This isn’t a book, it’s large-ish art installation at the Hirshhorn Museum that particularly struck me a week or two ago.
Without knowing the title or reading the blurb, you could see that this was… not sexual, but reproductive. Organic. The words and images that come to mind make it sound horribly unappealing and almost grotesque – pendulous testicles and breasts. But the work is not. It’s more primal, like an ancient fertility goddess with unnaturally wide hips and large, sagging breasts which is not intended to be a modern depiction of beauty, but rather of a certain kind of immortality of the human race, the ability to continue the species.
Forgive my terrible photography.