The true measure of things is desire—a desire measured in gazes, dollars, heartbeats, and moans silenced by the volume of the spectacle. Since 2007, I have placed my body precisely there, on that forbidden stage where flesh and myth exchange complicit glances. I was a stripper, a spectacle, an accomplice to the gaze of others. Women took photographs. So did I. Later, I wrote books, painted those moments, and preserved clothing, sweat, and memories transformed into ritual artifacts.

The Measure of All Things is a a series of watercolors turned into a scenic ritual. It is the repeated, folded, surreal, and elusive memory, like a secret never fully revealed but felt on the skin. A theatrical velvet curtain and a metallic arrow point toward what remains hidden behind the act: the male body—desired object, forbidden commodity.

This body—my body, all bodies upon the stage—are measures. But measures of what? Perhaps the only exact measure is our need to turn desire into myth, myth into spectacle, and spectacle into the only way to touch what always remains invisible.