Sacred Lovers: On Colette Peignot and Her Bad Romance With Georges Bataille

Colette Peignot (aka Laure) and Georges Bataille
 

No one has ever seemed to me as uncompromising and pure as she, 

or more decidedly sovereign, and yet everything in her was devoted to darkness. 

                                                                                                  - Georges Bataille

  

 

I. 

 

Colette Peignot was a French writer and poet, perhaps better known by the pseudonym Laure, who - thanks to ill-health, the death of her father in the First World War, and knowledge of the sexual abuse of her sister by a Catholic clergyman [1] - endured what might be described as a challenging childhood. 

 

Out of such circumstances, however, a rebellious and free-spirited young woman emerged and, during her early 20s, she began to frequent the company of communists and surrealists and enter into tumultuous love affairs with older men who had a taste for cruelty. 

 

Once, in 1927, after discovering she was pregnant and feeling exhausted following a flare up of her tuberculosis, Peignot shot herself in the chest; like Vincent Van Gogh. Unlike the unfortunate painter, however, she survived - the bullet having been deflected by a rib away from her heart - and went on to make a full recovery. 

 

The following year, she met the German poet, physician, and pervert Eduard Trautner - a central figure in the Expressionist and New Objectivist movements - and moved to Berlin to be with him. 

 

After a few months, however, the intensity of the relationship proved too great - Trautner would regularly beat her and obliged her to wear a dog collar - so Peignot fled Germany and sought refuge in the Soviet Union, living in Leningrad, Moscow and the Black Sea resort of Sochi, before retuning to Paris penniless and in poor health once more.   

 

Figuring that she was probably never going to be rich or in good health - and not wanting a boring and bourgeois existence - she decided to throw herself into a life of dissolution, spending the last of her inheritence and pushing experience to the limit: it was thus almost inevitable that she would, sooner or later, become involved with Georges Bataille and serve as a living embodiment of one of his fictional heroines [2].

 

 

II.

 

During the summer of 1935, Laure and Bataille moved in together, having first briefly encountered one another four years earlier and become lovers in the summer of 1934. Thus began their mad affair, which combined debauchery with high culture in the company of artistic and intellectual friends. 

 

He was undoubtedly attracted by her intensity and instability and the fact that she had such contempt "for anything devout or conformist" [3]. But he also sensed that they were extremely sympathisch. Not surprisingly, therefore, Laure soon found herself at the center of Bataille's secret society or post-Nietzschean religion - Acéphale - members of whom (almost exclusively male) met in the woods and discussed human sacrifice.    

 

In a fascinating passage, Michel Surya argues that what distinguished them as a couple is that their love had nothing romantic or transformative about it: 

 

"Nothing that puts love above everything and gives it meaning and salvation [...] no unity [...], nothing of the marvellous [...], no devotion of any kind. One might even go so far as to say that happiness was ruled out of Bataille's concerns with this love (happiness was too weak a concept ever to have interested him). On the contrary, he exacerbated both their wounds, even when they came at the highest cost. In fact this love resembles a twin descent into the depths; anguish is its key." [4]   

 

Surya concludes: 

 

"Colette Peignot's courage lay in responding to all this [...] the only one unafraid of what Bataille was blindly setting in motion. [...] The only difference was that everything in her led her to seek heaven, even in hell [...], while for him everything led him to make even heaven into a hell." [5].  

 

Given this crucial difference, things were never going to end well ... and Laure confessed to Bataille before her death in 1938, aged 35, that although she had loved him and thought him a kind of god, she hated their life together, which, to be fair, can't have been a barrel of laughs [6]. 

 

Ultimately, I suppose it might be asked whether Laure was destined to die young (having lived fast): 

 

"Could another way of life - less harsh and less debauched - have saved her? How much longer would she have lived had she been 'sensible'?" [7] 

 

Probably a bit longer: but not much; her tuberculosis was already far too advanced in 1935 for any treatment to save her. 

 

And besides, some only come into their lives posthumously ...     

 

 

III. 

 

After her death, two volumes of Peignot's work were published, hors commerce, under the name Laure, edited by Bataille and Michel Leiris: 

  

Le Sacré (1939), is an assemblage of poems and fragments exploring themes of mysticism, eroticism, and revolution. 

 

It was published only a few weeks after the author's death, against the wishes of her family, and distributed furtively to a selected (and limited) group of readers. It has been argued by one commentator that Bataille "effectively sanctifies Laure" [8] as the martyed figurehead of what Blanchot calls an unavowable community (i.e., one based on otherness and difference, rather than sameness and shared identity).   

 

Histoire d'une petite fille (1943), meanwhile, is a semi-autobiographical text dealing with the traumas of childhood and how the narrator rebels against her middle-class Cathlolic background, rejecting social and moral convention so as to shape life in accordance with her own dreams. 

 

As with the first book, the print run was extremely limited - just thirty-three copies of the fifty-five page book were produced - and copies were intended only for the personal use of the recipient [9].       

 

  

Notes

 

[1] When Colette confronted her mother with the facts about this abuse, she not only refused to believe them, but accused her younger daughter of having a perverted imagination. That seems terribly unjust, but, as Mark Polizzotti remarks: "She wasn't entirely wrong, for while the incident cemented Laure's hatred of organised religion and its manifold hypocrisies, it also made her believe in an unbreakable link between the holy and the erotic." 

      See Polizzotti's review of Laure's Collected Writings, trans. Jeanine Herman (1995), titled 'Dirty's Story', in The London Review of Books, Vol. 18, No. 23 (November 1996): click here.    

 

[2] It is often claimed that Peignot was the inspiration for the character Dirty in Bataille's novel Le bleu du ciel (written when he was involved with her in 1935, but not published until 1957, with the first English translation following in 1978). 

      However, as Michel Surya points out, this is  doubtful as the character of Dirty was conceived long before Bataille met Colette Peignot; see p. 216 of the work cited below.  

 

[3] Michel Surya, Georges Bataille: An Intellectual Biography, trans. Krzystof Fijalkowski and Michael Richardson (Verso, 2002), p. 165. 

