Beth A. Eck states that “the nude image resides comfortably in three familiar and bounded frames: art, pornography and information. These frames clearly provide the reader with cues that aid his/her interpretation of the nude as well as his/her evaluation of the nude.” (2001: 603) But what happens when these ‘familiar and bounded frames’ become skewed, blurry and overlap? How does a viewer begin to interpret and understand the nude when there is no obvious signifier of its frame, and more specifically its context or intention? Within this essay I will discuss the importance of context, the relationship between creator, subject and viewer of nude imagery, and the consistent relevance of gaze and patriarchal standards that surround the human body. Just as my own practice explores these notions, along with the reactions of awkwardness or confusion that arise when presented with a nude body sans context, despite the apparent leaps and bounds we have come on in recent decades, the relevance of these notions are undeniable in the creation of, and viewing of the painted, female nude.
Long since the barely clothed reclining nude of the renaissance era, and slightly shorter since the outrage at the unapologetic explicitness of Robert Mapplethorpe’s Self Portrait with Whip (1978), the nude – and more specifically, the sexualised nude – is no new or ground-breaking subject in contemporary art. Especially within a socially engrained patriarchy, a cultural form concerned with visual and visceral pleasure will of course be occupied with that which evokes visual pleasure in the white, middle class, heterosexual (Mapplethorpe signalling a progression or discrepancy), male.
As such, it is no surprise that the walls of the National Gallery and The Royal Academy are frequently adorned with coy, blushing women, unconvincingly clinging to the minute swathes of fabric attempting to conceal their genitalia or breasts, usually painted by one of ‘the old masters’. Along with these paintings, one would not be shocked to also see families, elderly couples, tour guides, and children alike viewing said works, discussing composition, brushstrokes, religious references or the skill of the painting, all while a neat and delicate vulva confronts them at direct eye level or a politely pink nipple sneaks out from the painted drapery they are so fervently admiring. It is here where the crux of this discussion appears: the notion of context within nude painting and contemporary art more broadly. As mentioned earlier, Mapplethorpe’s erotic photography of the 1970s and 80s culminated in one of the most controversial photography exhibitions of the century, inciting protest, outrage and disgust throughout the United States and beyond. But aside from the explicit nature of the images, we must question how these are particularly different to Gustave Courbet’s Woman with a Parrot (1866), Amedeo Modigliani’s Seated nude with Necklace (1917) or Michelangelo’s David (1501-1504). We cannot avoid the argument that the explicit homosexual nature of the works was the main contingent for controversy in a world less liberal than today, however I would like to propose that the intrinsic component for which Mapplethorpe’s – and many other contemporary artists work – is considered pornographic and explicit to the point of controversy and concealment from the public gaze, is, quite simply, context.
I wish to discuss the importance of context in relation to the presentation of the nude, as well as the disparity in judgement and viewer placement dependent on medium, provenance and era. By examining the contemporary works of artists such as Celia Hempton, Helen Beard, Sarah Hardacre and Elly Smallwood, I will explore how the fe/male gaze, objectification, pornography and context all play a crucial role in the reading of the nude in contemporary painting. Despite identifying Robert Mapplethorpe as a key player in the discussion of pornography vs fine art and a definitive case study for the importance of medium, setting and audience, I will focus predominantly on the female nude within contemporary painting as I also intend to unpack the connotations of female artists painting female subjects, the viewer/subject/painter relationship and the archaic prescription of a purely male gaze in the objectification of the female body.
Just as Smallwood and Greenwood discuss in ‘Let Curves Lead’ (Greenwood, 2019), “The female form has been a battlefield in art history… male painters painted it for their own pleasure; female painters painted it to reclaim it and give it agency”, which perfectly identifies the contemporary problems that occur from a distinction between a male and female gaze, and the challenging notion that female artists can ‘reverse’ or ‘reclaim’ a gaze and the respective mind-set that is ingrained within our society from the music we listen to, to advertising, film and television, societal structures and even the laws we live by. For this reason, I will not be addressing the concept of the fe/male gaze directly in this discussion, despite its relevance it is simply too much of an unnavigable subject to address aside from my main focus on the relationship between pornography and art. Henceforth, in my reference to a gaze within painting, I will be discussing an ungendered but misogynist gaze, which objectifies and sexualises the human form, and most particularly, the female form. Similarly to Jacques Lacan’s theory of gaze, this references the disparity between the eye and the gaze and instead focuses on the hostility and vulnerability that is enforced on both the subject and viewer by the presence of an independent power: the gaze itself, and the assertion of ownership of the body implied by said gaze. Which is, of course, precisely what Mapplethorpe was hoping to discuss with his works and his concern with biopolitics, sexuality and gaze.
