The Art of Intimacy

This morning, dark and early, I woke up the way I always do: headphones on, Sadie curled up beside me, and a cup of coffee balanced precariously on my chest (with collagen, of course). The house was still and quiet, my little ritual of peace before the day begins.

(Billie Eilish, ‘come out and play’. “Wake up and smell the coffee…”)

As I sipped and scrolled through LinkedIn, one post caught my eye—a picture of Randi Braun (haven’t met her, but would love to) with her baby. She’s in Vienna, soaking in time with her little one.

It’s a beautiful scene, but what stopped me in my tracks was the backdrop: The Kiss by Gustav Klimt.

This painting, iconic and luminous, has always been one of my favorites. There’s something about the way Klimt captured the intimacy of that moment, the gold leaf shimmering like it’s alive, that makes you feel like you’re witnessing a secret, timeless connection.

It’s not just another kiss; it’s a universe contained in a single gesture.

Klimt had a singular gift for celebrating the feminine form, elevating it to a realm of divine beauty and power. His work often explored themes of intimacy, sensuality, and the sacred, wrapping his subjects in shimmering gold and intricate patterns that felt both ethereal and deeply human.

With The Kiss, he distilled all of that into one breathtaking image—an embrace that speaks to the balance of love, passion, and tenderness.

The way he cradles her face, the way she leans into him, their entire world wrapped in gold. And they even have all of their clothes on still. It’s not about what’s missing; it’s about what’s fully present.

There are all kinds of kisses, and if you’re with the right person, none of them are bad. Some are fire, some are smoulder. I mean, just saying. But this one, here—this kiss—it takes my breath away.

The connection, the tenderness, the raw, unspoken power of that moment—it’s overwhelmingly beautiful.

It’s everything. And who wouldn’t want that? That kind of connection—the kind that wraps you in light, holds you with tenderness, and leaves you breathless.

The kind of kiss that isn’t a promise, but a moment suspended in time.

The kind of moment that takes your breath away, and then takes you a moment to find the real ones again.

I’ve loved The Kiss for as long as I can remember—or maybe, more truthfully, since I knew how. There’s something about that painting, the way it captures intimacy and tenderness, that feels both universal and achingly personal.

The embrace—his strong, grounding presence, her soft, yielding form—is a dance of the masculine and feminine, perfectly balanced.

It’s all just there, glistening golden, like it’s wrapped in light, beauty, and powerful sexual energy. And yet, for all its passion, there’s such tenderness in the way they hold each other, like they’re not just lovers but parts of the same whole.

When I was 22, preparing to move from Wisconsin to Massachusetts, I spent $70—a lot of money then—to frame a print of The Kiss for my first apartment. At the time, it wasn’t about deep meaning or understanding; it was about having something cool on my wall, like we all did with Van Gogh prints, trying to seem like we understood art.

But man, do I ever now.

Now, I understand Van Gogh and Klimt in a way I never could have at 22. Back then, it was just decoration. Now, it’s life.

It’s the artist speaking through his beautiful creation, showing us that he gets it too. That same connection, that ability to express and see life and beauty through art—they had it too!

Just like this song: “ come out and play” by Billie Eilish. She can see it too. She gets it.

Art, music, life—it’s all connection. It’s all the same language.

Call it listening, call it seeing, call it whatever you want.

But once you feel it—once you do—you can’t stop. It’s everywhere. It’s in the art, the music, the quiet moments.

It’s life speaking to you. And once you start paying attention, it changes everything.