So, I was at the MOMA today at the sixth floor exhibit: The Artist in his Art: lots of videos of naked artists running against restraints, grimacing, and in the doorway, two naked statues, a man and woman gazing at each other, as real as Dwayne Hanson's fiberglass sculptures. I went through the door. My bare arm (I was wearing short sleeves) brushed against the female statue's breast. Her breast was warm as embarrassment against my arm. Yoiks, the couple weren't statues after all!
When I recovered, I went into another gallery where an artist: male, young, blond wavy hair, lay naked on, what looked like a funerary bier, a skeleton draped over him. It was lthe opposite of a near-death experience. Instead of the soul rising from the body, the bones did. It was also like a momento morre, the skull in still lives to remind the viewer that death will come soon, so be good!