 

[4] Ibid., p. 201.  

 

[5] Ibid.

 

[6] Bataille later expressed his feelings about their relationship in the essay Le coupable (1944), describing Laure as a unique spirit inextricably linked to his own life and work; a woman who oscillated between extreme audacity and dreadful anguish, looking for love whilst courting death and disaster. 

 

[7]  Michel Surya, Georges Bataille ... p. 257. 

 

[8] See Milo Sweedler, 'From the sacred conspiracy to the unavowable community: Bataille, Blanchot and Laure's Le sacré', in French Studies, Volume 59, Number 3 (Liverpool University Press, July 2005), pp. 338-350.  

 

[9] Fortunately for us, a complete edition of Peignot's writings, ed. Marianne Berissi and Anne Roche, was published by Éditions les Cahiers in 2019: click here for details. English readers without knowledge of French, however, will have to make do with Laure: The Collected Writings, trans. Jeanine Herman (City Lights Publishers, 1991). 

 

 

On the Anointed and the Accursed

Fig. 1: Marko Rupnik: The Anointing at Bethany (date unknown) 

Fig. 2: Marti Blue in Dirty (dir. Annabel Lee and Tessa Hughes-Freeland, 1993)

 

'And there will be a time of crisis, of worlds hanging in the balance.

And in this time shall come the Anointed.'

  

Or the Accursed ...

  

 

I. 

 

If you know your Greek, then you know that the title Christ does not mean king or saviour, but, in fact, derives from the term Χριστός (Khristós), which means the Anointed One [1]. 

 

II. 

Anointment is a ceremonial blessing, both sweet and useful, in which sacred aromatic oil [2] is ritually poured over an individual's head and/or body in acknowledgement of their divine nature and in order to provide protection from dangerous spirits and demons (which were widely believed to cause disease) [3].

 

It's a Jewish practice that many other peoples adopted, including the Ancient Greeks, and the concept of a sweet-smelling Messiah is, of course, central to Christianity; a faith whose oily followers we might legitimately describe as unctuous.     

 

I'm not sure, but I would guess that the practice has its origins in prehistoric cultures; the fat and blood of sacrificial animals being smeared on the body as a powerful form of sympathetic magic. To believe that anointment with sacred oil imparted the Spirit of the Lord [4] is really not all that different from thinking that to rub oneself with lion's blood makes one strong and fierce in battle.   

 

Finally, it might be noted that Jesus was never officially anointed by a High Priest in accordance with the ceremony described in Exodus. He was, however, considered to have been anointed by the Holy Spirit during his baptism. And he also has his feet lovingly oiled by Mary of Bethany shortly before meeting his sticky end on the Cross [5].  

And speaking of sticky ends ... Not everyone in this life is lucky enough to be anointed: indeed, some individuals - let us call them the accursed [6] - have filth poured over them rather than fine oils.

III.

Without wishing to go into too much detail, punishments involving the covering or pelting of people with bodily waste matter, rotten food items, or other types of filth, have a long and disgusting history. 

 

Sometimes these punishments were designed to publicly shame or appease the anger of the mob; sometimes, however, they were meant not only to shame, but to result in the person's (often slow and agonising) death ... 

 

One thinks, for example, of the ancient Persian method of execution known as scaphism [7], in which the naked victim would be trapped between two boats, with only his head, hands and feet sticking out. 

They would then be force fed with excessive quantities of milk and honey, causing them to vomit and soil themselves and thus left festering in their own puke and excrement, attracting the attention of voracious flies and other egg-laying insects. 

 

Maggot infestations and bacterial infection would eventually lead to sepsis and death, but the whole ghastly process could take many days. 

Readers who know their Bible will not be surprised to learn that the idea of being metaphorically shit upon - or turned into a piece of fly-covered meat - in order to demonstrate one's accursed state and vileness in the eyes of Man and God alike, can also be found in the Good Book. 

 

The prophet Nahum, for example, makes perfectly clear what God will do to anyone who dares to break his Law, including those women branded as witches and harlots: 'I will cast abominable filth upon thee, and make thee vile, and will set thee as a gazingstock' (3:6), saith the LORD. 

 

 

IV.

 

Of course, there are some today who couldn't care less about the threats of a dead deity; indeed, there are some who have even transformed their own abjection and accursed status into an erotic pleasure ...

 

For these perverts - coprophiles and urophiles - being covered in (or interacting with) bodily waste materials is better than being anointed with the even the holiest of holy oils.  

 

Mysophiles with an abnormal attraction to filth and salirophiles who love to despoil or dirty the object of their affection, may horrify those like D. H. Lawrence who think such kinky individuals degraded and unable to differentiate between the flow of sex on the one hand and the flow of excrement on the other [8], but, for writers like Georges Bataille, transgressive paraphilias play a vital role in a Nietzschean revaluation of values and in his fiction he delights in presenting readers with characters such as Dirty; an incontinent foul-smelling alcoholic who engages in debauched sexual acts with her lover Troppmann [9], and the teen terror Simone, who loves sitting in saucers of milk, being urinated on, smearing herself with mud whilst masturbating in the rain, and inserting globular objects (soft-boiled eggs and eyeballs ripped from their sockets) into her anus or vagina [10].           

 

I'm not sure I'd like to date either girl, but perhaps Bataille is right to suggest that divine ecstasy and extreme horror are identical and that this is ultimately what the anointed and the accursed both discover.  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] And if you know your Hebrew, then you also know that this Greek term is a direct translation of מָשִׁיחַ (Mašíaḥ), which again refers to the Anointed One and is transliterated into English as messiah. 

      Fans of Buffy the Vampire Slayer will at this point be keen to remind us all that the character played by Andrew J. Ferchland in the series was also known as the Anointed One - and the epigraph at the top of this post is in fact a reference to this character and not to Jesus. 

      See the season 1 episode of Buffy entitled 'Never Kill a Boy on the First Date' (dir. David Semel, 1997).

