Jesus Saves: If this is your motto, you would love the retro block-lettering signage that says just that atop an old, abandoned, asbestos-filled church just off West Trade in the Wesley Heights area.

Frazier Park Tunnel Mural: Every time my dog and I walk through the tunnel under Fourth Street, I feel I’m transported back to “The Wonder Years” era when the parks were filled with children and picnics, rather than the homeless and drug pushers.  And the truth is, the latter is what I sometimes find along that path.  But with a little paint and artsy vision, the floral mural that decorates the otherwise dark tunnel transforms the mood.

Wind Silos: Whoever said you couldn’t polish poop clearly hadn’t met Ned Kahn – the artist who was able to sex up a dull, unsightly parking garage on West Trade with a mirrored mosaic of metallic fabric that moves with the wind.

The Green: Maybe it’s just the writer in me, but this uniquely playful homage to the literary world is my sugar-free version of Willy Wonka’s factory.  If you stop to read and admire the floating storybook pages or animated artwork, you might feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to pee, brought on by the audible walkway of water sounds.

Firebird: Seated outside the Bechtler Museum, it’s the latest edition to Tryon Street’s collection of commissioned art.  The sparkly, glittery outdoor sculpture of mirrored and colored glass is a great departure from the bronze, aluminum, or granite blandness that decorates the other parts of Tryon.  The Firebird adds a kooky joyfulness to our corporate city streets.

So next time you balk at a few extra dollars being spent on sexing up our city, just ask yourself –would you rather look at a girl in jeans and a T-shirt everyday?

~ Amanda Pagliarini

It’s an understandable reaction.  Museums, galleries, even art itself can feel inaccessible, daunting, intimidating, or simply irrelevant.  Why should people step into the Bechtler?  If they do go, won’t the “I’m not sure I get it or give a damn” sign flashing above their heads be detectable by the artsy people?  What can be gained from a trip to the Harvey B. Gantt Center for African-American Arts + Culture that couldn’t be read in a book?  Isn’t a dance performance just a dance performance, a musical performance just music?  How does a static painting or object have any real affect on a person? Or on a city, for that matter?

These are all questions I’ve asked myself.  And I like art.  I spent my first 25 years of life in Washington, D.C., where there is a gallery or museum for every Starbucks.  Twenty of those 25 years I spent in a dance studio.  In college, when I wasn’t studying the art of language, I was cramming my feet into ballet shoes or learning the creative science behind choreography.  And still, I can at times find myself among the masses in Charlotte who believe our city’s booming art world has nothing to do with me.

During her 2009 Oscar acceptance speech, Penelope Cruz addressed this question of relevance so divinely that it has since shifted my perspective.  With trembling conviction, Cruz shared,

“I always felt that this was, this ceremony was a moment of unity for the world because art, in any form, is and has been and will always be our universal language and we should do everything we can, everything we can, to protect its survival.”

Art is our universal language.  It requires no translation, or level setting.  Art doesn’t care where you came from.  It is unconcerned with your background, education or economic status.  It doesn’t demand that those who look at it be cultured or sophisticated.  Art doesn’t hold an expectation or required reaction.  It just wants you to come and see it.

Experiencing art offers individuals a freedom they rarely find anywhere else in life.  You can see what you want to see, feel what you want to feel, and no one can tell you that you’re wrong. Art allows two people to stand side by side and look at the exact same thing yet see it differently – and when they share their differing perspectives, rather than judge, defend or dismiss, they cock their heads and attempt to see what the other sees.

If art can imitate life, I simply don’t know of anything more relevant to us all.

~ Amanda Pagliarini

In the name of sex, art, and Valentine’s Day gift giving, I visited photographer Jeremy Igo of charlotteboudoir.com to take part in the growing trend of boudoir photography (read: slutty, for-his-eyes-only photos, justifiable by the everyday lady for their artistic nature). While this type of photo shoot had always sounded like a fun idea, I never really understood what motivated women to take the leap and have such photos taken of themselves. I maintained the standard concerns: What if the recipient doesn’t react well to them? What if I look utterly horrifying and/or learn of cellulite I never knew existed? What if the photographer is a complete sleaze ball and/or publishes my photos on some seedy Internet site?

