On Black Dandyism (With Reference to the Case of Jean-Michel Basquiat)

Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960 - 1988) 

The New York Times Magazine (10 Feb 1985)

"Being a black man", says Ekow Eshun, "means being subject to the white gaze". 

But if that means becoming an object of prejudice, suspicion and negative stereotype, so also does it mean becoming an object of fascination and, indeed, admiration. Certainly when it comes to the crucial question of style, it would simply be churlish to deny that many black men possess it to a high degree and fully understand its importance as a politics of resistance.

Indeed, without wishing to appear full of self-loathing or a sense of racial inferiority, I know exactly what Adam Ant means in Kings of the Wild Frontier when he says that for those of us with pale skin - even when we're healthy and our colour schemes delight - down below our dandy clothes we remain a shade too white.        

And so, whilst there are plenty of good-looking, very elegantly dressed white men in the world, the dandyism of the black man always seems to have something extra; to be that bit sexier and more provocative; to be invested with attitude (which is why the idea of a black actor playing James Bond isn't as outlandish as some suggest - it could only add a certain frisson to the character). 

This is exemplified in the above photo of Jean-Michel Basquiat on the cover of the New York Times Magazine in 1985; arguably the greatest artist of the late-twentieth century, he was certainly the most fashionable.

Pictured here in one of the Armani suits in which he loved to work, Basquiat knows that dandyism is, at its most interesting, not merely a method of flaunting one's individual beauty, but of flouting social conventions governing ideas of class, race, gender and sexuality; a means of saying fuck me and fuck you at one and the same time. 

To be clear: it's not what he's wearing, but how he's wearing it that matters; with barefoot insouciance, completely unconcerned about the fact that the expensive suit is paint-spattered (for he knows he still looks clean) and "confounding expectations about how black men should look or carry themselves in order to establish a place of personal freedom: a place beyond the white gaze, where the black body is a site of liberation rather than oppression" ...

In other words, black styles matter ...

See: Ekow Eshun, 'The subversive power of the black dandy', The Guardian, (04 July 2016): click here to read online. 

See also: Shantrelle P. Lewis, 'Black Dandyism is Back, and It's Both Oppositional Fashion and Therapy at Once', How We Get to Next (30 Sept 2016): click here. 

To read The New York Times Magazine feature on Basquiat, 'New Art, New Money', by Cathleen McGuigan, click here.  

Note: the first large-scale exhibition in the UK of the work of Jean-Michel Basquiat is currently showing at the Barbican (London) and runs until 28 Jan 2018: click here for details. 

Black Wonder Women 2: Raje

Renee Cox: Chillin' with Liberty (1998)

reneecox.org 

In her 1998 photomontage series, Renee Cox created an Amazonian alter-ego named Raje, a superhero who fights racism and teaches children African American history. The character, she said, was the granddaughter of Wonder Woman's black twin sister, Nubia. 

Whilst I admire many of the dozen or more large-scale images in this series, like Camille Paglia I have a special fondness for the picture above - Chillin' with Liberty - with its iridescent Pop-art colours and playful deconstruction of American culture and iconography. 

This is Raje in a reflective mood. Although it's hard to tell what she's thinking - and difficult also knowing whether this picture shows her before or after an adventure; is she resting and enjoying a moment's peace, or preparing once more to enter into battle? The title suggests she's relaxing, but titles can be misleading and do warriors ever really let down their guard enough to chill? 

Further, her eyes maintain a smouldering intensity; she's a woman who burns with a sense of injustice, not one who looks on the world with cool indifference. And Raje, like Nubia, looks hot in the erotic sense of the term too; she's a powerfully beautiful woman, as well as a beautifully powerful one who, whilst wishing to combat sexism, doesn't want to deny her own sexiness; she's as strong and dignified as Superman, but more alluring.

Paglia nails it when she argues that Raje's "elegant manner exudes the grace and glamour" of a fashion magazine, whilst her skintight, off-the-shoulder bodysuit and thigh-length patent leather boots exemplify the fetishistic, pro-sex feminism of the period. Her hair, make-up, and jewellery complete the look; uncompromising, but not unflattering.

A certain punk icon is fond of saying that anger is an energy. Which, perhaps, it is - and there's obviously anger in this piece. But anger is ultimately insufficient fuel for the production of significant works of art; these, as Ms Cox knows, also require intelligence, humour, imagination and style - qualities that she has in abundance (and which Rotten had, but Lydon lost).   

Notes

See: Camille Paglia, Glittering Images, (Vintage Books, 2013), ch. 28 'Blue Dawn: Renée Cox, Chillin' with Liberty', pp. 173-79.  

To read part one of this post on Nubia, click here. 

Black Wonder Women 1: Nubia

 Wonder Women (detail) by Marcus Williams (2017) 

marcusthevisual.com

Due to the huge commercial and critical success this summer of Wonder Woman (2017), dir. Patty Jenkins and starring Gal Gadot in the lead role, everyone is talking once again about the Amazonian princess and her place within popular culture as a feminist icon and/or slightly kinky, somewhat sapphic sex symbol.

Thanks not only to her adventures in print, but also the classic seventies TV show starring Lynda Carter, Wonder Woman is undoubtedly the best known of all the DC Comics characters apart from Superman and Batman. Most people instantly recognise her revealing star-spangled, red, white and blue costume and many - even outside the geeky world of comic-book fandom - probably have some memory of her Lasso of Truth, indestructible Bracelets of Submission, and Invisible Plane.    

Far fewer people, however, will recall that her origin story tells how she was sculpted from clay by her mother, Queen Hippolyta, and given life by the goddess Aphrodite along with superhuman powers gifted by other Greek deities, including Athena, Hermes, and Heracles. And only real fans will recall that Princess Diana had a dark-skinned twin sister made from black clay called Nubia ...

Conceived by writer Robert Kanigher and artist Don Heck, Nubia made her debut in Wonder Woman (vol. 1) #204, in January 1973; i.e., over thirty years after Wonder Woman was created by Charles Moulton, but perfectly suited for a period in which blaxploitation was suddenly big business.

