Sophie’s boobies

Gothenburg, Sweden–I really started getting into Sophie Calle when I saw her breasts. And I think the most fascinating thing about her is that she is the art. She reminds me so much of Miranda July, except she’s French and more importantly, did it first before a whole bunch of other people.

In one exhibit, she had a bed placed on the Eiffel Tower and asked strangers to lie down with her for a maximum of five minutes and tell her a story. I also watched a documentary how Sophie and her boyfriend, Gerard hit the road to Las Vegas to get married (on a drive-thru!) despite both parties expressing serious doubts…and then how, months after the wedding, they get a divorce after Sophie finds countless returned love letters of Gerard to a woman named H.

I thought, this woman is straight out of Paul Auster’s head and after a little googling, I find out that she actually asked Auster to create a character (Maria in Leviathan) whom she will imitate.

In that one exhibit at the Hassellblad Museum, I found myself spending about 90 minutes in that small space…not because of the openness or the poetry but it was the deliberate consciousness of life as it passed. I felt she used every moment to think about who she is and what she’s doing—whether it’s good or bad.

She is certainly the overkill to the saying, Know thyself.

Her life is dictated by art and her art is directly drawn from her life.

I don’t know if that was her purpose but that’s how it struck me. You know how it is when you’re in a party and you think, ‘okay I’m in a party’, and then when you’re out of it you start thinking that it was actually a fantastic party or conversely, the worst party of your life?  That happens to me too many times where I find myself in a rut when I’m already out of it or in a happy place and only find out when I’ve become miserable.

I am always in awe of people who expose themselves so honestly. I’m glad they’re doing it because it makes everyone else feel less lonely.