Despite arriving at Jeremy’s NoDa studio at 11 a.m. on a Monday, I was offered a cocktail after only a few minutes in hair and make-up artist Kymm’s chair. The mere offer, of which I readily accepted, made me relax and trust him immediately. The Zach Braff lookalike sat and chatted with me while I sipped wine and had my hair and make-up done, helping to make me comfortable so that an hour later when he told me to arch my back and put my ass in the air, I didn’t turn red.

I went in with strict guidelines of what I was and was not comfortable with. After all, I’m a girl who feels as if my eyeballs are being doused with rubbing alcohol when I have to get a headshot taken, never mind standing around in my underwear. Once we got started, Jeremy eased my self-conscious trepidations with his charming direction, kind authenticity, and a little Dave Matthews pumped through the studio sound system. By the end of the shoot I was practically dancing around the studio naked – third glass of wine in hand, of course.

I learned that many women have one of these photography sessions for no one but themselves. It seemed a little self-indulgent to me prior to my shoot, but afterward, I could understand why. I left feeling giddy, playful, and a bit naughty – a frame of mind my boyfriend later told me was his favorite part of the whole gift. And even if I didn’t have anyone to give the photos to, they would serve as excellent motivations to keep my ass on a Stairmaster for the rest of my life.

But I did have someone to give my photos to. My photographer and new BFF sent me his two favorite shots later that same afternoon. I forwarded them to my boyfriend at work at 4:45. He was home by 5:03. And from 5:04 on, it was Happy Valentine’s Day to me.

To contact Jeremy Igo, click here. Find hair and makeup artist Kymm here.

~ Amanda Pagliarini

Need a boyfriend
There is nothing sexier than desperation.  Think about when you go into a store at the mall.  It doesn’t matter if you’re browsing, looking for something specific, walking in with intent to purchase, or simply killing time.  If a salesperson approaches with an eagerness that suggests she works solely on commission and you’re the first customer to come in all day, it’s an instant turnoff and many times, a deal breaker.

You are now justifying to yourself – But I don’t need a boyfriend, I just want one.  If you spend more than an hour a day on match.com; if your friends, co-workers, and hairdresser know exactly how long you’ve been single and the sagas of the last three dates you went on; if you are a member of multiple online dating sites, are a part of an organized social outdoor activities club, and none of the TV remotes works because you’ve hijacked the batteries for your vibrator – you are sending the message that you need a boyfriend.

Text/call/e-mail him
Text him something cute two hours after exchanging numbers.  Don’t wait for him.  Time’s a wastin’.   Rob him of the thrilling experience of trying to woo you.  Emasculate him by eagerly suggesting plans rather than allowing him to ask for your company.  Make him overly confident, thereby encouraging his laziness, by always being the first to reach out.

Don’t take care of yourself.
Rock 3-inch roots.  Sleep an extra 10 minutes and throw your hair into a ponytail rather than style it.  Wear baggy clothes that don’t fit you perfectly because they’re comfortable and allow you to fool yourself into thinking you’ve been to the gym this month.  Your personality will grab him from across the room.

Take what you can get
Don’t be demanding.  Don’t be clear about what you want.  Don’t set any standards for yourself and what you expect from a man if he wishes to date you.  I mean, you might scare him off.  Instead, take whatever you can get.  I can almost guarantee he’ll give you just that.

Inspire the world around you
Putting up inspirational quotes on your Facebook page about attitude, opportunities, doors/windows opening/closing, paths, big pictures, or how you have the greatest friends and family sends the sexy message that you’re miserable and trying to talk yourself out of it.  But if you can fool yourself into believing your world is full of sunshine and rainbows, maybe you can fool him, too.