Like Diana, Nubia has various super powers and possesses magical weaponry. But if, as Gloria Steinem argues, the former symbolizes many of the values that feminism wishes to affirm - including, for example, strength and self-reliance, sisterhood and mutual support - then surely this might equally be said of the latter, who, as a black woman in a white male world, probably has it significantly harder than her pale and privileged sister.

And yet, as Camille Paglia writes, Nubia is today a forgotten character ... Although perhaps this is not quite the case, thanks in part to the gynaecentric work of Jamaican-American artist, photographer, and activist Renee Cox ...   


To read part two of this post on Raje, click here.

Happy Birthday Carolee Schneemann

Carolee Schneemann: 

Eye Body: 36 Transformative Actions (1963)

Photo by Icelandic artist Erró, on 35mm black and white film

Next week - October 12th to be precise - is Carolee Schneemann's birthday and I'd like to take this opportunity to wish her many happy returns ...

Her phenomenal work, Eye Body (1963), composed of 36 photographic but still essentially painterly self-portraits - or what she termed transformative-actions - staged in a constructed loft environment in which she'd assembled objects associated with bad luck and the stuff of nightmares, from broken mirrors and open umbrellas to serpents, remains one of my favourite pieces from this period.   

In order to slide herself into this environment and become a living work of art, Schneemann covered her naked body in heterogeneous materials, including grease, glue, fur and feathers. One of the most powerful and most memorable of the images is a frontal nude, featuring two snakes crawling on her torso and in which her cunt is clearly visible and seems to be offered to us as a gift - which, of course, is also to say as a challenge and a provocation: I'll show you mine, if you show me yours.

Commenting on Eye Body, Schneemann has written:

"I wanted my actual body to be combined with the work as an integral material - a further dimension of the construction ... [so that] I am both image maker and image. The body may remain erotic, sexual, desired, desiring, but it is as well votive: marked, written over in a text of stroke and gesture discovered by my creative female will."

Unsurprisingly, the work caused great controversy at the time for its perceived porno-paganism. Critics accused Schneemann of narcissism and self-indulgence and described Eye Body as lewd, a word of Old English origin that has come to mean not only vulgar, but vile; immoral as well as obscene.

However, whilst it may contain elements of these things, ultimately it remains a portrait of a beautiful woman who, in her beauty and in her womanhood, transcends all such labels, all such judgements, without denying the fact that what is best in Woman is also what is most evil ...


Note: readers interested in more about Carolee Schneemann and her work can visit her webite by clicking here.

On the Art of Fondling (Towards a Democracy of Touch)

Milo Moiré: Selfie with Mirror Box taken shortly before 

her performance and subsequent arrest in London 

Image posted on Twitter (24 June 2016)

When Swiss conceptual performance artist Milo Moiré was arrested in London last summer for outraging public decency by strapping a so-called Mirror Box about her waist and then inviting onlookers and passers-by to have a 30-second feel of her cunt, I was vaguely aware that she was attempting to make a point about sexual consent and what does and does not constitute appropriate touching in the wake of events in Cologne and elsewhere in Europe; events that she has protested before and which I have written about elsewhere on this blog [click here]. 

What I didn't realise, however, was that her Mirror Box performance was inspired by Valie Export and her (at the time) revolutionary work Tapp und Tastkino (1968) - known in English as 'Tap and Touch Cinema' - a work that has rightly attained iconic status within (feminist) art history:

VALIE EXPORT: Tapp und Tastkino (1968)

Tap and Touch Cinema was performed by Export in ten European cities during the period 1968-71 (seven more than Moiré has so far managed with her Mirror Box). She wore a tiny 'movie theatre' strapped round her naked upper body, covering the latter from view, but exposing it to the touch of anyone - man, woman, or child - who cared to reach through the curtained front and touch her tits.

(Moiré's X-rated event, in contrast, was for over-18s only - but then she was offering rather more than the chance to cop hold of a breast.)  

Predictably, the media responded to Export's provocative work with moral hysteria and horror; one paper even branding her a witch. They seemed to imply that whilst viewing and aesthetically appreciating representations of female nudity on canvas or screen is perfectly legitimate, placing hands on to real bodies and enjoying a sensual-tactile interaction with the naked flesh is not.

In other words, sex must be a visual-mental thing; you can look and you can fantasise in private, but don't physically touch one another with tenderness or make public displays of affection: No Kissing No Cuddling No Kindness - these are the unspoken rules of pornified contemporary culture.

Export's work may be an ironic transgression, but it matters, I think; in the same way and for the same reasons that D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover still matters. For both works are brave and bold attempts to resurrect the body and contribute towards an immanent utopia that Lawrence terms a democracy of touch; a new socio-political order and new cultural arrangement that affirms and celebrates:

"The touch of the feet on the earth, the touch of the fingers on a tree, on a creature, the touch of hands and breasts, the touch of the whole body to body, and the interpenetration of passionate love."

Notes

Milo Moiré has performed Mirror Box in Düsseldorf and Amsterdam, as well as London. Charged in the latter with outraging public decency and spreading Genitalpanik, she spent 24-hours in jail before a judge sentenced her to pay a fine of €1300 and ordered her release. Although she has her critics - not least in the art world - I like Ms Moiré and regard her work as an interesting development and re-enactment of Export's. I'm only sorry I didn't get the chance to meet her last summer ... 

Readers interested in knowing more can visit her website by clicking here. 

To watch a video (censored version) of the Mirror Box performance uploaded to YouTube by the artist, click here. 

Readers interested in knowing more about Valie Export can visit her website by clicking here. 

To watch film of the Tapp und Tastkino performance uploaded to YouTube, click here.   

Finally, to read more about the democracy of touch, see: D. H. Lawrence, The First and Second Lady Chatterley Novels, ed. Dieter Mehl and Christa Jansohn, (Cambridge University Press, 1999). The lines quoted are on p. 323.