So, let us begin by examining the work of one of my favourite – as you will know if you have followed my practice closely, or read my International Women’s Day post – contemporary female painters: Celia Hempton. Hempton’s painting practice not only explores the position of nudity within contemporary painting, challenges conventions of process and technique, but also creates astonishingly direct commentary on the context of nudity in contemporary society and our interaction with it. She describes her process for her Chat Random series in an interview with Grace Banks for FRAME as:
I have a laptop on a table, with a small canvas laying flat next to it on my palette. Whilst the laptop is connected to the chat room, I start flicking through live feeds of people online, clicking next until I find an image that I want to paint. Depending on what the person in the image is doing, or if I can even see a person, I either begin painting without engaging in conversation, or I begin a conversation and then start to paint, perhaps asking them if they mind me painting them. (Banks, 2014)
This use of a readily available nude subject material is echoed in the work of print and collage artist Sarah Hardacre, who utilises imagery from archival pornography and local history archives to create striking works that contrast the supposed femininity and softness of the female in pornography, with the strong, stark, industrial landscape of modern (late-century) Britain. In doing so, Hardacre discusses the female societal role and the effects of industry, poverty and class. Helen Beard’s utilisation of pornographic imagery, while less direct due to her chosen medium, is – if anything – more explicit. In some cases, her vibrant, stylised paintings depict content to rival the full-frontal nature of Mapplethorpe, yet her expressive mastery of colour, shape and scale, reposition the works outside of the controversy which surrounded the photographer.
This leads me nicely onto my discussion on the importance of medium in relation to context. Of the four artists I have chosen to examine, all but Hardacre are painters, which – aside from bias in terms of personal selection – would certainly suggest that explicit, and sometimes pornographically situated imagery is in no way out of place in the contemporary painting sphere. Elly Smallwood perfectly exemplifies this, as well as a contemporary and burgeoning recognition within the fine art market, sitting comfortably within The Cambridge Dictionary’s definition of a millennial, Smallwood has also harnessed the growing social media climate we exist in and built an independent artistic practice, followed by thousands globally. Not only is this once again a comment on the place for sexualised nude painting, but also a comment on societal interaction with the human body, nudity and sexuality. One need only look at movements like #freethenipple and body positive activists on Instagram to see that the once personal and taboo subjects of the body and sex are no longer as hush-hush as our – hypothetical – prim and proper, Great Aunt Hilda would have liked.
So where is the line drawn? Where does it become socially acceptable to view the human body in a sexualised way publicly, without it being considered crude or pornographic? As mentioned earlier, Beard’s paintings are extremely explicit in content and – in the case of her paintings – taken from pornography which is cropped and stylised, much like some of my own painting work. On her website, Beard describes this practice as taking “back ownership of sexual imagery from the predominately male gaze of the photographic or video image, and portray sex in a technicolour palette of stylized shapes, textured with a myriad of fluid brushstrokes that stroke the skin of those depicted, like fingers on skin.” Once again, we are faced with the undeniable presence of a gaze within figurative painting, however what interests me in this statement is Beard’s association with an “ownership of sexual imagery” and the way in which the physicality of her paintings are reminiscent of touch, which is in itself, a personal or intimate act.