[2] The oil used in a ceremonial anointment is called chrism, from the Greek χρῖσμα (khrîsma), and is commonly a mix of olive oil and balsam oil. These days, different traditions of Christian faith use different ingredients in the mix - not always following the biblical formula (discussed in note 4 below). and monarchs have sometimes.  

 

[3] Anointing was also understood to literally seal in goodness and, during the medieval and early-modern period, the practice of oiling the dead was thought to provide posthumous protection from vampires and ghouls who might otherwise feast on one's corpse. 

 

[4] See chapter 30 of the Book of Exodus, verses 22-25: click here. 

      Apparently, God not only gave Moses specific instructions for the preparation of anointing oil, he even provided a list of ingredients to be used; essentially expensive spices blended and mixed with olive oil. The resulting mixture was to be reserved exclusively for religious purposes and the recipe was not to be duplicated for personal or everyday use under any circumstances (breaking this commandment would result in a severe punishment). 

      The oil symbolised the presence and empowerment of the Holy Spirit and its purpose was to sanctify (or set apart) people and objects, highlighting the distinction between the sacred and the profane.

 

[5] See John 12:1-8: click here. 

 

[6] The term accursed may not be a precise antonym for anointed, but it's the best I could think of and I believe it has a theological resonance as well as a more general meaning. 

      Arguably, I suppose, the accursed might also be thought of as a class of the damned. But the accursed, unlike the damned, are more loathsome and detestable than they are evil and whilst they may be marked for destruction by God, they are not necessarily heading for eternal punishment in the depths of Hell - although it's not always clear cut: see Matthew 25:41, for example, where Jesus is depicted as telling those who find themselves unfortunate enough to be standing on his left hand side at the Final Judgement: 'Depart from me, ye cursed, into the everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels'.     

 

[7] Plutarch discusses scaphism in his Life of Artaxerxes, detailing the execution of a Persian soldier named Mithridates. His account originates from a source considered unreliable, however (which is not to say the practice didn't take place). See section 16 of the above work: click here.  

 

[8] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Pornography and Obscenity', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 242, where he writes 

       "The sex functions and the excrementary functions in the human body work so close together, yet they are, so to speak, utterly different in direction. Sex is a creative flow, the excrementary flow is towards  dissolution [...] In the really healthy human being the distinction between the two is instant [...]

      But in the degraded human being the deep instincts have gone dead and the two flows become identical. [...] Then sex is dirt and dirt is sex, and sexual excitement becomes a playing with dirt [...]" 

[9] See Bataille's novel Le blue de ciel (1957), trans. by Harry Mathews as Blue of Noon (Penguin Books 2001). 

      Dirty - or Dorothea to give the character her Christian name - personifies Bataille's philosophy of base materialism. Her utter degeneracy - moral and social - is contrasted with the ideals of purity and goodness that characterise both bourgeois and fascist society. 

      Interestingly, the character was modeled on Bataille's real-life lover at the time, Colette Peignot, a revolutionary Communist (known by the pseudonym Laure) whose (short and tragic) life was lived to (and at) the limit. 

 

[10] See Bataille's novel Histoire de l'oeill (1928), trans. by Joachim Neugroschal as Story of the Eye (Penguin Books, 1982). 

 

The Big Toe Reconsidered

Swollen Big Toe: Male Subect: 62 Years Old (2025) 

Photo by Stephen Alexander à la Jacques-André Boiffard [1]

  

"Le gros orteil est la partie la plus humaine du corps humain …" [2] 

I. 

 

Don't ask me what I've done, because I don't know what I've done; I was just innocently sitting when, suddenly, the big toe on my left foot seemed to painfully click and lock, preventing me from moving it. 

 

That was three days ago: and now the toe is red and swollen as well as remaining stiff and acutely painful. Ice hasn't helped and neither has the attempt to keep weight off it. So, there's nothing to do but pop another paracetamol and reconsider what it was Bataille once had to say about le gros orteil - the most human part of the human body ...

 

 

II. 

 

First of all, in case anyone is wondering why Bataille makes this claim for the big toe, it's because, he says, no other element of the human body "is as differentiated from the corresponding element of the anthropoid ape" [20]. 

 

That's debatable [c] and I can already hear Heideggerians screaming Es ist die Hand - nicht der Fuß! that is the fundamental thing that makes us human and enables us to engage with (and think) the world [d]. But it cannot be denied, however, that man, as an upright creature who walks on two legs, has a different type of big toe to the ape that spends a considerable amount of time climbing trees. 

 

Man's big toe allows him to literally stand his ground and to glory in his own erect being. 

 

And yet, perversely, man holds his foot - big toe and all - in contempt: for man is a creature who has his head "raised to the heavens and heavenly things" [20] and despises the fact that his feet remain caked in mud.

 

If he could, man would swap feet for wings, so that he might elevate himself still further and become even more like an angel, less like an ape; this despite the fact that within the body "blood flows in equal quantities from high to low and from low to high" [20].

 

It's just unfortunate, as Bataille notes, that the binary division of the universe into a "subterranean hell and perfectly pure heaven" [20] remains an enduring misconception; "mud and darkness being the principles of evil as light and celestial space are the principles of good" [20].

 

For as long as this remains the case then man will continue to curse his dogs and direct his rage against an organ he sees as fundamentally base: 

 

"The human foot is commonly subjected to grotesque tortures that deform it and make it rickety. In an imbecilic way it is doomed to corns, calluses, and bunions, and if one takes into account turns of phrase that are only now disappearing, to the most nauseating filthiness [...]" [21] 

 

Bataille continues:

 

"Man's secret horror of his foot is one of the explanations for the tendency to conceal its length and form as much as possible. Heels of greater or lesser height, depending on the sex, distract from the foot's low and flat character. Besides, this uneasiness is often confused with a sexual uneasiness; this is especially striking among the Chinese, who, after having atrophied the feet of women, situate them at the most excessive point of deviance." [21] 

 

That's the funny thing with feet - the more obscene we imagine them and the more immoral we think it to view them in their naked naked nakedness - the more they excite our interest [e]. Some may privilege the hand - and fingers can certainly be useful - but it's the foot that matters more in Bataille's view; even if the toes have come to signify base idiocy in comparison to the doigts de la main.      