Genitalpanik 2: On Valie Export and Her Action Pants

VALIE EXPORT: Aktionshose: Genitalpanik 

Photo by Peter Hassmann (Vienna, 1969)

The claim made by Deborah de Robertis that her new project, Ma Chatte Mon Copyright, is basically an act of homage to the Austrian artist Valie Export (often written in upper case as VALIE EXPORT), is certainly intriguing - though, I must admit, due to my somewhat limited knowledge of 1960s feminist performance art, I wouldn't have guessed this from her recent appearance at the Louvre where she cheerfully stripped off and displayed her cunt in front of the Mona Lisa.  

This recently tweeted photo, however, makes things explicit (in every sense of the word):

Deborah de Robertis Ma Chatte Mon Copyright

Posted on Twitter 29 Sept 2017:  

In the original image, we see Valie Export sitting on a wooden bench, back against the wall, wearing a tight black leather shirt and a pair of crotchless trousers (or, if you prefer, Aktionshose). Although it's a fairly aggressive and confident pose - and despite the fact she's holding a machine gun - Export's bare feet betray a feral vulnerability.

The hair on her head, backcombed in proto-punk fashion, is almost as wild and bushy as that displayed between her legs. There's nothing Summer of Love about this picture; Export looks more fleur du mal than hippie flower child and you can imagine her in The Slits, but not The Mamas and the Papas.

I like the reimagining of it by De Robertis - in particular I approve of her decision to replace the machine gun with a camera - but, visually, it's not as powerful, not as provocative, not as strangely disturbing; the fact that it has been taken within the safety of a studio and the bench replaced with a simple wooden chair that might have come from Ikea, robs it of menace and dirtiness. 

The set of identical poster prints that Export produced in 1969 commemorate an action she carried out a year earlier in Munich. Entering an art-house cinema where experimental film-makers liked to show their works alongside European porn movies, 28-year-old Export paced between the rows of seated viewers wearing her action pants, her exposed cunt at face-level.

(Reports that she also carried her machine gun and put it to the heads of several men threatening to shoot them if they didn't agree they'd like to fuck her, are, alas, apparently untrue).

Export was challenging the representation and, in particular, the sexual objectification of women in art and film, forcing male spectators to acknowledge her agency and flesh and blood reality by staging a public encounter with that part of the female body usually kept under wraps and only seen or experienced in a private space.   

Genius: an inspirational act of guerrilla art and genital activism.

And it's conceivable that her crotchless action pants influenced Malcolm McLaren's thinking when he designed his bondage trousers with a revolutionary zip that didn't come to a stop in its usual position, but, rather, went all the way round and half-way up the arse, thereby allowing full exposure of and convenient access to the sex organs, perineum and anus.


Notes

Action Pants: Genital Panic (1969), by Valie Export, a series of six identical screenprints on paper, is on display at the Tate Modern (London), in the Feminism and Media Room (Level 4).

Now aged 77, Valie Export lives and works in Vienna and is internationally recognised as one of the most important pioneers in conceptual performance art, photography and film, influencing many younger artists, including Deborah de Robertis and Milo Moiré. Those interested in knowing more can visit her website, valieexport.at 

Those who would also like to listen to McLaren explain how to make a pair of subversive trousers, can click here for an episode of the French TV show Being Malcolm (2000), uploaded to YouTube by the Malcolm McLaren Estate, 30 Sept 2015. 

Finally, those interested in reading part one of this post on Deborah de Robertis and her Ma Chatte Mon Copyright project, should click here.

Genitalpanik 1: My Pussy My Copyright

Deborah de Robertis 

facebook.com

Some readers may remember that I expressed my admiration for the performance artist and vulva activist Deborah de Robertis after she initially came to public attention in 2014, by exposing her cunt at the Musée d'Orsay in front of Courbet's obscene masterpiece, L'Origine du monde: click here to read, or re-read, the post. 

It was, I thought, a courageous and amusing attempt to expose the hypocrisy of a phallocentric art world happy to stare into the abyss of a gaping vagina on a canvas or a screen, i.e., when framed by culture and offered as an image to be consumed, but uncomfortable with seeing such in the real world made of actual living flesh.   

Anyway, I'm pleased to report that Ms de Robertis is still continuing with her one-woman attempt to change the world by spreading her legs and declaring ownership of her own body: my pussy, my copyright; this time round obliging visitors to the Louvre to contrast the enigmatic smile of the Mona Lisa with the explicit display of her sex.

What Leonardo would have made of this, I don't know: for whilst he loved to paint beautiful women and possessed a detailed anatomical knowledge of their bodies, including their reproductive organs, his erotic fascination was clearly for young men and he drew many highly intimate studies of the male anus.

Nor do I know what the mostly bemused tourists who witnessed the event made of it; press reports that they were stunned and outraged seem exaggerated to me. What I do know is that the authorities weren't amused and the artist was held in custody for two days before appearing before a beak who ordered her to face trial on October 18 on charges of sexual exhibitionism and assault (she allegedly bit a security guard during her arrest).

Her defence, of course, will be that her goal was not to exhibit her genitals in a sexually aggressive manner, but to make people think about the role of women within art and, in this case, to remind them of the work of the Austrian artist Valie Export; the stunt at the Louvre being essentially an act of homage to the latter and her 1968 performance Aktionshose: Genitalpanik, which I'll discuss in part two of this post ...

Notes

To watch Ma Chatte Mon Copyright (2017), by Deborah de Robertis, uploaded to YouTube on 29 Sept 2017, click here. 

To read part two of this post on Valie Export and her Action Pants, click here. 

Sologamy (With Reference to the Case of Laura Mesi)

 Image Credit: Niño Jose Heredia / Gulf News (2017)

I've been waiting for me to come along - 

And now I've swept myself off my feet!

The case of 40-year-old Italian fitness trainer, Laura Mesi, has brought the subject of sologamy back into the public arena, with many commentators perplexed and angered at the idea of self-marriage ...

