But when it came time to divest herself of her saucy black bustier, she panicked, fixed the audience with a wide-eyed deer-in-the-spotlight stare and fled. She made it through the removal of her elbow-length velvet gloves, the requisite alluring glances at the audience, and the tossing of her hair while gyrating her hips. These images, ranging from oil paintings to tacky pin-ups from the 1940s, did not depict naked women as Glanz defines the term.īacked by a drummer (Rob Carnell) banging out a vintage burlesque beat, Glanz led off with a painfully earnest striptease taken straight out of Gypsy Rose Lee’s dustiest playbook. On a screen made of draped fabric, a slideshow of nude women scrolled languidly to the accompaniment of old-time bump and grind music. As Glanz struggles throughout the hour-long piece to get out of her clothing, she is in truth wrestling with the dichotomy of her fear of nakedness and her desire for nudity. Nudity, on the other hand, is without discomfort a condition of utter confidence. The difference between being naked and being nude lies at the crux of “See Me Naked,” an award-winning monologue by Seattle actor Maria Glanz that has been remounted at West of Lenin this month, more than a decade after its debut.īeing naked means being embarrassed, deprived of covering, and ultimately ashamed.
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