 

 

III. 

So far, I have to admit that re-reading this essay by Bataille and writing this post has done precious little to alleviate (or distract from) the pain in my big toe ... It hurt before I began; it still hurts now; and I very much suspect it will continue to hurt even after I press the publish button, reminding me of my mortality. 

 

For as Bataille points out, it doesn't take much to remind us of the fact that our bodies are frail and prone to damage and disease; even the grandest of grand human beings - one who might imagine himself a god amongst men - is quickly brought crashing back down to earth "by an atrocious pain in his big toe" [22]. 

 

In other words, feet have evolved not only so that we might stand upright and walk, but to remind us that we are allzumenschliches and will, sooner or later, return to the filth from which we emerged; thus the "hideously cadaverous and at the same time [...] proud appearance of the big toe" [22] [f].    

 

 

Notes

 

[a] I'm thinking of Boiffard's two photos of a big toe belonging to a thirty-year-old male subject, used to illustrate Bataille's essay 'Le gros orteil' in Documents 6 (Nov. 1929): click here. 

      Born in 1902, Boiffard was a hard-working medical student before meeting André Breton in 1924 and deciding to dedicate himself to Surrealism. Having worked as Man Ray's assistant for five years, Boiffard then became closely associated with Bataille and the circle of writers involved in Documents (he had by this date already fallen out - like so many others - with Breton). 

      Following his father's death in 1935, Boiffard resumed his medical studies and abandoned his career as an avant-garde photographer. Serving as a radiologist at the Hôpital Saint-Louis in Paris from 1940 to 1959, Boiffard died in 1961.

      If little remembered today, Boiffard's images remain clever manipulations of scale and point of view, transposing multiple exposures and contrasting brightly lit objects - including body parts - against darkened backgrounds, making them monstrously unfamiliar. 

      For an excellent discussion of his work, see Jodi Hauptman and Stephanie O’Rourke; 'A Surrealist Fact', in Object:Photo: Modern Photographs: The Thomas Walther Collection 1909–1949, ed. Mitra Abbaspour, Lee Ann Daffner, and Maria Morris Hambourg (The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2014). This essay can be read as an online pdf: click here. 

 

[b] This is the opening line to Bataille's essay 'Le gros orteil', in Documents 6 (Nov. 1929), pp. 297-302. Reprinted in Œuvres complètes, Vol. 1, ed. Denis Hollier (Gallimard, 1970), pp. 200-04. 

      I'm using the English translation by Allan Stoekl; 'The Big Toe', in Visions of Excess: Selected Writings 1927-1939, ed. Allan Stoekl (University of Minnesota Press, 1985), pp. 20-23 and all page numbers given in part II of this post refer to this work. 

 

[c] It's certainly the case that apes do not possess big toes like humans; that while we have a big toe aligned with other toes and which has evolved to play a vital role in walking, chimps and gorillas, etc., have opposable big toes (i.e., a bit like thumbs) that can be moved independently and used for grasping and climbing. 

      However, it's arguable that what makes the human being uniquely different from other apes is not the big toe, but the large brain inside our heads that enables us to perform advanced cognitive functions such as abstract thought and complex problem-solving. 

      Coincidentally, it might interest readers to know that scientists have recently discovered that our big toe was one of the last parts of the foot to evolve; see the article entitled 'Evolution and function of the hominin forefoot', by Peter J. Fernández et al, published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, Vol. 115, No. 35, pp. 8746-8751 (August 2018): click here.   

 

[d] See the post of 1 June 2019 - 'You Need Hands' - in which I discuss Heidegger's thoughts on the importance of the hand: click here. 

 

[e] I understand that this is not true of all feet or all people; although, interestingly, foot fetishism (or podophilia as those in the know like to say) is the most common form of body partialism (and even amongst those sophisticated individuals who redirect desire away from the flesh and on to objects, a large number have a penchant for shoes and other forms of footwear). Foot fetishism seems to be one of those things more common amongst men than women. Whilst the origin of such is a matter of dispute, clearly Bataille is of the opinion that the erotic allure of feet is linked to their anatomical baseness (abjection); i.e., pleasure is derived from touching something that, even if they are perfectly clean and pretty, still get their sacrilegious charm from the fact that they are often dirty and easily deformed.

      For an early post published on the transsexual consummation of foot fetishism (25 July 2013), click here.   

 

[f] Bataille thinks it only fair to add that the big toe is not specifically monstrous as a form - unlike the inside of a gaping mouth, for example. It is only "secondary (but common) deformations" [22] that have given the big toe its ugly and inhuman - yet exceptionally comic - character. 

 

 

For a follow up post to this one - on gout - please click here. 

Philematology: On Kissing and Cannibalism

Daniel Silver: Kissing (2024) [1]

Statuario Altissimo marble and bronze,

with a stainless steel baseplate

 

I. 

 

It wasn't until I saw Daniel Silver's sculpture of bronze lovers "'stuck together like two jujube lozenges'" [2] that I realised the full horror of an oft-quoted remark made by Georges Bataille: 

 

A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism ...

 

 

II. 

 

What this means is that there's an accursed link between eating and eroticism. 

 

For consumption, like sex, is a way in which separate beings not only communicate, but fatally come into touch, enabling the self and non-self to bridge their discontinuous existence as individuals [3].  

 

Or, to put it another way, sexual desire that drives us to press lips together and insert tongues in mouths (and other bodily orifices) and the voracious desire to devour the other, are as closely connected as Eros and Thanatos in a general economy in which non-productive expenditure (via acts that often violently transgress social norms) is key.    

Herman Hupfeld may insist that "a kiss is just a kiss" [4], but, as a matter of fact, nothing is ever so innocent or free from context (i.e., a whole network of meaning and significance). 

 

 

III.

 

Apparently, anthropologists disagree on whether kissing is instinctual or an example of learned behaviour. 

