Response to Nicole Shimonek's Bath Bombs

Bath Bombs: A great excuse for a sexy bath
By Aviva Cipilinski

I went with my lover to check out the Art Building Community exhibit at the University of Winnipeg, only to find the doors were locked. We went to the security desk and told them we simply had to get inside. To our surprise it did not take much convincing for them to let us in. It's amazing what can be accomplished when communicating with an air of authority.

I didn't even need to put on my moustache.

The security guard opened the gallery door for us and left us with basic instructions; to close it on our way out. At that, we had the gallery to ourselves. We walked around the still room, figured out how to plug in and turn on what we had to and helped ourselves to the art.

We walked up to the table of bath bombs and I smiled at her as I put a few into my bag “want to come over later for a bath?” She laughed and nodded “Ok!… so we can just take this stuff? Cool,” she said, and made her way to the couch. I took a card from the table and sat beside her as she listened to the audio for the video instillation.  

On one side of the card was a recipe for the bombs and on the other instructions on how to use them. The card also shared a secret; wildflower seeds were planted in each of them, and tips were given on how they grow best. I am lucky to belong to feminist and radical communities where it is commonplace for artists to give away and trade art and share techniques. However, it was refreshing to see this move from art as capitalist economy to gift economy take place in a gallery, a space which traditionally has a sterile, 'hands off' environment. Having free art in the gallery warmed the space and made us feel more comfortable.

I read the quote on both sides of the card: “Last spring I got stranded in an unfamiliar part of town. A young family helped me out by giving me a ride home with my bicycle. As a token of appreciation, I sent the family flowers.”

We left everything as we found it, except for the bath bombs and post cards that we shoved in our bags. We exited the gallery excited to have so easily penetrated a space that is so often inaccessible. We walked away holding hands, laughing about other possible places we could try to get into for future adventurous dates.

We parted ways to go about our daily obligations; she had to study for a test and I was on my way to an organizing meeting, where I found it difficult to concentrate - completely lost in the sexy thoughts stirring in my mind of the evening's plans.

She arrived at my place later that night and we spoke openly with my roommate and house guest about our evening plans for a sexy bath. We announced last call for the toilet and closed the door behind us.

We both began to remove layers of clothing as she started running the hot water and lighting candles around the bath. I brought out the bath bombs. “Which one do you want to use?” Most had a word written on them: “danger,” “grief,” “lamb.” Some were left blank. 'Let's go with danger,' she said with a sly smile as she threw it in the tub. I jumped right in and watched it rapidly sink towards the bottom. We listened to it sizzle. I put my fingers near it and felt it getting smaller.

After the bomb disintegrated the packet of wildflower seeds emerged from inside and floated to the top of the steamy water. Warm and relaxed, I momentarily sank into my own thoughts, thinking in excitement about planting the wild flower seeds at the entrance to the community garden down the street …my thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by her sexy naked body as she lowered herself into the hot water to join me. We sat at either end of the tub and assessed the scene for more signs of art.

Our masculinities dissolved into the slightly scented water as our bodies became soft and silky from the coconut oil infused art. I moved my hands over her legs and arms to feel the smoothness of her skin. She dipped her shaved head into the water and I watched as the droplets made their way down her neck and onto her chest. Our lips touched and our bodies got closer. We giggled in excitement as she moved onto my lap, wrapped her legs around my body, our breasts pressed together …our movements made easy by our slippery skin…

“Where am I supposed to pee?” a voice rang from a frustrated roommate in the hallway who had just arrived home to find the bathroom occupied. We laughed and smiled at each other and shouted, “come on in!”

She entered the steamy, candlelit room and sat on the toilet directly beside the bath. “It's disturbing how comfortable I feel right now,” she laughed. “Thanks for letting me pee!”

The door closed behind her. We tried talking dirty to make the scene complete and then laughed at our failed attempts. We smiled at the possibility of planting the seeds for a wet dream and thanked the artist for her gift.