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I am nervous as a cat. Today is the day I meet him, creation confronts creator,
face to face. To face? All those hours I sculpted, first the left
head—Stuyvesant Fink’s, and then the right—Remington Falk’s, I longed to see the
actual flesh and blood my oil clay tried to fashion. Now, within the hour, Art
with Life will fatefully overlap: the artist with her model, the scientist and
his prototype, the gender-bending woman with the man who gave her life. |
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Putting on her make-up, a token to accentuate features unambiguous—Nana’s
masculinity near totally eclipsed, like the sun-illumined moon conceals its
shadowed side—glances at her journal and its page of even lines, the
last of which she mouths as a child recites a prayer...with
him who gave her life.
Contemptibly or nobly (?) is what she aims to learn.
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