 

Those who favour the former point to the fact that other animals appear to kiss (whilst ignoring that not all humans engage in the activity) [5]. 

 

Those who favour the latter, argue that kissing in its modern (romantic) form has evolved from activities such as suckling or premastication in early human cultures [6] and there is certainly evidence to support the claim that cataglottism [7] has developed from mouth-to-mouth regurgitation of food - or kiss-feeding - either from parent to offspring, or between lovers.

 

 

IV.

 

It might be noted in closing, that man's will to merger or primal unity - be it via the sexual penetration of a lover's body or the consumption of their flesh - is what some describe as a death instinct, seeing as it conflicts with the "central law of all organic life"; namely, that each organism is "intrinsically isolate and single" [8].  

 

The problem, of course, is that another vital law is that we need and desire one another; that each organism only thrives via intimate contact with others.  

 

Fortunately, coition is only ever a coming-close-to-death; a meeting but not a mixing of separate blood-streams. There is no real union during sexual intercourse and, once the crisis is over, the sovereign individuality of each party remains intact. 

 

However, that's not the case in cannibalism, or what might be called a hard-vore scenario, wherein at least one party is going to be semi-digested and certainly won't be able to enjoy a cigarette afterwards as a singular being.   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Daniel Silver's Kissing (2024) - in part inspired by Constantin Brâncuși's famous sculpture, The Kiss (1907-08) - features in his Uncanny Valley exhibition currently showing at the Frith Street Gallery (Golden Square, London), until 18 January 2025. The photo is by Ben Westoby, courtesy of the artist and gallery. For more details visit: frithstreetgallery.com

 

[2] This humorous remark is made by Rawdon Lilly in D. H. Lawrence's novel Aaron's Rod, ed. Mara Kalnins (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 91.

 

[3] See Georges Bataille, The Accursed Share: An Essay on General Economy, Vol. I, trans Robert Hurley, (Zone Books, 1988). Readers interested in Bataille's interesting (somewhat idiosyncratic) take on death and sensuality might also like to see his work entitled Erotism, trans. Mary Dalwood (City Light Books, 1986). It is also available as a Penguin edition entitled Eroticism (2001).

[4] Herman Hupfeld (1894-1951) was an American songwriter, whose most notable composition was 'As Time Goes By' (1931), which featured in the 1942 film Casablanca (dir. Michael Curtiz), performed by Dooley Wilson as Sam. The line quoted here is taken from the song. 

 

[5] I'm pretty sure that Heideggerians would protest that although many other animals exchange what appear to be kisses of affection, they are not kisses in the full sense (that kissing is something that only human beings can fully experience due to our ontologically unique status). 

[6] Another theory suggests that kissing originated during the paleolithic era, when cavemen would taste the saliva of females in order to determine whether they would make a healthy mate (or perhaps a hearty meal).

 

[7] Cataglottism - more commonly known as French kissing - involves extensive tongue activity in order to induce sexual arousal and not merely the pressing together of lips. 

      As Freud rightly says, it is strictly speaking a type of kinky deviation from normal sexual activity, even if no one acknowledges or rejects it as such. See his Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (1920), in which he writes: "Even a kiss can claim to be described as a perverse act, since it consists in the bringing together of two oral erotogenic zones instead of the two genitals."

      Later, Freud comments on how strange it is that the lips have such erotic value amongst lovers - including the most sophisticated ones - in spite of the fact that (technically) they are not sexual organs, but constitute the entrance to the digestive tract. 

[8] D. H. Lawrence, 'Edgar Allan Poe', Studies in Classic American Literature, Final Version (1923), ed. Ezra Greenspan, Lindeth Vasey and John Worthen, (Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 67.

        

 

Further reading: those who are interested in this topic might like to see Ursula de Leeuw's essay 'A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism: Julia Ducournau's Raw and Bataillean Horror', in Exchanges: The Interdisciplinary Research Journal, Volume 7, Issue 2, (2020), pp. 215-228. Click here for an online pdf. 

 

 

On My Convoluted Relationship With Walter Benjamin

 Walter Benjamin and Stephen Alexander illumined by

Paul Klee's blessed Angelus Novus (1920)

 

 

Readers familiar with this blog will know that I have a thing for writers whose names begin with the letter B: from Baudelaire to Baudrillard; and from Georges Bataille to Roland Barthes [1].  

 

To this list might also be added the name of Walter Benjamin, the German-Jewish cultural critic and theorist whose convoluted (unfinished) work about Paris as the capital of the nineteenth-century - known in English as The Arcades Project (1927-40) [2] - affirms the figure of the flâneur as having crucial philosophical significance. 

 

Often regarded as a seminal text for postmodernism, the Arcades Project also anticipates the world of blogging and I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that, in some ways, Torpedo the Ark is my very own version of Benjamin's posthumously edited and published masterpiece [3].  

 

For example, like the Arcades Project, TTA relies heavily on compositional techniques including paraphrase, pastiche, and plagiarism [4] - affirming the idea of intertextuality and attempting to create a kind of literary-philosophical collage that defies any attempt to systematise ideas or enforce any kind of grand narrative.    

 

Like Benjamin, I dream of being able to simply stroll through the ruins and piece together found fragments of text from old works by dead authors, thereby creating something new and idiosyncratic, but not something that pretends to be an entirely original work born of individual uniqueness or any such Romantic fantasy. TTA is shaped by (functions and circulates within) a wider cultural history and a shared linguistic network of meaning.

And, like the Arcades Project, TTA has grown and mutated in a monstrous manner. Initially, Benjamin envisioned wrapping things up within a few weeks. However, as the work expanded in scope and complexity, he eventually came to view it as his most important achievement. 

 

Similarly, when I began TTA I thought it would provide a window on to a wider body of work. But it then became the work, absorbing huge amounts of time and energy and without any conceivable end point other than death (the final post may very well be a suicide note) [5].

 

Notes

 

[1] See the post dated 17 August 2022 in which I discuss these four French writers: click here.   

