Tuesday, November 27, 2007
More sex problems
I met up briefly with an old friend the other day, in Gerona, northern Spain. She’s an Austrian painter. Recently she attended a master class with an international array of well-known artists and part of the work they were set involved ten minute life studies, a traditional exercise in observation and line. The nudes were a man and a woman and they could be arranged however the individual artist wanted. My friend accomplished six or seven such studies, each one a short narrative of possible relations between couples, though she said that she only drew what she saw and she arranged her pairing, almost intuitively. In many ways the works are more erotic than most of those in the Seduction exhibition, covered in my last blog but a visit to the Picasso exhibition in Barcelona would show that they remain firmly within a tradition of such depictions and hardly stray from the natural ground of, let’s say, the bedroom.
She had been asked to bring examples of her work to a gallery in Gerona and when she disclosed her pieces, the reaction was what one might have expected from any time since sex became taboo, owing to biblical interpretations of western religions, (and today, no doubt, many Moslems would adopt similar attitudes). It wasn’t the fact that the pictures are of nudes, it is the sexual charge that each picture contains. This was deemed “too strong” for the gallery’s public.
When the same artist showed her work in an exhibition, the related website received many emails that were abusive for depicting naked forms and some that assumed that the artist must have permissive attitudes, herself, bordering on ‘nymphomania’. Men, particularly, apparently bought post cards of the works and said they would return to buy the originals but once home they were made to renege on their promises by their infuriated partners.
Why? Were the drawings depicting uncomfortable realities in the homes of would-be buyers? Were these men trying to communicate to their wives something about the shortfall in sexual relations? Or does the same prudishness reign today as it has done through recent centuries?
Like any inspired artist, when she draws, it seems to me, she unconsciously influences line and space with all that she’s seen and heard. The works are vignettes with appealing ambiguities, even though individual viewers may see only one interpretation.
Just a few lines and shading on paper exploring what happens behind many a closed door. Inflammatory for many, nevertheless.
I met up briefly with an old friend the other day, in Gerona, northern Spain. She’s an Austrian painter. Recently she attended a master class with an international array of well-known artists and part of the work they were set involved ten minute life studies, a traditional exercise in observation and line. The nudes were a man and a woman and they could be arranged however the individual artist wanted. My friend accomplished six or seven such studies, each one a short narrative of possible relations between couples, though she said that she only drew what she saw and she arranged her pairing, almost intuitively. In many ways the works are more erotic than most of those in the Seduction exhibition, covered in my last blog but a visit to the Picasso exhibition in Barcelona would show that they remain firmly within a tradition of such depictions and hardly stray from the natural ground of, let’s say, the bedroom.
She had been asked to bring examples of her work to a gallery in Gerona and when she disclosed her pieces, the reaction was what one might have expected from any time since sex became taboo, owing to biblical interpretations of western religions, (and today, no doubt, many Moslems would adopt similar attitudes). It wasn’t the fact that the pictures are of nudes, it is the sexual charge that each picture contains. This was deemed “too strong” for the gallery’s public.
When the same artist showed her work in an exhibition, the related website received many emails that were abusive for depicting naked forms and some that assumed that the artist must have permissive attitudes, herself, bordering on ‘nymphomania’. Men, particularly, apparently bought post cards of the works and said they would return to buy the originals but once home they were made to renege on their promises by their infuriated partners.
Why? Were the drawings depicting uncomfortable realities in the homes of would-be buyers? Were these men trying to communicate to their wives something about the shortfall in sexual relations? Or does the same prudishness reign today as it has done through recent centuries?
Like any inspired artist, when she draws, it seems to me, she unconsciously influences line and space with all that she’s seen and heard. The works are vignettes with appealing ambiguities, even though individual viewers may see only one interpretation.
Just a few lines and shading on paper exploring what happens behind many a closed door. Inflammatory for many, nevertheless.
Labels: Sex and the body of art...
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Sex sex sex sex sex….
Always an attention grabbing headline, don’t you think?