Predictably, the charge of narcissism is often made against those who take themselves up the aisle, as if this were the most terrible of all imaginable crimes. Ironically, however, it's a charge that is itself born of narcissism; for the anti-narcissist is essentially objecting to the fact that there are some people who don't find them attractive as a potential spouse and they're offended by that.

Other critics sneer at sologamy as a transparent and profoundly sad attempt by (mostly) single women attempting to rationalise loneliness and justify isolation as an affirmative lifestyle choice; i.e. the ultimate act of individual autonomy and empowerment.          

Personally, I don't see any need for nastiness and hope Laura and all the other self-loving sologamists live happily ever after. However, what interests me more remains the idea of divorcing the self - i.e., of releasing the self from the self [se déprendre de soi-même] as Foucault would say, offering thus a rather amusing definition of freedom.

Ultimately, ethics is not a question of remaining faithful to the self, but, rather, of subjective infidelity; of learning how to answer not I do, but No, I don't, when asked if you wish to have and to hold on to yourself, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.

Satanic News 2: The Case of Dilara Findikoglu and Her Infernal Fashion Show

II: The Case of Dilara Findikoglu and Her Infernal Fashion Show


Our second story concerns a fashion show held at historic central London church St. Andrew Holborn, as part of London Fashion Week (15-19 September, 2017); a show that the ex-Bishop of Rochester, Michael Nazir-Ali, and other leading clerics condemned as blasphemous and unacceptable in its satanic aspect.

To be fair, the show did involve heavily made-up models and drag queens dressed as demons and vampires strutting their stuff along the aisle and posing in front of the altar. Some had horns on their head and some displayed inverted crosses between bare-breasts, so the clergymen aren't getting their cassocks in a twist entirely without cause.

But what did they expect? For the show featured the work of London-based Turkish designer Dilara Findikoglu, whose creations are popular with celebrities who like to provoke controversy and display a supposedly rebellious character whilst wearing expensively tailored clothes. What's more, Ms Findikoglu has spoken openly of her puerile (and, ironically, passé) fascination with magic and the world of the occult.

At the end of the day, she didn't break into St. Andrew's - it was hired from the Church of England authorities and surely it's their responsibility to exercise due caution and protect the sacredness of the space entrusted to them? To claim that they took the booking in good faith and were completely unaware of the show's content and themes, is a pretty piss-poor excuse.

An investigation into the matter is apparently now being carried out. Perhaps they might begin by asking why it is the Church feels so comfortable renting out its properties for secular activities and commercial purposes.

As for Ms Findikoglu, well, she's young; she can do better than this: and will, I'm sure, when she learns that when it comes to fashion, the devil's in the detail not shock-horror cliché. 

To read part one of this post on the case of Sister Maria Crocifissa della Concezione, click here.

Satanic News 1: The Case of Sister Maria Crocifissa della Concezione and the Devil's Letter

Satan, the so-called Prince of Darkness, has been in the headlines this month and I would like to discuss two recent news stories, beginning with ...

I: The Case of Sister Maria Crocifissa della Concezione and La Lettera del Diavolo 


A mysterious letter from 1676, previously believed to be nonsensical, has finally had its diabolical contents deciphered by scientists using code-breaking software found - appropriately enough - on the dark web.

Written shortly after entering the Benedictine convent in Palma di Montechiaro aged fifteen, Sister Maria Crocifissa della Concezione claimed that her hands were possessed by Satan and that he, not she, should be regarded as its true author. Unable to make (horned) head or (pointed) tail of the letter's contents, her fellow nuns believed her story and - rather surprisingly - put the letter on display, where it remained, unfathomed and seemingly unfathomable, for 340 years.

Until, that is, a team from the Ludum Science Centre in Catania, finally succeeded in translating parts of the text. Unfortunately, it seems that Satan didn't have anything unexpected to tell us on this occasion. He dismisses the divine forces of goodness as burdensome, like dead weights around the neck of mankind and says that morality is a dysfunctional system that benefits no one. He also contrasts God's promise of salvation with the freedom to sin that he offers.

Mostly, however, the letter remains incomprehensible and prone to logical inconsistency, mixing as it does several languages, even those said to be incompatible, into a kind of textual babble that only the wicked might find pleasurable. Whether this is evidence of the Devil's presence, or shows that Sister Maria suffered from some kind of mental disorder, is not for me to say ...


To read part two of this post on the case of Dilara Findikoglu, click here. 

Psychoceramics (Clinical Notes on Cranks and Crackpots)

We are the psycho-ceramics; 

the cracked pots of mankind.

A friend writes to complain about my use of the pejorative term crackpot:

"You use this tabloid-sounding term far too often as a lazy, rhetorical dismissal of people you don't sympathise with and whose views you frequently fail to understand. And, ultimately, isn't everyone's pot a bit damaged in some manner?"

To be fair, he might have a point; maybe I do use this term too often and maybe we do all have idiosyncrasies and mental health issues to deal with.

However, I borrowed the word crackpot from an Adam Ant song rather than the popular press, and I like to think it functions within my text as a specific critical and clinical term to refer to individuals who have an abnormal understanding of what constitutes factual evidence and thus enter into anomalous and sometimes sinister relationships with reality and what is generally accepted as the truth (e.g. the earth is a spherical object that orbits the sun).

Such individuals - often known as cranks as well as crackpots - are invariably people of faith; that is to say, they hold firm and fixed beliefs rather than ideas that are open to interrogation, thus rendering rational discourse impossible. Once they make their minds up on any given subject they cannot be persuaded otherwise. Thus the crazy often resemble broken records as well as cracked pots; endlessly repeating the same thing over and over, forever stuck in a groove.      

In 1992, American mathematical physicist John Baez came up with an amusing checklist, known as the Crackpot Index, that was designed to help identify cranky individuals and the way their minds (mal)function and I would encourage readers to check it out by clicking here.

