Serious people do not visit galleries in summertime. Sundresses and air conditioning, natural light and white walls, sandals and shortened hours, so it should not come as a surprise that many summer shows happen to be about sex.
Art tries so hard and fails so often; its rare glimpses of anything that gets the heart beating happen at the edges, around corners, behind doors, through tinted windows. Objects that obscure or act as obfuscations of desire, better known as sculpture, are totems to this fact.
This project is a soft-core proposition. It is the erasure of the penis but not the sausage; it is the cloaking of the picture but not the flesh; it is a grainy teenage love scene; it is the shadow of a leathery net; it is the sex organs of a strawberry; it is dancers on bed sheets; it is high heels on canvas; it is sugar on the tongue; it is thongs on a wall.
It is love when your mouth is a little shut.