 

[2] Das Passagen-Werk consists of a massive assemblage of notes, fragments, and quotations that Benjamin assembled between 1927 and his death in 1940. The manuscript (along with additional material) for the Arcades Project was entrusted to Benjamin's pal Georges Bataille when the former fled Paris following the Nazi occupation. Bataille, who worked as a librarian at the Bibliothèque Nationale, hid the manuscript in a closed archive at the library where it was eventually discovered after the war. The full text was published in an English translation by Harvard University Press in 1999, having been first published in a German edition in 1982. 

 

[3] There are, of course, some important differences between Benjamin and myself and our respective projects. For one thing, my work has been influenced less by Jewish mysticism and Marxism and more by Jewish comedy and the punk philosophy of Malcolm McLaren.

 

[4] I know the idea of plagiarism is one that some readers balk at. However, it's one I'm happy to endorse; see the post entitled 'Blurred Lines' (21 January, 2016): click here. And see also the post 'On Poetry and Plagiarism' (13 December, 2018): click here. 

 

[5] Readers unfamiliar with the biographical details of Benjamin's story, may be interested to know Benjamin ended his own life, aged 48, on 26 September, 1940, in Portbou, Spain (a small coastal town just over the border with France). Fearing he was about to fall into the hands of the Gestapo, who had been given orders to arrest him, Benjamin chose to overdose on a handful of morphine tablets. 

 

 

This post is for Anja Steinbaum and Natias Neutert. 

 

 

My Naked Nakedness is Positive Atrociousness: Notes on The Deadman (1989)

 Jennifer Montgomery as Marie in The Deadman 

(dir. Peggy Ahwesh and Keith Sanborn, 1989)

 

"When Edouard fell back dead an emptiness opened inside her,

a prolonged shudder went through her, and bore her upward like an angel." [1] 

 

 

I. 

 

D. H. Lawrence insisted that there was "no real battle" between himself and Christianity [2] and that's certainly true when it comes to the question of nudity in art and the importance of retaining the essential beauty and dignity of the human form.

 

For like any devout Catholic, Lawrence believes that the human body is sacred - not least in its sexual aspect - and that whilst art affirms this fact and manifests being, pornography attempts to deny it; to reduce the human form to base matter and to do dirt on sex.  

 

Pornography, says Lawrence, is an insult to the flesh and to a vital human relationship: ugly and cheap it makes human nudity; ugly and degraded it makes the sexual act; "trivial and cheap and nasty" [3]. 

 

And that's nothing to be proud of ...    

 

 

II.

 

I was reminded of Lawrence's vital opposition to pornography - defined as the "grey disease of sex-hatred, coupled with the yellow-disease of dirt-lust" [4] - when reading Maggie Nelson's favourable review of the short film The Deadman (1989), by Peggy Ahwesh and Keith Sanborn. 

 

Based on Bataille's story Le Mort - written sometime during the period 1942-44, but first published posthumously in 1964 - The Deadman is summarised on IMDb as a "strange tale of a woman who sets off on a wild adventure before returning home to die" [5]. 

 

Somehow, that doesn't quite prepare the viewer for the 40 minutes of black-and-white depravity that follow; a symbolic free play of bodies and images that many queer feminist commentators - including Nelson - find liberating.     

 

According to the latter, what's great - and important - about The Deadman is that by giving back full and uncompromising sexual agency to a nearly naked female protagonist (played by Jennifer Montgomery), it reclaims the pornographic imagination from its confinement within a certain (male) cinematic history and genre for a female audience:

 

"It's a funny, radical, stand-alone reclamation of realms in which so many of us have too often had to hold our noses and practice a robust disidentification in order to play." [6] 

 

And that's a good thing, I suppose ...

 

 

III. 

 

Although Keith Sanborn - who had read Bataille in the 1970s and produced his own translation of Le Mort - is co-credited as a director, Nelson seems to think that Peggy Ahwesh - who "comes out of the anti-art sensibility of punk, out of feminism, and out of lowbrow horror" [7] -  is the real driving force behind the film, responsible for getting the actors to do "real sexual things to each other, with all the mess and stakes" [8].  

 

When, says Nelson, you combine Bataille's transgressive philosophy with Ahwesh's anarcho-feminist sensibility, you get "an exploration of perversity that nods to misogynistic tradition and feminist corrective while also devoting itself to nongendered erotics - the erotics of chaos, of self-abandon, of wrestling, of scatology, of necrophilia, of ugliness, of aggression, of suicidality, and so on" [9].

 

And you also get a film that is, says Nelson, "laugh-out-loud funny" and "crackling with distubance and pleasure" [10].

 

Though Lawrence wouldn't like it - and, to be honest, I'm not sure I do either ... [11] 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Georges Bataille, The Dead Man, in My Mother / Madame Edwarda / The Dead Man, trans. Austryn Wainhouse (Marion Boyars, 1995), p. 168.

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, 'There is no real battle ...', Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press,1988), Appendix I: Fragmentary writings, p. 385. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence, 'Pornograpy and Obscenity', Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 241. 

 

[4] Ibid., p. 242. 

 

[5] See the entry on The Deadman (1987) on IMDb: click here.  

[6] Maggie Nelson, 'A Girl Walks Into a Bar ... On Peggy Ahwesh and Keith Sanborn's The Deadman', in Like Love: Essays and Conversations (Fern Press, 2024), p. 70. 

[7] Ibid., p. 71. 

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid., p. 72.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Readers who wish to judge for themselves can watch an eight minute excerpt from The Deadman on Vimeo: click here.  

It is But Death Who Comes at Last

Keith Haring Untitled (For James Ensor) 1 (1989)

Acrylic on canvas (36 x 72 in)

The Keith Haring Foundation

 

Apparently, having penetrated the object of their desire, the average male lasts between four to eight minutes before ejaculating. Many men may like to believe they last longer - and many female partners may wish that were the case - but, according to those who have studied the matter, it simply isn't so.     

