Wet Room
The Portrait Gallery — 29 April 26
You don’t enter the steam room; you’re consumed by it. It’s not a choice you make; it’s a compulsion that draws you into its thick and suffocating breath. It’s more than a need or an ache, for they can be soothed, alleviated. What draws you into this slick, tiled cauldron is not a feeling that’s ever satisfied.
This hiss of steam is like a serpent’s sigh. The stench of sweat, salt, and sex is an intoxicating fog. The scalding thrill of being at your most vulnerable and volatile is too much to ever pass up. This room is a pressure cooker, and raw, unfiltered flesh is the only thing on the menu.
And that suits you just fine.