Having just returned from Graceland, my head full of rhinestones, it seemed almost normal to be shaking hands with Leonard Nimoy. What I mean is, this was, for me, a convergence sponsored by whatever capricious MC it is who brings a sense of importance to dreaming. It was 30 years ago last August that Elvis donned his celestial jumpsuit in the upstairs bathroom at Graceland, and the news was brought to me through a message scrolling across the bottom of a TV screen upon which William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy were engaged in scanning an alien world. An important moment in many regards. So to be here in Northampton, stuffed full of fresh visions of Elvis and actually shaking hands with the actual Leonard Nimoy, seemed A-OK.
Still, I was deeply afraid I would screw this up. I might have said, “Nanoo, nanoo,” for instance, and felt like a real jerk. But Nimoy’s jovial presence made it easy. I was here to participate in a photo shoot with Nimoy, who is now (and has long been) a photographer, with several art books and exhibits under his belt in addition to acting and to the duties of being the world’s most famous Vulcan. Well, half-Vulcan. One of his exhibits, The Full Body Project, is currently on display at R. Michelson Galleries. His images are often startling, often lovely, and often focused on the female body (last weekend, the gallery and Nimoy hosted a symposium on women and body issues, based on Full Body Project).
If today you saw some oddly adorned folk heading into Richard Michelson’s gallery on Northampton’s main drag, you might have witnessed some of the many participants in this endeavor. A sheep came in just after me. (Not sure how it signed the release form.) Nimoy is working on a collection of photos of “secret selves,” so we lucky shootees tumbled in as all sorts of unusual things we’d never publicly claimed, and discussed those secret selves with Mr. Nimoy. The result might be a book of photos, even a film documentary, so Northamptonites of every stripe might soon be appearing as subjects in the fine art world, dressed as dinosaurs, hippies, and, apparently, shepherds. Fascinating.
It is perhaps not wise to divulge one’s secret self in print. But I can say that, as I stood chatting with Nimoy, my hair hovering high atop my head while I explained a box full of accoutrements of my secret trade, I expected to wake up at any second. This was all thoroughly surreal, taking in Nimoy’s pleasant baritone and ready smile. Who knew Spock was so fun to hang around with?
As soon as it was over, and it was over fast thanks to the large number of participants, I came up from the gallery basement to the bright Main Street sun. I was smiling helplessly. And I swear, at one point, Nimoy raised an eyebrow just like Spock. That was cool. But Star Trek jokes or no, Nimoy exudes a particular brand of warmth–I got the feeling this was the kind of guy the word "mensch" was meant to reference. And not just because I heard him heartily leading another participant in a rousing version of "Me and Bobby McGee."