 

Of course, some men climax much more rapidly than four minutes; expelling semen and experiencing orgasm soon after initiating sexual activity and with minimal stimulation [2]. This is often characterised as a form of male sexual dysfunction, although there is no universally agreed definition amongst the experts about what constitutes ejaculatio praecox; some say anything under a minute is premature, whilst others don't think there's any real issue if the man can last over fifteen seconds before jizzing [3].

 

On the other hand, there are men who can last much longer than the average time; although for some delayed ejaculation is problematic rather than pleasurable and can also cause discomfort for their partners [4].     

 

Either way, and whatever the ejaculation latency time one averages out at, it's crucial to remember the following wise words of Sir Walter Scott: 

 

And come he slow, or come he fast, 

It is but Death who comes at last. [5]

 

I don't think even Bataille could have put it better ... [6]

 

Notes

 

[1] Shortly before his death in February 1990, Keith Haring produced a number of works with an erotico-thantological theme, including this work depicting a skeleton ejaculating on a flowerbed. It formed the first panel of a diptych (for James Ensor). In the second panel, thanks to the dead man's sperm, the flowers have grown and are in full bloom, much to the delight of the skeleton.

 

[2] The 1948 Kinsey Report suggests that three-quarters of men ejaculate within two minutes of penetration in over half of their sexual encounters.

 

[3] The belief that premature ejaculation should be considered a medical condition (or an indicator of neurosis) rather than a normal variation, has been disputed by some sex researchers, including Alfred Kinsey, who viewed it as a sign of masculine vigour and pointed to the fact that in the natural world male mammals often ejaculate rapidly during coition in order to increase their chances of passing on their genes. 

      It would seem to me that any coital imperative which posits an optimal-time to ejaculate, merely contributes to the pressure on men to perform like machines and furthers the pathologisation of male sexuality in the modern world.    

 

[4] Delayed ejaculation - which is far less common than premature ejaculation - refers to a man's persistent difficulty in coming, despite his wish to do so and even if he is sexually stimulated. Whilst, as we have discussed, most men reach orgasm within a few short minutes of active thrusting during intercourse, a man with delayed ejaculation either does not have orgasms at all or cannot have an orgasm until after a prolonged period of huffing and puffing.

 

[5] Sir Walter Scott, Marmion (1808), canto 2, st. 30, lines 567-568.

      This historical romance in verse consists of six cantos, each with an introductory epistle and extensive notes. It concludes with the Battle of Flodden (1513). Those who are interested can find the work on Project Gutenberg: click here.  

[6] Bataille famously explores the relationship between Eros and Thanatos in his work, demonstrating how the idea of orgasm as la petite mort is not merely metaphorical. As Nick Land notes: 

      "Orgasm provisionally substitutes for death, fending-off the impetus toward terminal oblivion, but only by infiltrating death into the silent core of vitality […] The little death is not merely a simulacrum or sublimation of a big one […] but a corruption that leaves the bilateral architecture of life and death in tatters, a communication and a slippage which violates the immaculate [otherness] of darkness." 

      In other words, when we come, we open ourselves onto this otherness and to the possibility of personal annihilation; losing identity in a spasm and an exchange of shared slime. It is, as Bataille argues, a betrayal of life as something individual and distinct.

      See Nick Land, The Thirst for Annihilation: Georges Bataille and Virulent Nihilism (Routledge, 1992), p. 136. And see also my post of 21 September 2016 on orgasm and the will to merger: click here. 

Piss Artists 3: Andres Serrano (Piss Christ)

Andres Serrano: Immersion (Piss Christ) (1987) 

Cibachrome print photograph (150 x 100 cm) [1]

 

I. 

 

For most British people, a piss artist is one who likes to get drunk, act the fool, produce shoddy work and generally waste time. In other words, one who gets pissed a little too often; pisses around a little too much; and pisses people off more than is deemed acceptable. 

 

However, for some of us, the term also triggers thoughts of Warhol, Chadwick and Serrano and here I would like to discuss a famous work by the third of these piss artists, Andres Serrano ...

 

 

II.

 

It's debatable if Piss Christ (1987), by the American photographer and artist Andres Serrano, is profoundly appropriate for publication on Easter Sunday, or wildly inappropriate. 

 

Either way, the mysteriously beautiful (and award winning) picture of Jesus on the Cross submerged in a small glass tank of urine is his one work that pretty much everybody recognises and it's the work that most fascinates me at the moment.

 

Serrano often likes to use bodily fluids in his work; not just piss, but also blood, semen, and human breast milk. Why that's the case - what his artistic obsession with these things (and other base materials) reveals about him or forces us to face up to in our own lives - I'm not sure. 

 

Having read a fair amount of Bataille, however, I've a pretty good idea: the use of base materials disrupts the opposition of high and low by exposing the fact that whatever is elevated remains dependent on soil, slime, and shit and this dependence means that the purity of the ideal is contaminated or corrupted. 

 

Similarly, by affirming à la Henry Miller everything that flows and showing how bodily fluids very much belong to a libidinal economy - even though such secretions are often subject to severe prohibition and taboo - artists are able to destabilise all fixed and firm foundations. 

 

 

III.

I suspect that Serrano knows all this, so his expressions of surprise that the work should generate huge controversy (mostly because it was thought blasphemous by those on the religious right, rather than deconstructive of metaphysical dualism) are somewhat disingenuous [2].

 

And, as a lifelong Catholic who takes his faith seriously, Serrano probably also knows that the Eucharist contains a dirty little secret; that the bread and wine are not symbols of the body and blood of Jesus Christ as most people believe, but, rather, of metabolic waste materials (the idea being that the holy spirit is born of excess; that divine energy is a surplus that cannot be absorbed into daily life; that the accursed share is that which makes blessed) [3].          

 

Thus, whilst I may not want to hang a print of Serrano's Piss Christ above my bed, I acknowledge its theo-philosophical importance.

 

And, like Apollinaire, I refuse to be shocked, or scared, or to stand in awe of art and have no qualms about any materials the artist chooses to use. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Piss Christ was one of a series of photographs that Serrano had made that involved classical statuettes submerged in various body fluids.

