Back to Black: Reflections on the Darkness of Being

Amy Winehouse (1983-2011)

I.

Black isn't merely the darkest colour. It's also the sexiest colour; the most dangerous colour.

In fact, it's more a state of mind or way of being than just an achromatic shade, as understood by artists, fashionistas, fascists and by all those for whom sensible blues and browns just don't cut it on the canvas or on the catwalk, anymore than they excite on the battlefield or in the bedroom.

The only other colour that comes close to having the erotic and evil allure of black is red and the two are often used in powerful combination. The ancient Greeks, for example, made their famous black-figure pottery by using an ingenious technique in which the figures, painted with a glossy clay slip, were set against a vivid red background.
 
However, whilst not wishing to denigrate erythrophiles for whom red is the king of colours, personally, like Amy - and as a thanatologist and nihilist - when the odds are stacked, I always go back to black ...

II.

The sculptor Anish Kapoor, who often works with ideas of negative space and the void of non-being, has said that black is the most emotive colour - particularly that darkest form of black that is carried within each of us; not as original sin, but as what we might think of as a black hole of the self, sitting at the centre of the soul and into which we might fall and disappear at any moment.

I think this is the disconcerting truth that Kurtz discovers, to his horror, in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness (1899). And, arguably, it's what Heidegger is referring to when he suggests that Dasein can only grasp its own wholeness by facing up to its emptiness - i.e., to the fact that being floats upon a sea of oblivion and the ever-present possibility of no-longer-being-there [sein Nicht-mehr-dasein].

Perhaps because of this - because we are creatures not merely threatened by but born of the darkness - black is crucial within the cave paintings of early man and has remained the fundamental reality upon which so much great art continues to build, making all other colours seem dirty and inferior.   

Note: 

As most readers will know, the title to this post, Back to Black, is taken from the fantastic song written and performed by Amy Winehouse, produced by Mark Ronson (Island Records, 2007). The accompanying video, dir. Phil Griffin, can be watched on YouTube by clicking here.

The Rape of Africa: David LaChapelle's Reimagining of Botticelli's Venus and Mars

Botticelli: Venus and Mars (c. 1483)

Tempera and oil on panel, 69 cm x 173 cm

Botticelli's Venus and Mars is an acknowledged masterpiece of the Italian Renaissance, depicting the Roman goddess Venus and her divine lover, Mars, in a blissful post-coital scene.

The conventional interpretation is that she has left him powerless and exhausted; that her feminine charms have triumphed over masculine brute force and that in order to experience what D. H. Lawrence terms the peace of fucking, it's necessary for men to lay down their arms and make love, not war.

One might suggest, however, that what Botticelli playfully exposes is naked male conceit. Happy to lie back and sleep after doing the deed, Mars is as vainly content with his sexual prowess as with his virtues as a warrior. Venus, meanwhile, is left to look on unsatisfied and disappointed; for maybe when stripped of his weapons and his armour, Mars wasn't all she'd hoped him to be (the limpness of his right hand betraying all we need to know).

However we choose to read it, the painting is undoubtedly one of the jewels in the collection of The National Gallery, London, and I would encourage anyone who hasn't seen it to do so, should they be fortunate enough to have the opportunity. I would also encourage readers to view David LaChapelle's provocative reimagining of the work, entitled The Rape of Africa:

    

David LaChapelle: The Rape of Africa (2009)

Digital image ft. Naomi Campbell as Venus and Caleb Lane as Mars 

LaChapelle's picture, featuring Naomi Campbell in the role of a Black Venus (and rape victim), is a pomo-political allegory, which, like most of his work - both as a commercial fashion photographer and as a serious artist-cum-activist - is visually stunning, but lacking in subtlety for all its knowing sophistication and obsessive attention to detail.

As critics have noted, the work also leaves nothing to the imagination and is weighed down by its own aesthetic excess - crammed full as it is of various objects serving a crude symbolic function and a rich saturation of colours - and by its moral-political idealism. In the end, if you look at it for too long, you start to feel a tiny bit queasy; but it's only when you consider the latter that you seriously want to vomit.    

For this photo is not, alas, the visual equivalent of Conrad's Heart of Darkness. At best, it simply repeats the refrain made famous by Edwin Starr and attempts to foster white guilt over the three evils of racism, imperialism and colonialism. Viewers might also notice the large piece of earth digging machinery working away at a gold mine, reminding us of the environmental cost of consumer capitalism (aka Western greed).    

I understand LaChapelle's ambition to create a more substantial, more socially aware body of work beyond the frivolous worlds of pop, celebrity, and fashion - and I wish him every success. But, really, David, we can do without the political posturing, the crocodile tears and the shameless hypocrisy.

Ultimately, The Rape of Africa is another example of that sentimental compassion which Pascal Bruckner rightly identifies as an insidious form of contempt.