In their 2009 book, Why Feminism Matters: Feminism Lost and Found, Kath and Sophie Woodward write that “Bodies are particular to each of us… yet bodies are also social” (2009: 136), which examines the dichotomy between the private and public nature of the body, particularly that of the naked female body which, as Sally O’Reilly explains is “still regarded differently from the artful nude: the latter is not uncommon in the public sphere, while the former is still very much relegated to the private realm” (2009: 18). This also reflects the ideas of sexual repression and the societal and political power of sex, which Michel Foucault discusses in his writings The History of Sexuality (1990), as he examines how truth and sexuality are “conditioned by politics” (1990: 5). It is interesting then to consider that artists such as Beard are attempting to reclaim a supposed ‘ownership’ of not only the female form, but of its sexual nature and sexual imagery including the female form. It is here that we can begin to delve deeper into the issue of intention. Predominantly we can concern ourselves with the intention of the artist, and in the case of Hempton and Beard it is clear that there is a kind of head on confrontation with the nude, sexual image and its prominence within contemporary society, that would suggest feminist ideal and intentions in repositioning this imagery and its original purpose – which we can assume was male visual, sexual pleasure; as the control and instigator role on an online chatroom, and as the viewer of female penetration in pornography, respectively. In the case of Smallwood and Hardacre, it can be seen that the female nude is simply a representation of a wider interest, a subject of beauty for Smallwood and a socio-political comment for Hardacre. Hence, what is most interesting is that despite the differing intentions of the artist who employs the imagery, the intention of the original picture is still rife with connotations of gaze, objectification and sexualisation. Therefore we must consider if the process of cropping and painting, or cutting out and embellishing with Swarovski crystals is enough to completely the change the context of such imagery; quite simply, when does it stop being porn and become art instead? It would be easy here to be diverted to the topic of appropriation and the discussion surrounding the context or intention of any repurposed image, however I feel that in doing so would only muddy the water of this particular conundrum – for Peter Kennard, Sherrie Levine and Barbara Kruger were not always specifically concerned with gaze, – with the exception of Untitled (Your Gaze Hits the Side of My Face) 1981 – sexualisation or the original source of an image, but rather the political and social arguments they could exhibit through the utilisation of media and pop culture imagery. As such, I am not interested in why or how pornographic imagery is employed by artists like Beard, Hempton, Smallwood and Hardacre – or Mapplethorpe for that matter – but rather it’s reception because of context and medium.
As we have already discussed, Mapplethorpe is a famous – or infamous, depending on your perspective – artist whose use of nudity and sexual imagery caused widespread outrage, yet the four female artists I have examined in relation to the painted or ‘artistic’ female nude are all successful, relatively well-known, respected artists, despite the similarities between their own works and the likes of Mapplethorpe. We have already identified that the era of their presentation and the changes in the socio-political landscape may have been influential to their reception, similarly, we have examined how process and methods of abstraction or stylisation have repositioned the pornographic imagery as art, but we must also address the fact that these artists are all female, and in spite of their sexual orientation, feminist agendas or artistic positioning, it is undeniable that there is an air of desirability and ‘coolness’ placed upon women who view other nude women. (Hence, why I have elected to not impose a gender upon the gaze I am discussing in this essay.) One need only look at Pornhub’s published statistics to see that ‘Lesbian’ porn is the most popular searched category for the past few years running. Signalling the distinct fetishisation of homosexual female sexual relationships. Could this be another string to the patriarchal bow that is promoting the prominence of the female nude in contemporary art, not only for the visual pleasure in creates in viewership, but the concealed sexual pleasure created in the idea that women painting women could actually be overtly sexual – particularly when those women are seeking out pornography as source imagery for their paintings? This is, obviously, problematic for a number of reasons. Not only does it delineate between female and male creators in respect to nude art, but it also instils a taboo, fetishized, mystery around female sexuality, which is one of the many issues these – and countless other female artists – are trying to address in their ‘ownership’ or the painted female nude. Before I embark on a feminist manifesto surrounding female sexuality, sexual freedom and the disparity between the celebration of ‘lesbian porn’ pursuit by heterosexuals and the concealment of enjoyment of ‘gay porn’, I must revert myself back to the key discussion here.
