Fun is not a word I would use to define my time in The Hague at KABK. Yes, it shook the basis of my understanding of art, forced me to confront how people see what I do, and question the spaces my work should inhabit. But after 8 years living in the Netherlands, it is hard for me to think fun is something you can find in The Hague. A dreadful path of struggles and self-doubt, for sure, but fun? Never seen her. Yet, if there is something the city can do, it is to tease you with the promise that, somewhere, there is much more than what you are seeing. Once a guy told us that The Hague has one of the most vibrant and evasive underground scenes in the country, and I believe him because any evidence of an out-of-the-norm life has totally evaded me, except at two places: the gay cruising nude beach, and Maze, a darkroom a hundred meters away from my old studio at KABK.
Divided into two sections, a sex shop at the front of the store and a labyrinth-shaped darkroom at the back, Maze is the closest cruising place you can find to The Hague central station. My first impression of the place is always the smell, a mix of plastic and poppers that hits you like a wall as soon as you cross the entrance door. I was prepared to be welcomed by the archie-sexy Gideon, but instead, at the cash desk was working the “Limp guy”, a character responsible for most of the complaints about the venue on Google Maps, and who, contrary to the bad reviews, has always been very nice to me. While paying the entrance fee (10 euros including a euro coin for the locker), he explains to me that is Tuesday’s naked party, hence I must undressed, which I did, only to be remembered that this is The Hague and naked means keeping your underwear, so for the rest of the night I was the only naked person between halfdressed people covering their crotches while walking around.
The evening was slow, and there was a silent agreement that the few guys at the venue did not want to have sex with each other, resulting in them all being located at the entrance of the darkroom in dire need of someone new to shake the dynamic up. Between the sex shop and the cruising area in Maze, there is a heavy plastic curtain that makes a very specific sound. Once you enter, you see the lockers, two big rooms showing straight and gay porn, a toilet, a urinal with a shower next to it, and a hidden room with two chairs, a mirror, and a screen. On quiet days, some regulars wander between those rooms and corridors idly, and as soon as they hear the sound of the curtains, quickly move to the back of the store where the maze and gloryholes are located. There, each one has their strategy for the hunt.
However, that night nothing was happening, and to fight boredom, I tried to start some conversations, but if it is already difficult to talk with gay guys in a cruising context when you are dressed, imagine being the only naked person in the whole venue. I could feel I made people uncomfortable just by getting closer to them. A beautiful young guy, someone you would see in a hip place in Amsterdam more than in Maze, took my talking as the definitive cue to leave, quickly dressed, and walked out without looking back or replying to my greeting. A couple more failed attempts, and I finally managed to talk with a guy in his 30s who told me he enjoyed that “management improves the music”, and he heard the good time to visit was not during the parties, but at lunch hours. So I chose to leave and come back at lunch break another day.
It was Friday, and Maze was full of people who could cruise at 14:00: unemployed or retired. Still no Gideon in sight. I noticed most of the action was happening in the screening rooms close to the entrance. An old guy with a chain necklace, jockstrap, and a Prince Albert was getting sucked surrounded by a group of guys jerking off and looking at him. A similar circle jerk scene was happening in the other cinema. That day, I finally understood the layout of the mysterious room with two chairs and a mirror. One guy sits in the center to jerk off and look at the screen, while someone can sit on the second chair, waiting for the sign to blow the person in the center off. The mirror gives another view to the blowee. Although it is not as professional as other darkroom setups and feels a bit Ikea, the idea behind it is quite sexy. Better done than perfect.
Determined to compensate for the disappointment of my previous visit, I went to the back section where all the cabins are. In Maze, everything is connected, meaning all walls have a hole, either for a blowjob or to peep inside. You learn where the holes are by looking at how other patrons behave. I walked around to sense the day’s vibe, and I saw a guy lying down totally still, as if he was sleeping; David Hockney; a beautiful chubby guy who locked himself alone in a cabin; and other retirees looking to snoop some action. The lights that day were particularly strong, and blinded for a second, I bumped into a two-meter figure who efficiently moved me aside and kept walking. When I could see again, I distinguished a very tall grandpa wearing a red wig, red top, black miniskirt, torn fishnet tights, and black high heels, all very unsuccessfully feminine. It was almost intentionally showing the lack of effort. Again, I guess better done than perfect.
If I have to describe the behaviour of most visitors to Maze, I would say they vary in age and mostly feel closeted. They enter without making eye contact, go directly to the cabins, and put their dick inside the gloryhole without caring much what’s on the other side. For the rest of the attendees, who are there to suck dick, it seems like the ideal situation until the DL top turns around and starts begging to be fucked. Then both cabins open, and the dynamic kicks off again, repeating until there is a match. I like to see who ends up with whom.
I heard the sound of the curtains and saw a massive two-meter-tall white guy, clearly closeted, covering part of his face with a cap. You can picture a wife, two kids, and 30 years shared mortgage on a house in Rijswijk. People ran to the back and positioned themselves in different cabins waiting to be selected by the new guy. I was late in the race to the maze, so I had to stand up under a red bulb in the corridor, in direct view of the moment when the massive guy got closer to the cross-dressed grandpa, and together got into a cabin. I moved and snuck into the crowd looking inside through the multiple holes; they were surrounded. What a sight the massive guy was, his skin looking like Greek marble, tights that could end world hunger, and a face that could not hide excitement. I find it a bit of an overreaction because the cross-dressed grandpa was giving him an extremely uncommitted handjob. The whole scene reminded me of Sister Hong, and made me wonder if, in general, I would enjoy cruising more if I wore a wig. Annoyed by all the people peeping, the grandpa started desperately covering the holes with their hands. When they covered mine, I saw the shine of a wedding ring.
Maze does not feel the same. I am aware my opinion is distorted by nostalgia, and the things I have done and tried since then, but I cannot shake the feeling that if gay life has changed for the worse in the last 8 years in the Netherlands, it is more evident in places like Maze, where the fringes and the center of the gay spectrum meet. Long gone are the days when I used to steal poppers from people hiding them in my socks, or when I met a sex addict with whom I felt was melting into a single blop of pleasure while smelling his armpits. There is no Gideon to ogle while smoking and trying to make small talk, and no naked people at its naked parties. When walking out that Friday, I saw a muscular black guy who looked at me up and down and popped his tongue. I recall a Dominican athlete I met once there, a monumental body of muscles who, after doing whatever he wanted with me, gave me a miniskirt as a token of appreciation so I could “look like a woman”. Maybe then, he already knew the secret to finding joy in cruising.
