I want to be the pair of hands for a woman who makes things

I want to be the pair of hands for a woman who makes things. Stretching canvases, hauling, install days, standing in a freight elevator holding one end of something for forty minutes while she decides. I have done it and it is the only work I have ever done where I did not once look at a clock.

Thirty four, Manhattan, I tend bar four nights a week, which pays the rent and leaves my days completely free. Strong, careful, and thoroughly used to being the least important person in the room, which I intend as a recommendation.

The arrangement I am describing is service under a woman's direction inside her actual work, and I should be honest that the appeal is not artistic. It is that on an install day somebody tells you precisely what to do and whether you did it correctly is not a matter of opinion. I have never felt as settled as I do in those hours.

If it grew into something more I would be glad, and I am not making it a condition or hiding it as an agenda. If it stayed exactly as described for years, I would be equally glad.

Not paid, not a job, and I would not take it as one, because the moment somebody is paying me it becomes different work entirely. Not looking for a woman who wants free labour with no relationship anywhere in it. Not looking to be introduced to anyone as an assistant. Not looking for anything that needs my evenings.