[2] Although initially Piss Christ was well received, as word got round that Serrano had (at the very least) insulted Christ and all those who regard him as their saviour, he started to lose funding and receive hate mail (including death threats) - which isn't very Christian when you think about it. 

      Serrano, however, denied his work had any overt political content and rejected the accusation that he was attempting to blaspheme. In fact, Serrano suggested that Piss Christ should be regarded as a serious work of Christian art, saying:  "What it symbolizes is the way Christ died: the blood came out of him but so did the piss and the shit. Maybe if Piss Christ upsets you, it's because it gives some sense of what the crucifixion actually was like."   

      And in 2023, even the Pope was prepared to accept this argument, after meeting with the artist in Rome and giving him his blessing. By this date, the value placed on the work by the art market had also risen miraculously; in October 2022, Piss Christ was sold at Sotheby's (London) for £130,000 ($145,162).

      The quote from Serrano is taken from an interview with Jonathan Jones in The Guardian (3 April 2026): click here. 

 

[3] As one commentator on the subject of excrement and religion notes:

      "The perennial intermingling of scatology and religion is so extensive that cataloging it could fill volumes. The conjoining of excrement and divinity may bring about cognitive dissonance in some, or even most, but for many throughout history it has been a harmony that leaps immediately to mind, though to various ends." 

      See Andrew G. Christensen, "'Tis my muse will have it so": Four Dimensions of Scatology in Molloy', Journal of Modern Literature, Vol. 40, No. 4 (Summer 2017), pp. 90-104. Lines quoted are on p. 97. This essay can be found (if interested) on JSTOR: click here. 

 

 

To read the first post in this series - on Andy Warhol and his Piss and Oxidation Paintings (1977-1978) - please click here. 

 

To read the second post in this series - on Helen Chadwick and her Piss Flowers (1992) - please click here.        

 

 

André Masson and the Sex Pistols

The Surrealist and the Sex Pistol:

 André Masson and Malcolm McLaren

Photos by Man Ray (c. 1930) and Joe Stevens (1976)

 

 

I. 

 

When asked shortly before his death: Which living artist do you most admire? 

 

Malcolm McLaren answered: 

 

"When I was 18, I studied for three months under the automatist painter André Masson in France. Every day I would buy him tomatoes, a baguette and a bottle of côtes du rhône, but he never spoke. On my last day he bought me a drink and wished me well. He's dead now, but I remain haunted by him." [1]

 

I don't know how true that is, but it's an amusing story [2] and forms an interesting connection with an artist whose relation to surrealism is much discussed, but whose influence on punk is - as far as I know - rarely mentioned. 

 

 

II.

 

My knowledge of Masson is mostly limited to the period when he worked on the journal founded by Georges Bataille - Acéphale (1936-39). 

 

His cover design for the first issue featuring an iconic headless figure with stars for nipples and a skull where his sexual organ should be, has resonated with me ever since I first saw it in the mid-1990s and I'm disappointed that Malcolm didn't ask Jamie or Vivienne to adapt this pagan image on a design for the Sex Pistols.

 

To identify as an anti-Christ is an important start. But equally important is to declare oneself in opposition to the ideal figure of the Vitruvian Man embodying all that is Good, True, and Beautiful - and to repeat after Bataille: "Secrètement ou non, il est nécessaire de devenir tout autres ou de cesser d'être." [3]

 

Wouldn't that have made a great punk slogan? 

 

I think so.

And I think also that the sacred conspiracy involving Bataille, Masson, Klossowski and others, anticipates McLaren's idea for SEX as a place which might bring together those sovereign individuals who didn't belong to mainstream society or wish to conform to the dictates of fashion, but wanted to violently affirm their singular being above all else.

 

And so, again, I think it a pity that the dark surrealism of Bataille and Masson - which not only set itself in opposition to all forms of fascism but also all forms of humanism, including André Breton's surrealism - wasn't explored (and exploited) by McLaren; especially as, in Sid Vicious, punk rock had discovered its very own Dionysian superstar [4]; someone who, as Malcolm liked to say, never saw a red light and enacted the primordial powers of instinct and irrationality.  

And, like Masson's acéphalic figure, Vicious even had a penchant for carrying a (sacrificial) knife ... [5]

 

Notes

 

[1] Amy Fleming, 'Portrait of the artist: Malcolm McLaren, musician', in The Guardian (10 Aug 2009): click here. 

      This is an interesting short question and answer piece, which also reveals McLaren's favourite film to be David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia (1962). However, I don't think the description of McLaren in the title as a musician is one he would recognise. Sadly, McLaren died eight months after the piece was published (on 8 April 2010). 

 

[2] McLaren's biographer, Paul Gorman, tells us that prior to beginning life as a student at Harrow Technical College & School of Art, Malcolm was "sent by his mother to a summer school in the south of France" and that this (apparently) involved an internship with André Masson and not just enjoying life on the beach at Cannes. 

      See The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 45.

 

[3] I would translate this into English as: "Secretly or not, it is necessary to become wholly other, or cease to be." Often the original French phrase tout autres is translated as 'completely different'.

      The line is from Bataille's essay 'The Sacred Conspiracy', which can be found in Visions of Excess: Selected Writings 1927-1939, ed. Allan Stoekl, trans. Allan Stoekl with Carl R. Lovitt and Donald M. Leslie Jr., (University of Minnesota Press, 1985), p. 179. Masson's Acéphale can also be found in this book, illustrating the essay on p. 180.       

 

[4] See ' Sid Vicious Versus the Crucified' (3 Feb 2024) where I develop this idea: click here.

 

[5] See 'I'll Put a Knife Right in You: Notes on the Case of Sid and Nancy' (30 Dec 2020): click here. 

 

 

This post is dedicated to the Danish art historian and curator Marie Arleth Skov, author of Punk Art History: Artworks from the European No Future Generation (Intellect Books, 2023). Her paper at the Torn Edges symposium held at the London College of Communication (20 March 2024) - 'Berlin Calling: The Dark, Dramatic, and Dazzling Punk Art Praxes of a Divided City' - was inspirational.