Welcome to the first post of the new decade! This year I have decided to stop my previous weekly posts and instead produce a monthly, in depth blog which I intend to focus on concepts directly linked to my practice, as well as continuing to document my work, exhibitions I have visited, and contemporary theories that relate to my interest in viewership, context, the body and feminism… I hope you enjoy!
Earlier this month, Instagram model Kaylen Ward was reported to have raised over $1 million by sending nude photographs to anyone who sent proof they had donated money to fundraising causes tackling the wildfires in Australia. While there has been criticism of course, an overwhelming amount of support has been declared for Ward, as well as other social media stars who jumped on the band wagon.
In the process however, Ward’s Instagram account was shut down, due to Facebook stating that it “violat[ed]” their policies because “offering nude images is not allowed on Instagram”. This got me thinking, once again, about context, voyeurism and censorship. As I am sure you are glaringly aware, Instagram does not allow nudity that shows genetalia, or female nipples, however many companies like Playboy use minimal pixilation in nude images to utilise the loophole that allows nudity without nipples, whilst still posting what could be deemed explicit imagery. So why is this different? Can it really be about the pixilation of a nipple? Or does this once again lead us to discuss context, and the detachment we feel from nudity and sexuality on platforms like Instagram and Twitter, despite the content being no different to the pages of Mayfair and such.
I do not have the answers I’m afraid, but I find it fascinating to consider quite how we consciously, and unconsciously categorize some nude or explicit imagery as tasteful (eg. Life drawing), while other is considered vulgar or inappropriate (eg. Nude selfies). Similarly, our financial and social connection to such material; would we happily buy a ticket to a burlesque show, but turn our nose up at sex workers careers? How and where do we draw the line in what is acceptable, what is explicit, and why scribbling out a nipple changes the content of an image? Well, let’s discuss…
In viewing an anonymous, decontextualized nude, we feel separate, we are a bystander, we are innocent. If we buy a nude painting, we are cultured. If we watch the Victoria Secret fashion show, we are a consumer. If we buy a naked picture of a 20-year-old on social media, we might be considered perverted or be ashamed and embarrassed. Once again, the context of explicit nudity appears to be the deciding factor in whether our viewership is socially acceptable.
Nina Power writes that “pornography has historically split feminism along political lines” (2009: 45) and as such it is – hopefully – clear why some people may not agree with the sale of porn, supposed endorsement of objectification or societally constructed beauty standards. However, as we are considering context rather than porn as an industry, I won’t be entering this particular debate here. What I wish to focus on instead is that, as Power so concisely explains, pornography is a “massive industry with major economic and social import” as well as having “it’s own self-perpetuating culture” (2009: 45). And interestingly, the same can be said for the contemporary art market, which, as I have discussed previously, is a microcosm of self-perpetuating success and a valuation system based outside of aesthetic principles.
In contemporary society, the ownership of porn feels relatively outdated – the dog-eared magazines hidden under mattresses being practically forgotten – and while payment for pornography is still a lucrative business, due to the availability of explicit content on social media and free sites, there does seem to be a growing expectation that pornography should be freely available and easily accessible. Yet if “contemporary pornography informs us of one thing above all else: sex is a type of work, just like any other” (Power, 2009: 55), where does the entitlement to material come from? Why is viewership of bodies – and particularly female ones – expected to be available, yet simultaneously judged when a women provides this availability for a fee?
Once again, we can see a reflection to the arts here, where the struggle for payment, funding and general financial gratification for services provided is overwhelmingly common. A veritable catch-22 of voyeurism and viewership, the audiences of pornography and art alike, are vast and enthusiastic, but become problematic when we talk about the economics of it all – as most things in life do!
More often than not, we can visit galleries or artist websites and see paintings, sculpture and even film that artists have spent valuable time, material and money creating. But would we expect to be able to take a work off the wall in the Tate and walk home with it? Of course not. As such, the willingness to pay for culture is perpetuated – often reserved for the upper echelons, but perpetuated nonetheless. Perhaps then, explicit material being readily available on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr and such, is simply contemporary society agreeing that the viewership of this material should be easy and widespread. Which would surely suggest a wider acceptance of ‘explicit’ imagery. We definitely see this within the arts. Within the last century, pioneers like Robert Maplethorpe, Marina Abramovic, Mark Quin, and Jenny Saville – to name a handful – have pushed the boundaries of how the body is used in art, both as a subject and a medium. And, just as Ward seems to be utilising the demand for the female body for a good cause, this does suggest a growing acceptance – or atleast universality of understanding – of the relevance and prevalence of explicit imagery. As Power elaborates, contemporary porn “can no longer surprise” (2009: 54), both in it’s content and it’s presence, we have been conditioned to expect nudity and sexuality within society now, and as such, the explicit-ness of material that is easily available is grown accustomed to. This shows once again the mentality of viewing the decontextualized nude without connecting explicitness to shame or judgement, and also shows the desensitisation of contemporary society to the very idea of explicitness.
Siri Hustvedt observes that “without a viewer, a reader, a listener, art is dead” (2016: 5). The same, ofcourse, can be said for pornography. We accept that porn exists, we accept that most adults have or do use it, we accept that sexuality exists in all it’s many forms, and we know that sex and lust and voyeurism are pillars of the economic societal structure of the contemporary world, and yet there are still stigmas attached to the production, viewership, ownership of porn, and participation in the continued success of it as an industry. This perfectly shows us how seriously – but subconsciously – we address our reaction to material based on context. Just this morning, my father saw one of my new paintings, which is a response to a pornographic image of a nude woman reclined on a bed. He exclaimed “I love this new one so much!”. Now, you don’t know my father, but I can tell you for a fact he would not have responded as such – well atleast not publicly – had he seen this image in it’s original context. So, of course, I was thrilled. Firstly, because of the compliment to my painting, but secondly, and most importantly, because this epitomises the point of my work; to decontextulise imagery, to utilise the characteristic of paintings as images MADE to be viewed publicly, and to discuss the place for the body (and in this case the ‘explicit’ body) within contemporary society.
So whether or not you agree with models using social media platforms to sell pornography – for their own gain or for charitable causes – , whether you think Playboy is the antithesis or the affinity of Michelangelo’s David, or whether you think pixelating a nipple removes any sexual content of an image, one thing is undeniable: Context is intrinsic to our reading of an image. Be it our public response to it, our aesthetic appreciation, or our choice to view it at all, the conceptual, physical and social placement of imagery is directly linked to our opinion of it, both individually and societally.