Gold's Gym in Venice is mythic and I've been back for two weeks. Long ago, it was a scruffy, stinky, steroid-taking mess and hardcore bodybuilders posed and bulged. It's air conditioned and there are several hand-purifier dispensers scattered around thoughtfully, towels are usually brought to wipe sweat off a seat and sometimes you can spot Bruce Willis (insanely cool) or Hulk Hogan posing for pictures. Ellen Barkin trained here before her Ron Perlman fiasco. It's a kinder place with nice cars in the parking lots but there's still a spot for mean motorcycles gussied up.
My copy of Robert Maplethorpe's Lady, Lisa Lyon is tattered somewhere. I don't bring bags of cereal to the gym anymore or carry a list of what machines to do that day. Being strong would be nice, I think.
Beauty comes in all shapes but a beekeeper hat with a flower becomes dangerously romantic. Mary McDonald made them for me with yards of tulle and flowers. Daniel Storto's glamorous hand made gloves would be necessary too. A little fantasy and three sets of twelve. My little white leather weightlifter gloves are not my mother's little lady gloves.
More photos of Robert Maplethorpe's exquisite work.