Baez, like others who are interested in this condition, demonstrates that all crackpots share certain traits, characteristics, and obsessions. Perhaps the key feature is overestimating their own knowledge and ability, whilst underestimating (or dismissing entirely) that of leading experts.

Prone to paranoia as well as megalomania, crackpots also invariably subscribe to conspiracy theories and claim that their unorthodox views and revolutionary discoveries are being suppressed by mainstream science, big business, the government - or sometimes all three under the control of alien overlords. Or the Jews.  

And so, whilst I'm grateful to my friend for taking time to write, I think he should allow me my continued usage of the term crackpot and, further, I would suggest he investigates the work of Josiah S. Carberry, the leading authority in the field of psychoceramics.

For whilst I agree that it's pleasant and proper to be foolish once in a while, insanity marks a loss of conscious integrity and the point at which creativity terminates. And so, whilst a work of art or theory can reveal the presence of unreason, there are, technically, no mad scientists or mad poets.  


Note: the image above is of Jack Nicholson as Randle Patrick McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (dir. Miloš Forman, 1975); a film based on a novel of the same title by Ken Kesey (1962). The paraphrased line is from Pt. III, Ch. 2.  

The Internet of Stings: On Apiculture and the Question Concerning Technology

Most people have heard about the so-called Internet of Things (IoT), which, basically, involves embedding computer chips in everyday objects thereby enabling them to send and receive data and to be connected into one great network via the internet.

But many of these people assumed that the things referred to would be inanimate objects; phones, fridges, cars, kettles, central heating systems, etc. with the aim of making dumb things smart or artificially intelligent.

Only a few realised that living beings would also be made part of the IoT. Thus it is that cows, seals, sharks, and now bees are being brought into line by putting them online; a project that we might term die Gleichshaltung von Insekten  ...

Initiating in Manchester, it's hoped that bees across the UK will eventually be fitted with RFID chips on their backs so that researchers can track their behaviour and movements. Their homes will also be bugged (no pun intended), so that hive information - such as temperature - can be monitored and processed.

The aim, it's claimed, is to help the endangered creatures survive in age of colony collapse disorder by enabling the insects to provide status updates and tweet their locations.

And there I was thinking that we just had to plant more wild flowers, use less neonic pesticides and remember that beekeeping is essentially a practice requiring care, rather than a question concerning technology ...  

Time/Flies

dobrador.com 

Like most normal people, I hate flies; particularly that universal pest Musca domestica and its slightly larger relative, the bluebottle (Calliphora vomitoria). Only lunatics and Satanists find these carrion-loving, shit-eating, disease-spreading creatures genuinely attractive.

Having said that, my pteronarcophobia doesn't prevent me from conceding that flies are fantastic little machines of great scientific interest and ecological importance. And the fact that they have been buzzing about in huge numbers in almost every terrestrial habitat since the Middle Triassic period (i.e. for about 240 million years) is certainly something; for that's not only way prior to man, but long, long before there were even flowers.

Arguably, it's even more impressive when one realises that what is an almost inconceivable amount of time for man, is even longer for a fly. For research suggests that perception of time is not something universally shared across species and that for flies time passes far slower than it does for humans.

As an evolutionary rule, it seems that the smaller an animal is and the faster its metabolic rate, the slower time passes for it - and flies are very small with a very high metabolic rate. Because their large compound eyes can perceive light flickering up to four times faster than ours, they essentially see the world moving in slow motion.

Which is why, of course, the little fuckers so often manage to evade being swatted; being able to perceive time differently to a lumbering ape with a rolled up newspaper, is, in this case, literally the difference between life and death.

Of course, as one of the researchers into this area points out, having eyes that send updates to the brain at much higher frequencies is only of value if that brain can process the information just as quickly and lead to good decision making. Hence, we have to admit that even the tiny brains of flies have mighty capabilities and that - for now at least - insect intelligence remains far more astonishing than even the most advanced AI.

They may not be deep thinkers, but they're not so mindless after all ...                  

Note: those interested in knowing more about the current research into the eyes of flies and their perception of time, should visit the BBC science and environment web page and read the recent article by Rory Galloway: click here. 

Thanks to Simon Solomon for suggesting this post and providing the link.

Reflections on The Bat 2: Germaine Richier and Her Art of Becoming-Animal

Germaine Richier: La Chauve-souris (1946) 

Dimensions: 89 x 91 x 59.5 cm

Theodore Roethke's uncanny verse, The Bat, brings to mind many things; D. H. Lawrence's own poetic encounters with bats; Dick Kulpa and Bob Lind's journalistic fiction, the Bat Boy; and, of course, Germaine Richier's terrifying sculpture from 1946, also entitled (in English) The Bat.

Having written about Lawrence's chiropteran poetry and the Bat Boy elsewhere on this blog, it's Richier and her work I wish to discuss here ...     

Germaine Richier was a highly individual 20th century French sculptress. Whilst she had a rather classical approach - preferring, for example, to work from a live model before then reworking the finished piece - her work was often anomalous in theme; she loved to model spiders and insects, as well as monstrous human-animal hybrids. After the War, her style became less conventionally figurative; the bodily deformations that often characterized her work became ever-more accentuated and extreme in an attempt to convey her ever-greater sense of existential angst.

Her Christ figure, for example, although originally commissioned by the Church and designed for the Chapel of Assy, caused outrage and was eventually removed by order of a bishop, who objected not only to the fact that the body of Christ was indistinguishable from the Cross on which it hung (the wood and flesh having fused into one object), but that the figure was also faceless (readers of Deleuze and Guattari will understand why this is so profoundly problematic).

Interesting as this work and the controversy surrounding it are, it's her experimental 1946 piece, La Chauve-souris, that fascinates me most, however, created shortly after returning to Paris from Zurich, where she and her husband had spent the war years. In making The Bat, Richier employed a new technique of dipping rope fibre in plaster, before then draping it over a metal frame.  

As indicated, Richier had a real penchant for portraying (usually female) figures with insect or arachnoid characteristics. But this work was the first time she'd attempted to produce a mouse with wings wearing a human face. Just looking at the small, recognisably human head atop the elongated neck of this creature gives me the willies, in the same way that Roethke's poem creeps me out.