Anyway, it is an appropriate handle for what follows. I went to the Barbican yesterday to see the Seduction exhibition. It is an arty form of what you might see in the various sex museums throughout Europe, such as the one in the Pigalle in Paris. Drawings, sculptures, paintings, photographs and videos depicting naked bodies and sexual acts from early times to today and encompassing the Occident and the Orient. The exhibition is wonderfully well spaced out and the audience admitted in restricted groups so that there is a kind of intimacy necessary for such an event. In other words you could stand in front of some act of fellatio or fornication without feeling you must ‘move along now, sir’.
Whilst there was much graphic representation to see (and warnings that sections of the exhibition might shock) the overall effect was remarkably untitillating. Whether we were being extolled to see sex as a mystical union with nature, a purely physical act of conjoining or self-obsession, or an unequal economic exchange between the genders, the images slipped by and my mind turned over the social and philosophical implications of what was on view, rather than their erotic or pornographic content. There was remarkably little sense of ‘seduction’ in it all. Rather than exploring a range of wiles to persuade the ‘other’ into sexual congress, there was, instead, a cavalcade of frank and sometimes disconcerting, portrayals. Most of what human beings get up (or down) to, is here but, if anything, it lacks the capacity to draw the viewer in. In this sense it is less erotic than one might have hoped – if one agrees that eroticism involves a high degree of mental commitment and participation in a gallery audience.
In the end, I left fully confirmed in my unshakable belief that sex should be the least problematic area of human existence. It should be celebrated for the capacity it has to make us feel less alone, to transport us to poetic realms or to deepen the feelings we have for each other. It becomes a taboo and a danger only when it is used as the oppressive coinage of religious or political bigotry, of debasing commercial interests, or if it lacks true and unequivocal consent by one of the parties involved.
It is really worth paying for sex at the Barbican. But go expecting a cool and surgical account of this most significant human activity, rather than any deeper analysis of its ramifications in the exigencies of social life.
Always an attention grabbing headline, don’t you think?
Anyway, it is an appropriate handle for what follows. I went to the Barbican yesterday to see the Seduction exhibition. It is an arty form of what you might see in the various sex museums throughout Europe, such as the one in the Pigalle in Paris. Drawings, sculptures, paintings, photographs and videos depicting naked bodies and sexual acts from early times to today and encompassing the Occident and the Orient. The exhibition is wonderfully well spaced out and the audience admitted in restricted groups so that there is a kind of intimacy necessary for such an event. In other words you could stand in front of some act of fellatio or fornication without feeling you must ‘move along now, sir’.
Whilst there was much graphic representation to see (and warnings that sections of the exhibition might shock) the overall effect was remarkably untitillating. Whether we were being extolled to see sex as a mystical union with nature, a purely physical act of conjoining or self-obsession, or an unequal economic exchange between the genders, the images slipped by and my mind turned over the social and philosophical implications of what was on view, rather than their erotic or pornographic content. There was remarkably little sense of ‘seduction’ in it all. Rather than exploring a range of wiles to persuade the ‘other’ into sexual congress, there was, instead, a cavalcade of frank and sometimes disconcerting, portrayals. Most of what human beings get up (or down) to, is here but, if anything, it lacks the capacity to draw the viewer in. In this sense it is less erotic than one might have hoped – if one agrees that eroticism involves a high degree of mental commitment and participation in a gallery audience.
In the end, I left fully confirmed in my unshakable belief that sex should be the least problematic area of human existence. It should be celebrated for the capacity it has to make us feel less alone, to transport us to poetic realms or to deepen the feelings we have for each other. It becomes a taboo and a danger only when it is used as the oppressive coinage of religious or political bigotry, of debasing commercial interests, or if it lacks true and unequivocal consent by one of the parties involved.
It is really worth paying for sex at the Barbican. But go expecting a cool and surgical account of this most significant human activity, rather than any deeper analysis of its ramifications in the exigencies of social life.
Labels: Should you pay for sex?
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Celebrating psychopathy...
It was reported, during the Troubles in Northern Ireland, that the numbers of deranged adults who were admitted to psychiatric institutions was at an all time low. Psychopathy had its outlet in killings, kneecapping and other forms of intimidation. There was a grim social place and status for the aberrant.
