A bald, bearded guy wearing a women’s mesh bathing suit and hot-pink spectacles showed up one day on a pair of blue steel doors on Crosby Street. By the mirth in his glance, his coy little grin, he knew the reactions he provoked and loved every minute of it. A couple of months later, a pouty-lipped cowboy appeared just up the block. He wore strands of antique women’s beads, vaguely tribal, draped across his chest and a fuzzy, pink cowboy hat, smoking a grossly oversized cigarette—in one word, decadent.
Both pieces were signed “Judith Supine” in a large, loopy scrawl. The name taunted and it teased, and it revealed nothing. Who was Judith Supine? ... (continue reading)
Photo by Jake Dobkin: http://flickr.com/photos/bluejake/tags/judithsupine