For like her American contemporary, Richier seems to have a great love for things belonging to the natural world, but it's a love that goes way beyond nostalgia for her childhood in rural southern France that some critics insist upon. Richier, like Roethke, appears to have discovered an unsettling, Lovecraftian truth about the latter - what we might term the perverse immorality of nature; the fact that nature is paradoxically invested with elements that are unnatural and preternatural (just as we also contain within our humanity aspects that are nonhuman, inhuman and, perhaps, overhuman).    

What excites Richier as an artist, I think, is not the fact that things naturally evolve, but that they are also subject to a process of becoming, with this latter understood not as the slow unfolding of an essence towards fixed identity, but the affirmation of difference conceived as a multiple process of transformation and an opening up of the self to outside forces (be they animal, alien, or daemonic in character).

And this, of course, is what excites me about her ...


Notes

The version of The Bat shown above was cast in bronze in 1996; the fifth in a posthumous edition of six created under the direction of Francoise Guiter (the artist’s niece) by L. Thinot, Paris, the foundry responsible for casting Richier’s sculptures during her lifetime. It is on long term loan to the Tate (Ref. Number: L02176). 

To read part one of this post on Theodore Roethke and the unheimlich, click here. 

To read the post that anticipates or prefigures this one on Roethke and the Bat Boy, click here. 

To read the post on D. H. Lawrence's becoming-bat, click here. 

To read Roethke's poem The Bat, click here. 

Thanks to Diana Thomson for suggesting this post by pointing me in the direction of Germaine Richier.

Reflections on The Bat 1: Theodore Roethke and the Unheimlich

Germaine Richier: Bat (1948-51)

Etching and aquatint on paper (385 x 536 mm)

Several days after first reading and I'm still haunted by Roethke's magnificent poem The Bat ...

It's not the bat by day who disturbs me; the bat who is cousin to the mouse and likes to hang out (literally) in the attic of an aging house and whose fingers make a hat about his head. I'm perfectly fine with the thought of such a creature, whose heart beats so slowly we think him dead.

Indeed, I don't even fear the bat who loops in crazy figures half the night. Just so long as he keeps his distance and, more importantly, keeps his own countenance. It's only when he comes too close and reveals that something is amiss or out of place that I'm disturbed; when, as Roethke writes, it becomes apparent that even mice with wings can wear a human face.

In my mind, such an image is uncanny to the nth degree. So much so, that one is tempted to use the more ambiguous (and thus more troubling) German term, unheimlich, which Roethke, as the son of a German immigrant, might appreciate. For unheimlich means more than outside of one's normal experience and familiar frame of reference (or beyond one's ken, as our friends north of the border might say).

Roethke's human-faced bat is not just a bit creepy or queer: it is that which should have remained forever in the shadows and never been spoken of, but which has - thanks to him - come to light and to language; it is thus the un-secret (and here we recall that heimlich doesn't just mean homely, but also that which is hidden or concealed).

In a proto-Freudian sense that looks back to Schelling, the unheimlich is, we might say - and I'm going to have to consult with my friend Simon Solomon on this - the obscene intrusion of the occult into the known world in such a manner that it curdles the milk and violates the natural order of things.


Notes

To read The Bat, by Theodore Roethke, please visit the Poetry and Literature page of the US Library of Congress: click here.

To read part two of this post on French sculptress Germaine Richier and her 1946 piece La Chauve-souris, click here.

To read the post that anticipates or prefigures this one on Roethke and the Bat Boy, click here.

Germaine Richier's brilliant artwork seen here can be viewed by appointment at Tate Britain's Prints and Drawings Rooms (Ref. number P11286) .

Of Contrails and Chemtrails (with Reference to the Case of Kylie Jenner)

Kylie Jenner reflecting upon chemtrails 

I have to admit that I make very little effort to keep up with the Kardashians and their extended family network. But it's been brought to my attention that one of their number, Kylie Jenner, recently tweeted her concern about the issue of so-called chemtrails ...

"It's heartening to discover", said my correspondent, "that when not revealing her charms, this talented young model, actress, entrepreneur and media personality, is courageously attempting to expose the truth about those mysterious white lines across the sky that the authorities pretend are perfectly harmless ..."

Quite! Only not quite quite ...

Because those mysterious white lines are in fact nothing more than water vapour in the form of ice crystals and, as such, are of course entirely innocuous. In other words, chemical trails don't really exist; they are simply condensation trails (known as contrails) produced by aircraft engines burning hydrocarbons at cruise altitude, as re-imagined within the paranoid world of conspiracy theory. 

Depending on the ambient temperature and humidity, contrails may be visible for only a brief few moments, or they may persist for hours and spread to be several miles wide, coming to resemble natural cloud formations. Either way, they do not contain unknown bio-chemical agents deliberately sprayed for sinister purposes by secret government agencies.

Such claims - originating in the late 1990s - are often based on mad fantasy and shocking scientific ignorance. However, despite repeatedly being shown to be absurd, they still persist and attract followers; including, it seems, glamorous celebrities such as Miss Jenner. It's an unfortunate fact that when experts and officials deny the existence of chemtrails, believers interpret this as further evidence of a cover-up.

Lunatics, it seems, have always been prone to lifting up their eyes and looking to the heavens for signs; if not of God's greatness, then of man's inherent wickedness ...

Notes

Anyone interested in the latest research into this by a large number of atmospheric scientists might like to see an article by Christine Shearer, Mick West, Ken Caldeira and Steven J. Davis entitled 'Quantifying expert consensus against the existence of a secret, large-scale atmospheric spraying program', in Environmental Research Letters, Vol. 11, Number 8 (10 Aug 2016), IOP Publishing Ltd. Click here to read online, or here to view as a PDF.

