John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Expose Yourself to Art

How I exposed myself to art. In a trench coat.

This print was hanging in our house while I was growing up. It was the first time I made a connection with trench coats, nudity and art.

But it wasn’t until my first job out of college working as a runner/clerk at Frank Haddad’s law firm that I get to live it.
George Salem, a wonderfully large and loveable fatherly figure and excellent criminal lawyer, asked me to help with research on a case. It was a case to disprove certain “images” published by a client were “obscene.” George’s idea was to have me, the new intern, take my Polaroid camera and trot down to the Speed Art Museum and tour the museum for examples of nudity in art. And click off a few pictures of what I found. We’d then be able to show the “images” the client was associated with were no more obscene than art on display in our fair city’s prized art museum.

Simple enough…and kinda brilliant, I thought to myself.

So, I threw on the tan trench coat my mother had just gotten me for Christmas now that I was needing “Big Boy” office clothes –and headed to Speed.

Fortunately for me there was a new display –probably something George Salem was aware of—featuring extensive and, well, rather provocative, nudity. It was in a cordoned off area but you could stand outside the ropes and appreciate the art. And even try to photograph it.

I noticed that there was a sign at the entrance saying “No photography.” I instantly realized that if I wanted to please my boss—and keep my job—I would need to be innovative and stealthy.

I waited until no guards or patrons were around and stepped toward the display, opened my trench coat –with my Polaroid hidden at chest level– and clicked off a couple of pictures.

Just my luck, a guard walked by at that time and kindly explained to me that I was not permitted to take photographs. I apologized and walked into the next room. And waited for him to leave.
I returned as soon as he left…and went to the other side of the display where there was even a greater show of nudity, opened my trench coat and continued completing my task. Click. Click. Went the camera.

The guard returned but did not see me take the last couple pictures. I smiled and tried to look fascinated—in a high minded and artistic way—in the grand display in the middle of the room. With all the naked people. I was in my 20s and not very persuasive. The trench coat didn’t help things.

The guard smiled back tolerably and, again, eventually walked away…..This last time I found the primo angle, leaned in over the roped off area and holding out my Polaroid for a final few shots, “Click!” and “Click!” And then….”Sir! Sir! I have asked you already to stop taking photographs of the display. I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

And he did.

And I did. Leave.

With my non-obscene and purely artistic photographs. And I delivered them. To my boss. In full uniform. trench coat, and all.

And as a result, I will never ever be able again to wear a trench coat when visiting Speed Art museum. For fear of being mistaken for, well, a curious and camera-happy investigator, shall we say.