Naked Noel

Warning: This post contains nudity.

The final chapter of my work life coincided with the Covid pandemic. I was in the office for about five months until March 2020, when everyone was forced into the paradigm-shifting experiment known as “working from home.”

For the first part of that year, I toiled at the kitchen table of our previous residence. Joe and I moved to our dream home in November of 2020, but until my home office was set up, I continued working at the newly relocated kitchen table.

My employer, the American Heart Association, depended heavily on Zoom technology to conduct business. It was the infancy of Zoom-from-home and a new frontier with little established etiquette. 

We all got used to catching glimpses of one another’s homes – in my case, the cozy den behind my roost at the kitchen table. If only that were all they got a glimpse of.

Headquartered in Dallas, the Heart Association is a profoundly conservative-minded organization. While apolitical, it has a safe and staid brand image and culture. Their idea of going wild is to encourage the wearing of red for Heart Month every February.

My personal brand is the opposite of the AHA’s. Some of you may know of my predilection for contemporary art. I gravitate toward the risqué, and within my art collection, there are several nudes and otherwise provocative images. Among these is a shocking black-and-white photograph, probably by Helmut Newton, that I acquired years ago; it depicts a fully nude woman lying face-up in front of an SUV with police officers looking down on the scene of what appears to be a crash. A flipped wig lies nearby. The image raises questions it does not answer.

The naughty nude now hangs in the living room-adjacent hallway.

At Christmastime, we had a Heart Association Midwestern affiliates’ Zoom Town Hall. Hundreds were in attendance. Everyone was encouraged to come on camera and share their holiday decorations. It was a merry and bright affair meant to instill the season's warmth.

With the demands of moving into our new home, Joe and I did not have time or energy to set up our usual holiday decorations—but we did purchase a bright gold, metallic tree for our living room.

This was one of our last Zooms before we broke for the holidays—and I was in a good mood. I moved my laptop to the living room so my colleagues could see my new digs and the festive décor. The last thing on my mind was the photo of the splayed, nude woman hung by the chimney with care. I had owned this artwork for so long that I had become anesthetized to it.

I did not realize until after the call that the potentially radioactive photograph was in full view during the entirety of the call. Strains of “Do you see what I see?” reverberated through my consciousness. I freaked.

If anyone at the Heart Association had zoomed in on my mantel during that Zoom meeting, they would have noticed the nude car crash artwork. They surely would have had a heart attack and belonged in a new case study. I would have forfeited my job. Not until a week later, on Christmas, did I admit to myself that I had managed to get out of the situation unscathed but for some hand-wringing.

The preceding should have taught me a lesson, but no. In 2023, we had Joe's work holiday party at our home. The infamous nude photo, now located in the hallway, attracted the eye of an onlooker who wanted an explanation of what was going on and why we owned this photo.

I stumbled, hemmed, and hawed. I mumbled something about provocation and vulnerability. My guest manifestly enjoyed watching me squirm. I think he knew the artwork wasn’t even on my radar.

In these days before Christmas, as we try to remember the season's true meaning, I invite you to consider the tale of my nude artwork being on view for two work functions. It may have landed me on Santa’s naughty list, but my getting away with displaying it twice is nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

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