And if anyone is interested in Kylie Jenner's tweet from 25 May 2015 on chemtrails, here it is:

Roethke and the Bat Boy (A Post on American Poetry and Popular Culture)

And when he appears upon a TV screen,

We're afraid of what our eyes have seen.

The highly-regarded American poet, Theodore Roethke, grew up surrounded by natural beauty subject to German discipline in a giant greenhouse. The perfect conditions in which a sensitive young boy's Romanticism might flourish ...

However, as Camille Paglia points out, there was always something queer about Roethke's lyricism; his "portraits of nature are often eerie or unsettling", particularly when he attempted to connect the world of the greenhouse to his own (often profoundly disturbed) inner experience.

Perhaps this explains why the last lines of his poem 'The Bat' have been haunting me for days: 

For something is amiss or out of place

When mice with wings can wear a human face.

Either that, or they caused me to reflect once more upon the terrifying case of the Bat Boy, discovered living in Hellhole Cave, West Virginia, by Dr Ron Dillon, as reported in the pages of the Weekly World News back in the summer of 1992, and now established as an iconic figure within the popular imagination ...

See: 

Camille Paglia, Break, Blow, Burn (Vintage Books, 2006), p. 146. 

Theodore Roethke, The Collected Poems, (Faber and Faber, 1968).

To read 'The Bat', please visit the Poetry and Literature page of the US Library of Congress: click here.  

The Strange Case of Ray Comfort: Banana Man

Ray Comfort Wallpaper by Dobbed

deviantart.com 

The amusing story of Ray Comfort, aka Banana Man, isn't new, but it's always worth retelling ... 

Comfort is a Christian and a creationist, famous for putting forward the so-called banana argument which claims that this particular fruit provides irrefutable proof of intelligent design and God's benevolence. For not only does the banana have great nutritional value, but it's easy to hold in the human hand, comes ready-wrapped in a convenient to peel skin, and is colour-coded in a manner that accurately reveals its degree of ripeness.

Indeed, so perfect is the banana in form and function, that Comfort describes it as the atheist's nightmare. How, he asks, could a natural object so perfect just evolve - there just has to be an intelligence behind this fruity miracle ... Which, ironically, there is; though it's human in origin and not divine. The same scientific intelligence, in fact, that lies behind much of the cultivated produce we enjoy. 

For regardless of what environmentalists, organic farmers, and alarmists in the media like to believe about the inherent dangers and evil of Frankenstein food, the truth is man has been selectively breeding and genetically modifying what he eats for millennia. Comfort entirely ignores this fact and says nothing of the banana's agricultural history (the fact it was first domesticated around 9,000 years ago in SE Asia is of course doubly embarrassing for a Christian and a young Earth creationist).        

Ultimately, the modern banana is neither natural nor supernatural; it's a pure piece of artifice, far removed from its wild and almost inedible predecessors; an asexual clone, vulnerable to a range of diseases due to its lack of genetic diversity, that is entirely dependent upon human cultivation for its survival.

Whether Comfort likes to admit it or not, this tropical, sugar-rich fruit - much loved by monkeys as well as man - was something unbeknown to the authors of Genesis and never once tasted by Jesus or his disciples.    

Reflections on Hassan Hajjaj and His 'Kesh Angels

Hassan Hajjaj: Rider (2010)  

'Kesh Angels exhibition (2014) 

Taymour Grahne Gallery, New York

Moroccan-born, London-based artist and photographer Hassan Hajjaj has a new exhibition opening at Somerset House next month, as part of the 1:54 Contemporary African Art Fair. And this, I think, is a good thing ...

Because Hajjaj produces work that is not only visually exciting to look at, but philosophically interesting to discuss, reflecting as it does his deterritorialized existence spent not simply hip-hopping between two very different countries and cultures, but oscillating, as Deleuze and Guattari would say, between two poles of delirium, struggling to be free and to reinvent each and every gesture, invoking in the process a people to come whose identity is aesthetically styled from diverse elements in a Pop-Punk fashion and who pride themselves on belonging to a race that is impure and illegitimate.

Hajjaj is perhaps best known for a colourful and provocative series of portraits depicting traditionally dressed Arab-Muslim girls on motorbikes, as in the image above; not so much angels with dirty faces, as imagined by Rowland Brown and Jimmy Pursey, as 'Kesh Angels with hidden faces.

However, I don't think he should be defined by these images alone - anymore than he should be obliged to labour under the ridiculous idea that he's the Andy Warhol of Marrakesh. Hajjaj has far more to offer as an artist than such a lazy comparison allows. He is a man who - after much hard work - is finally able to say and do something in his own name, without asking permission or referencing the past from which he flees.


Notes

For details of the Somerset House exhibition, La Caravane, by Hassan Hajjaj, beginning October 5, 2017, please click here. 

For details of the 1:54 Contemporary African Art Fair, also in London next month, click here. 

For a related post to this one on Pop Art from North Africa, click here. 

To see more images from the 'Kesh Angels exhibition, please visit the Taymour Grahne Gallery website by clicking here.

Thanks to Kosmo Vinyl for suggesting this post.

Pop Art from North Africa (with Images of Marilyn Veiled and Unveiled)

Libyan Marilyn 

Alla Abudabbus

This just in from dear friend and fellow blogger, Nahla Al-Ageli, over at Nahla Ink (a site that chronicles the adventures of an independent Arab woman and freelance journalist living in London, with particular reference to events happening within the world of Arab art and culture) ...

September 21st sees the launch of the Pop Art from North Africa exhibition at the P21 Gallery (London), featuring work by fifteen artists from the region, who have all been inspired by a movement that first emerged in Britain and the United States in the mid-late 1950s, but which has since expanded into a global phenomenon, challenging the art traditions of numerous countries with imagery drawn from the worlds of mass media, commerce, and popular culture.

The exhibition, curated by Najlaa El-Ageli and Toufik Doubi, will examine how Pop Art's postmodern irony plays out within the social, political and cultural environments unique to North Africa. For more details, please go to the P21 Gallery website by clicking here, or visit nahlaink.com

Personally, I would think this exhibition worth attending if only to see the beautiful image by Alla Abudabbus shown above.

