I thought I’d write something about sensuality, a subject I’m used to exploring physically but not really intellectually. A few recent encounters have gotten me thinking about this aspect of eroticism, either because they were incredibly sensual or completely lacking lustful, amorous pleasure.

For me, it’s not difficult to romp around with someone I find sexy but don’t have much of a personal connection with, and still have a satisfying experience. A truly sensual encounter is very different, it’s more revealing of oneself and there less emotional reserve. Although passionate, animalistic fucking can be sensual, for me it’s usually not. It’s just sexual, visceral.

In the anglo-saxon West, we’re pretty hung up about sexuality in general and definitely about sensuality. I was thinking about this at a belly dancing event recently, where several dancers from different Middle Eastern countries were performing. A Persian dancer had covered her head with light blue silk, which she moved around to reveal only her lips or eyes at a time. As she moved her hips in rhythmic rotation around her tiny waist, she let the let the silk wind around neck and trickle down the smooth line of her back. Every movement was mezmerizingly seductive and I briefly considered forsaking my hetro-sexuality.

I found myself standing at the back of the crowd so I could try my own moves without being seen. Apparently I was being seen, something I realized when I felt another hand in mine. Normally I’d react with suspicion at being touched unexpectedly. The atmosphere was so otherworldly and I’d become so absorbed in it that it almost seemed perfectly normal. I turned to see who it was and found myself being introduced to an incredibly tall, beautiful woman with perfectly rounded cheekbones and glowing, chocolate-colored skin. The person doing the introducing was the same one holding my hand – he looked as though he’d come straight from a hammock in the Bahamas. Very tall, with the same glow as the woman and an overwhelming presence, he told the woman my name was Vanessa and introduced her as Anette. Accustomed to alternate identities, I decided to go with Vanessa, amused and attracted by this man’s boldness. I didn’t have time to think about it, the man already had his arm around my waist and was showing me the Caribbean version of belly dancing. We ended up in a circle with a few more Amazonian goddesses. These women had no reservations about shaking every bit of their beautifully rounded butts while I wavered between testing out my own moves and looking at the rest of the crowd looking at the belly dancer. They were motionless while the woman on stage performed to exotic sounds of the Middle East. I couldn’t understand why they weren’t dancing too but was happy to be in this group of people who literally oozed sensuality without a second thought. I’m not sure what they did after the show as I slipped away when no one was looking but I’m pretty sure they didn’t go home and read a book….

The art market in New York is finally feeling the effects of the burst Greenspan bubble we find ourselves currently negotiating. I’ve always liked Greenspan and his very free-market, capitalist economic philosophy. I read recently that he was actually a friend and self-proclaimed disciple of Ayn Rand, which makes sense. Selfish rationalism; financial deregulation, two peas in a pod…

It was interesting to see how the art market, something of a gage of how the wealthier end of society is dealing with economic conditions, faired this year. The Contemporary and Impressionist & Modern Art sales were brutal to fashionable artists like Hirst, Prince and Warhol. I was personally happy to see the Warhols and Hirsts finally take a hit; Prince at least has a good sense of humor. What buyers there were grabbed “bargains” with typical works by blue chip artists like Yves Klien and Alexander Calder. Although just a minor piece in one of the day sales, some of the most spirited bidding was given to a photograph of Pamela Anderson by Sante D’Orazio. It seems that even in the toughest of times, or maybe especially then, sex always sells.

Pamela Anderson

I was pleased to read of Bulgaria’s forfeit of 220 million euros in EU subsidies because of the unacceptable level of corruption in the country. Transparency International, a non-governmental watchdog, named Bulgaria the most corrupt country in the 27 nation EU.

The issue reminded me of a woman who cleaned an apartment I was staying in for a while in London. She was the same age as me and more educated with two masters degrees, yet she couldn’t find a decent job because her education was not recognized in the UK. She’d left Bulgaria because it was extremely difficult to find work there and she and her sister had tried to set up several businesses, only to be squeezed out by organized crime. The disparity in opportunity between the two of us bothered me. There we were, two similar people in the same place and time, one able to travel, work and live freely in prosperity, the other restricted and limited by virtue of her birthplace. She just accepted it and just plugged away at making a new life.

Several years ago I was the typical ex-pat girlfriend, would-be ex-pat wife. I was living in a tax-friendly city at a luxury development, socializing at the best bars and restaurants and unencumbered by the tediousness of a regular job. I seemed to have everything I’d envisaged for myself but every morning, when my boyfriend kissed me goodbye at 7am, a sinking feeling filled my stomach and a sense that something wasn’t right was what I started my day with.

Most of the ex-pat girlfriends went to lunch and then to the gym and I think my then-boyfriend hoped I would join his colleagues’ wives over chardonnay and shopping for the latest handbag. Retail pursuits held my interest for about a week and subsequently only once a month or so… I like to keep shopping intense and occasional. I instead enrolled in art classes and spent my time in museums and libraries. I drank coffee in bookstores and poured over Conceptualist monographs and Jung. I wanted to do something useful and hated being financially dependent. I was in love but I felt restricted. I struggled between wanting to leave and be free and needing the man I was in love with. Monogamy came naturally – I’m very loyal by nature but there’s always the danger of associating monogamy with ownership. It should be liberating and exist out of desire and devotion. Were I less of a restless spirit, I might have enjoyed my life of leisure a little more and looking back, I wish I could have. The truth is that with my various business projects, romantic freedom and barely enough time to go to Barneys, I’m now a much happier girl.