceptionally shorten the tonight superfluous stage of a careful wardrobe selection (an asset of nudist evenings), and jump on my bike towards the
museum.
Approaching the institution, a heavy sluggishness, worthy of a Tibetan monk suddenly invades me. At this moment, I look more like a Tai-Chi Master than the traditional sprinter I am before
visiting any exhibition. No need to deny it… the great adventurer that I am feels truly nervous…
At the entrance I meet a first group of visitors. As a good Parisian, I can’t help but greeting them with all the detachment and the coldness required, even if we will all be naked in a quarter
of an hour.
At the entrance I meet a first group of visitors. As a good Parisian, I can’t help but greeting them with all the detachment and the coldness required, even if we will all be naked in a quarter of an hour.
I quickly join the other guinea pigs and sit down to better hang on my current mindset: I have absolutely no desire to undress in front of this assembly of strangers, by the way made up of more than 90 % of men.
The waiting
I am greeted by Diego Sileo, PAC resident curator, and pair whose work has been inspiring to me for several years. Some doubts about the professional merits of my approach come to puzzle my mind.
Very promptly, these doubts are joined by an anguish now build on much more stable bases: the staff delivers me a hanger, a plastic trash bag and another in paper where I should later hand over
the entireness of my personal belongings.
I quickly join the other guinea pigs and sit down to better hang on my current mindset: I have absolutely no desire to undress in front of this assembly of strangers, by the way made up of more
than 90 % of men. The rare female elements are obviously accompanied by their traditional exhibition buddy, with which they engage in a preliminary chitchat helpful in covering up any potential
signs of apprehension.
On my side, I am alone, stuck in my own trap.
Giving up my mission is an option that I won’t consider. It is therefore with a simulated fervor that I start removing my Doc Martens, when I meet the confident gaze from Stuart Ringholt, the
artist behind this farandole: "It's gonna be a fun night" he said!
The strip
Like a mantra, I cling to this sentence, which will give me courage for the next trial: the strip. For this task, my strategy consisted in bowing my head at 90 degrees in order to focus solely on my work, avoiding by all means to meet any other gaze. It is in this ostrich position (let’s stick to the theme of an exhibition on Australian art), that I tear off, one by one, the wintery heavy strata that connect me to civilization epicenter. Each layer removed is enhanced by the feeling of giving up slices of my identity.
Julia Rajacic
Independent art curator
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