Of course, it's not the first time that Marilyn has been depicted pop art style in a veil; the Iranian artist, Afshan Ketabchi, produced her work Marilyn Monroe Undercover in 2008, for example.

But I think it's my favourite such picture, reminding me as it does of Douglas Kirkland's famous series of photographs of Marilyn from 1961, in which she poses naked in a white sheet and shows that - veiled or unveiled - she was one of the most fascinating women of the twentieth century ...

A New Entry in the Big Book of Little Girls: Alma Deutscher (The Prodigy)

Photo of Alma Deutscher 
By Anna Huix (2016)

I.

One of the books I would still like to write, is my Big Book of Little Girls - a work dedicated to all of those fantastic creatures who are so much more than merely young females destined to grow up to be women in a conventional bio-cultural manner.

At their best - which is to say at their most phenomenal and inhuman - little girls are extraordinary events whose individuation doesn't proceed via subjectivity, but by pure haecceity. They are defined, thus, not by their age, sex, or material composition (sugar and spice), but by the intensive affects of which they are capable. 

I already have an index of possible candidates for the book, both living and dead, actual and fictional. And now I have another name to add: Alma Deutscher ...   


II.

Born in February 2005, Alma is a highly celebrated and much-loved composer and performer. Starting her musical career early - she began playing the piano aged two, followed by the violin at three - this wunderkind has already written sonatas, concertos, and operas.

For some, she's an angel sent to redeem the world through melody and she herself contrasts the simple beauty of her music with the ugliness and complexity of the times. Anyone wanting to see people in jeans or hear works that deal with social issues, should probably stay away from her recitals: Let them look at passersby in the street or watch TV, she says, with the regal disdain perfected more by Marie Antoinette than by Mozart.

And suddenly one recalls that the term prodigy refers not only to a young person with exceptional gifts, but - as her own mother reminds us - to a monstrous being who violates the natural order and brings with them something more troubling than a nice tune; something unbidden and unexpected ...

At the very least, I think it reasonable to regard this young girl as genuinely inspired, if not, indeed, one possessed; a witch who whirls a magical skipping rope about her head and allows strange forces to work through her. Whether these forces be divine or daemonic in nature is debatable; but it's surely worth remembering that the Devil has all the best tunes and that the positing of Beauty as the highest of all high ideals has, in the past, put dreamy Romantics on a path to Hell ...

But then I'm just one of those whom Robert Schediwy characterises as an advanced culture-theorist, suspicious of any attempt to steer contemporary classical music back to the 18th and 19th centuries with their "uninhibited love of melody", before those decidedly ungalant, 20th century composers dared to experiment with dissonance and require listeners to develop new ears.

As for Alma, obviously I wish her well. But I also hope that, as she matures, she rethinks her relationship to the present, to reality, and to popular culture and sees how even beauty can become an ugly impediment to genius ...


See Robert Schediwy, 'Alma und die gefährliche Liebe zur Melodie', Der Standard (13 Jan 2017): click here.

To listen to Alma play, or to read numerous other press reports and interviews with her and her parents, go to her website by clicking on the link already given. Alternatively, there are plenty of videos available to watch on YouTube, including this one, in which Alma not only performs her own piano and violin compositions, but speaks about her work before an invited audience at the WORLD.MINDS Annual Symposium (2016).

On the Portrait of Ms Ruby May, Standing

Portrait of Ms Ruby May, Standing 
Oil on canvas (2012) 
Leena McCall

I.

There is something of a tradition within the world of fine art for portraits of women standing.

Dutch Golden Age painter Frans Hals, for example, completed his contribution to this genre sometime around 1610. Indeed, such a lover was he of upright women that he produced another portrait of a woman standing just a few years later (c.1618-20).   

Neither of these unidentified women, however, arouses my interest as much as the fabulous Ms Ruby May, pictured above, standing, hand-on-hip and pipe in mouth, by UK based visual artist Leena McCall.

The painting is obviously intended to be sexually provocative. There's that defiant look in the eye of the subject, returning and challenging the male gaze, for a start; clearly this is a woman who knows how to construct and express a playfully ambiguous model of sexual identity on her own terms.

And then there's the fact that her breeches are unbuttoned, exposing her lower body or loins such that her pubic hair is clearly visible ...


II.

I recently published a post reflecting on the issue of female pubic hair, referring to its representation within the world of art.* A woman kindly wrote to me afterwards to say that whilst she enjoyed the piece, she couldn't help thinking it was essentially a non-concern within what she insisted was a sexually liberated  - or, at any rate, sexually indifferent - age:

"Some women wax, some women shave and shape their bushes, and some just leave things to grow naturally; the point is no one really cares and it's not a big issue, even if it remains subject to changing fashion. Thankfully, the days when people freaked out at the sight of a pubic hair have long gone."

I wonder, then, how she explains the fact that McCall's painting was swiftly removed by the Mall Galleries from the Society of Women Artists' 153rd annual exhibition in 2014, following a number of complaints and the concern that perhaps children or vulnerable adults might view it ...?

According to McCall, the picture was branded as pornographic and disgusting precisely because it showed Ms May as an amorous subject proudly displaying her pubic hair as a sign of mature womanhood. Afforded the opportunity to provide a replacement work, McCall admirably refused on the grounds that to do so would be to concede there was something inherently offensive or obscene about the portrait (and/or the body) of her friend Ruby May.  

So, to my correspondent I say thank you very much for writing, but I beg to differ with your analysis of the times in which we live.

For if there's been a pornification of culture on the one hand, so too is this the age of safe spaces, trigger warnings, political correctness, censorship, and the new puritanism in which the greatest crime is to cause offence (either wilfully or inadvertently) to the easily offended, be they snowflake liberals, religious maniacs, or - apparently - London gallery owners worried about their trustees and sponsors, etc. ...


* See: Where the Turtle Doves Sing ... the post mentioned above that reflects on pubic hair.