Take advice from those in the same boat
If you want what someone else has, do what they do.  This applies to all circumstances in life except dating.  When it comes to finding and keeping a man, it is best to consult your fellow single gals struggling with the same challenge.

Think that you are owed something.  And react accordingly
If he asked for your number, took you to dinner, or you chose to sleep with him, then he owes it to you to make you happy and act in accordance with how you wish him to.  Any deviation from these things simply makes him a complete asshole worthy of frequent public slander.

~ Amanda Pagliarini

And then there’s sex.  According to an article in The New York Times Magazine earlier this year, women don’t know what they want in the sack either.  The article, “What Do Women Want?,” explores psychology professor Meredith Chivers’s study of female arousal.  While they watched a series of short porno clips, men and women had their “special places” hooked up to a machine to detect increased blood flow.  As they viewed these clips, which included boy-on-girl, girl-on-girl, boy-on-boy, and boy and girl solo performances, the test’s subjects were instructed to press a button when they felt turned on.  Their responses were then compared to their actual body responses as detected by the machine.

For men, their minds and penises were in agreement.  When they claimed to be turned on, they were, and vice versa.  On average, the straight men responded to clips of boy-on-girl, girl-on-girl, and the girl clicking her own mouse.

True to form, the ladies continued their usual pattern of bewilderment.  The women in the study claimed to be turned on mostly by boy on girl only.  But their nannies said otherwise.  Despite their claims of little to no provocation, nothing got the ladies’ blood flow moving like watching girl-on-girl and boy-on-boy.  While they said to be more turned on by the clip of the man pleasuring himself, their bodies found the woman doing so to be far more exciting.  It was as if the female subjects’ minds and vaginas were taking cues from two different women.

While I find the results of this study interesting, I have to wonder if the contradiction between what a woman claims turns her on and what actually does has less to do with her own confusion and more to do with embarrassment.  In my unscientific conclusion, I would argue that a woman is keenly tuned in to what gets her juices flowing; she just might not want to admit it.

I went through a phase in my early twenties when ladies were actively catching my eye more than they very passively do today.  While it turned out to be a fun time, it started out as alarming.  Caught in a black and white mindset that most of America would have us think in, I feared that if I could be turned on by a woman it was just a matter of time before I would no longer be turned on by a man.  Gratefully, I was having this experience when I was young and therefore living the immature motto, “Do what feels good now, deal with consequences later.”

By embracing my desires rather than dismissing them, I learned that freedom and lack of inhibition was the real turn on.  I think we can all agree that nothing will dry a woman up or take the wind out of a man’s sail quicker than fear of judgment.

Unfortunately for me, I grew out of that phase.  If I hadn’t, I’d be cleaning up to a degree that would put a professional athlete to shame.  Having always been an open book, I became the “safe” girl for my girlfriends and their girlfriends and random girls alike to explore their hidden curiosities.  Not only could they proceed without fear of judgment, they saw that I had been able to indulge and not lose my attraction for men.  Just like a new vibrator, there’s always the valid concern: What if it’s too good and a man can no longer do it for me?

For me and the hetero girls I took a trip to the other side with, we found that nothing can replace the love of a man—their strong hands, hard bodies, musky scent, and protective dominance.  Girls can be fun on a random tequila-fueled night or for a surprise cameo when your boyfriend has been a good boy, but who wants to deal with the fickle indecisiveness of a woman for the long term?

So ladies, I encourage you to try it all—safely of course.  Find out what you really like, not what you’re supposed to.  Knowing this will make sex with whomever you settle down with more enjoyable for you, and less complicated for them.  Sleep with each other, have a threesome, have a sixsome.  Do it in the morning, do it at night, do it upside down.  Ask to watch your gay boyfriends, or just jump in between them.  Do it with a freak or do it with a geek.  Straight might be your orientation, but it doesn’t have to be your edge.

~ Amanda Pagliarini

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