In Basra, women, sometimes with their children, are being murdered on a daily basis for not wearing full female Muslim dress under a murderous interpretation of Sharia law. This follows years of Shia, Sunni, and Al Qaeda inspired murder, rape and torture that have resulted from the occupation of Iraq by western powers with absolutely no conception of the consequence to their acts.
If there are any lessons from history – and the likelihood is that there are very few - one stands out. This is that when a society is fragmented and convention, order and the subtle interactions of daily life are torn to shreds, then the diffuse and complex way in which the insane amongst us are contained and marginalised, is excised with it. They become liberated and their obscenities are condoned as heroism and celebrated beneath religious or other flags of convenience. Worse, their insensitivity to committing extreme acts begins to excite and stimulate blood lust among their once moral and reasonable fellows. Obscenity multiplies like a virus.
Whatever the society, no matter how perverse the powers that keep it stable, we must consider this one lesson from history if we feel virtuous enough to intercede. How can we remove the virus and leave the body healthy?
It was reported, during the Troubles in Northern Ireland, that the numbers of deranged adults who were admitted to psychiatric institutions was at an all time low. Psychopathy had its outlet in killings, kneecapping and other forms of intimidation. There was a grim social place and status for the aberrant.
In Basra, women, sometimes with their children, are being murdered on a daily basis for not wearing full female Muslim dress under a murderous interpretation of Sharia law. This follows years of Shia, Sunni, and Al Qaeda inspired murder, rape and torture that have resulted from the occupation of Iraq by western powers with absolutely no conception of the consequence to their acts.
If there are any lessons from history – and the likelihood is that there are very few - one stands out. This is that when a society is fragmented and convention, order and the subtle interactions of daily life are torn to shreds, then the diffuse and complex way in which the insane amongst us are contained and marginalised, is excised with it. They become liberated and their obscenities are condoned as heroism and celebrated beneath religious or other flags of convenience. Worse, their insensitivity to committing extreme acts begins to excite and stimulate blood lust among their once moral and reasonable fellows. Obscenity multiplies like a virus.
Whatever the society, no matter how perverse the powers that keep it stable, we must consider this one lesson from history if we feel virtuous enough to intercede. How can we remove the virus and leave the body healthy?
Labels: The deadly virus in humanity..
Thursday, November 08, 2007
"Too much in the sun…"
This paraphrase of a mourning and recalcitrant Hamlet, not wanting to spend time in the glitzy court of his murderous stepfather, came to mind with the latest knockabout findings of health scientists. For years the skin cancer lobby would have us returning to those Victorian days of white skins and multi-layered clothing, parasols and factor fifty. There was always a slight chink in their armour when it came to the sunless winter depressions suffered by people of the north but, they would argue, a skin stays young that sees no sun.
Research, out yesterday, suggests a new take on the place of the golden orb in our health and happiness. Vitamin D, which slides down sunbeams and into our bodies on magical motes, actually keeps us younger at a cellular level. We may look like wrinkled cow-hide handbags from the outside but, unlike most of that kind of container, the contents are ordered well and maximally efficient.
We are vaguely aware that health is the new politics and the body, the subject of ideological war, as vested interests seek advantage for their product ranges, their personal careers or their belief systems. But, typing this in a still hot south of France in November, my body feels pretty damn good and I try to listen to what it wants, rather than what scientific experts might tell me.
I want to be like Hamlet and stay out of the health spotlight, refusing to spend time in the media court or be subjected to media courting.
This paraphrase of a mourning and recalcitrant Hamlet, not wanting to spend time in the glitzy court of his murderous stepfather, came to mind with the latest knockabout findings of health scientists. For years the skin cancer lobby would have us returning to those Victorian days of white skins and multi-layered clothing, parasols and factor fifty. There was always a slight chink in their armour when it came to the sunless winter depressions suffered by people of the north but, they would argue, a skin stays young that sees no sun.
Research, out yesterday, suggests a new take on the place of the golden orb in our health and happiness. Vitamin D, which slides down sunbeams and into our bodies on magical motes, actually keeps us younger at a cellular level. We may look like wrinkled cow-hide handbags from the outside but, unlike most of that kind of container, the contents are ordered well and maximally efficient.
