“Look, I can explain,” says Husby.
I literally just took a picture of a bear and a cock. Not a cock of animal variety, although I guess that depends on how you define animals. It basically looks like a very large teddy bear is having perverted sex (not sure if gay or not since not sure what gender bear is) in a very, very uncomfortable position. It would generally be right up my alley if not for the fact it looks like the bear is doing advanced yoga while having sex. I’ve heard of many fetishes, and I am going to write about the best ones someday, but I am yet to see a porn movie where yoga is an important part of the plot. Also that piercing looks terrifyingly unsexable.
“This makes complete sense,” he says. “This is an artwork called Glory Hole.”
“I can sort of see that, yes.”
“And the bear has to go away, I’m afraid.”
“Away from the cock or the hole?”
“Out of the house,” says Husby, frowning. I’m not getting it.
“Out of the bear house? He has to go to a glory hole from his bear house because of cock art reasons?”
A sigh follows. “No, he has to go away because he’s falling apart.” “Is this a metaphor for AIDS?” I ask, hopefully. “No, it’s just something my ex used to wear.” I am assuming he means the piercing and not the bear. “For a very short time, because you really can’t do anything with it. Like wear condoms. Or have sex in general. Or pee. Or, actually, stand up, because it’s like really heavy. So I used it in the artwork.” He almost definitely means the piercing.
“And the bear is doing what?”
“It’s an unrelated bear.” Oh yes, I’ve seen those in darkrooms, by which I mean I haven’t, because I have a darkroom-o-phobia. “He’s literally falling apart, because he’s eaten by moths.”
“But why is he positioned like that?”
“It’s accidental,” repeats Husby, who looks very nonplussed with my lack of understanding of matters concerning bears and cocks. “I didn’t have space anywhere else.”
So this kind of describes us a bit. We are two artists living in a rather large apartment, which is filled with very large quantities of undefinable objects, many of which are cocks, bears, boar skulls, alien plants, bodybuilders (long story), quilts, Patsy & Eddie, chainmail and I kind of ran out of breath by now. We’ve got an open marriage. Our house is full of accidental bears, mostly on Saturdays. Our idea of a decadent night is watching Great British Bake-Off, discussing fuckability of Paul Hollywood vs bakers themselves and having a cup of really exciting tea, like lapsang souchong. (If you haven’t tried it, I would ask one question – would you enjoy drinking a campfire? If yes, go for it.) One of us is just crazy, while the other one is actually certified crazy. Both of us are too lazy to be on Twitter. We’re definitely NSFW.