We are vaguely aware that health is the new politics and the body, the subject of ideological war, as vested interests seek advantage for their product ranges, their personal careers or their belief systems. But, typing this in a still hot south of France in November, my body feels pretty damn good and I try to listen to what it wants, rather than what scientific experts might tell me.
I want to be like Hamlet and stay out of the health spotlight, refusing to spend time in the media court or be subjected to media courting.
Labels: I want to be like Hamlet....
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Are they taking the Mickey?
If it had been April the First everyone could have laughed. If you were a science fiction reader or a pro-life activist maybe the lips were puckered and the eyes narrowed as the news came out that mice have been modified, genetically, to run kilometres instead of metres before being exhausted, to eat like a dog without getting fat and to live longer and have sex more often. Funnily enough I saw this news as I put down a hard-boiled but engrossing Sci Fi detective thriller called Black Man by Richard Morgan. The black man in question had also been genetically modified by activating an atavistic gene we used to have when we clubbed everything to death that moved. He is bigger, better, faster and smarter than any unmodified human - and he is also amoral. In Morgan’s distopia the black man is a thirteen and the fundamentalist Jesus freaks of future America regard him as an abomination. Thirteens are hunted down and sent to Mars or imprisoned. Or used to hunt and kill. The racist attitudes of today become magnified to a national fomenting hatred.
Other viewers of the news may have made the not too intellectual leap from Mighty Mouse to themselves and worked out that if they could go to the clinic and have a simple gene-modification they might also be able to run like a cheetah, eat Big Macs without adding an ounce of fat, live to be a hundred and fifty and have sex like a Hitchcockian train and tunnel; infinite entering without ever having to leave.
We seem to be accelerating our capacity to modify ourselves and our fauna and flora in any way we think might meet the challenges of the future; a poisoned atmosphere, over-population, colonies on hostile planets. It is all happening below the level of our consciousness. On the surface we live our varied lives and die and our immortality lies only in the genes that we have passed on to our children, for good or ill, a random lottery set up at conception by adults who have been, for whatever reason, attracted to each other.
However, we are teetering now on the edge of a designer-gene world. Our very natures are entering the laboratory so that our progeny can be planned, mapped and sculpted. As Morgan’s and Mary Shelley’s books both intuit, these offspring could switch from being bonny babies to fearsome monsters.
If it had been April the First everyone could have laughed. If you were a science fiction reader or a pro-life activist maybe the lips were puckered and the eyes narrowed as the news came out that mice have been modified, genetically, to run kilometres instead of metres before being exhausted, to eat like a dog without getting fat and to live longer and have sex more often. Funnily enough I saw this news as I put down a hard-boiled but engrossing Sci Fi detective thriller called Black Man by Richard Morgan. The black man in question had also been genetically modified by activating an atavistic gene we used to have when we clubbed everything to death that moved. He is bigger, better, faster and smarter than any unmodified human - and he is also amoral. In Morgan’s distopia the black man is a thirteen and the fundamentalist Jesus freaks of future America regard him as an abomination. Thirteens are hunted down and sent to Mars or imprisoned. Or used to hunt and kill. The racist attitudes of today become magnified to a national fomenting hatred.
Other viewers of the news may have made the not too intellectual leap from Mighty Mouse to themselves and worked out that if they could go to the clinic and have a simple gene-modification they might also be able to run like a cheetah, eat Big Macs without adding an ounce of fat, live to be a hundred and fifty and have sex like a Hitchcockian train and tunnel; infinite entering without ever having to leave.
We seem to be accelerating our capacity to modify ourselves and our fauna and flora in any way we think might meet the challenges of the future; a poisoned atmosphere, over-population, colonies on hostile planets. It is all happening below the level of our consciousness. On the surface we live our varied lives and die and our immortality lies only in the genes that we have passed on to our children, for good or ill, a random lottery set up at conception by adults who have been, for whatever reason, attracted to each other.
However, we are teetering now on the edge of a designer-gene world. Our very natures are entering the laboratory so that our progeny can be planned, mapped and sculpted. As Morgan’s and Mary Shelley’s books both intuit, these offspring could switch from being bonny babies to fearsome monsters.
Labels: Designer genes.....