So, as the position – and more specifically, the gender – of the artist may be relevant to the reading and context of the female nude in contemporary art, so may be the medium. As I briefly mentioned earlier, the prominence of painters like Smallwood, Hempton and Beard does exemplify a shift in societally acceptable portrayals of nudity, however it does still exemplify the way in which painting, as a medium, is often – consciously or not – perceived as a way of presenting a subject or image which would be problematic, either morally or visually, if presented as a photograph, or live sculpture. Let us consider for a moment, Balthus’ 1938 painting Thérèse Dreaming. The painting caused controversy when displayed at the MET in 2017, with nearly 9,000 people calling for it to be taken down or censored due to the suggested sexual pose of the 12 year old subject. Despite the controversy and discussion of the inappropriate nature of the relationship between the artist and his muse, the gallery chose to continue displaying the work and the painting is still well-known and praised for its “colours and the sharpness of the lines” as well as how “well-preserved” (Velimirović, 2017) the paintings is, which initself, shows how the focus on content is diverted towards the physical qualities of the painting, to avoid the awkwardness of discussing such a taboo subject. We cannot know with any certainty how the medium and era of this painting effects its continued reputation as an important artwork, however I believe it is safe to say that if these images were photographs taken and presented in the contemporary fine art sphere, their reception would have been far different and the controversy enormously more severe. What is problematic here is the lack of evidence to support any such theory, however from the artists I have examined it is clear that painted works which present explicit nudity are perceived and accepted in a different manner to photographs of a similar nature, because of their context and also the medium used to depict the subject. This justification of the portrayal of the nude in painting is discussed by Helen McDonald as she writes “In being sanctified as art… ‘the nude’ [becomes] singular, academic, historical and exclusive” (2001: 1), and creates an ambiguous message because the context of the nude is altered to being framed as art, even if the context of the original image is pornographic, explicit or inappropriate for a public audience. This ambiguity, which “may be consciously intended, or it may occurs as an accident or mistake” (McDonald, 2001: 14) is an intrinsic part of contemporary painting, and especially in the case of the contemporary painted nude, is required in order for the viewer be able to engage with the image, outside of the constraints of the imposed context of the source imagery. If we take Celia Hempton Chat Random project as an example, the works would have had a very different effect and meaning had they simply been screenshots or photographs of sexual acts on an online chatroom and poor quality images of strangers’ genitalia. Evidencing once again, the importance of medium and context is undeniable in relation to nudity framed as art.
This notion has been evident in my own painting practice as I have experienced differing reaction between my painted works – which are derived from images of the body, originating in porn, pop culture imagery, personal archive, social media images, and submitted images from friends and the public – and the reference images I use during my creative process. In discussion with Gary Colclough, we discussed how changing the medium of a nude image can impose an awkwardness or uncertainty in viewers, especially male viewers, as they are unsure of the socially enforced reaction they are supposedto have to nude imagery dependant on its provenance. Hence, in changing the context, medium, presentation and viewership of an image – particularly a pornographic one – the intention of the image or the creator is changes, and so then does the reception of the image, or at least the socially constructed embarrassment or shame that is often associated with the viewership of pornography.
Therefore, having examined the works of artists such as Robert Mapplethorpe, Celia Hempton, Sarah Hardacre and Helen Beard, it is clear to see that the public reception of pornographic or explicit imagery is effected by its manipulation within contemporary artistic practice, especially painting. We can also begin to see that the real distinction, or difference in reception – if any – between art and pornography, is simply the socially enforced context of the viewed image, regardless of the provenance of any appropriated imagery or source inspiration. Just as putting in place parameters for what art is, is definitively impossible, identifying the line drawn between art and pornography is completely dependent on the prescribed – conscious or subconscious – context of the work by the viewer, and external information provided by the physical setting, the creator or presentation. So, as well as the physical repositioning of sexually explicit imagery, its context, the medium it is presented in, the painter who presents the work and the ambiguity of its original source, all contribute to an altered perception of the female nude as art, rather than pornography.
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Image List
Figure 1: This Night Has Opened My Eyes, Sarah Hardacre, Collage, 2012. Accessed at http://www.paulstolper.com/artists/artwork-details/119-sarah-hardacre-collage/1148-this-night-has-opened-my-eyes[13 April 2019]
Figure 2:Japan, 27th September 2014, Celia Hempton, Acrylic on Canvas, 2014. Accessed at https://www.southardreid.com/exhibitions/detail/chat-random/# [13 April 2019]
Figure 3: Blue Valentine, Helen Beard, Oil on canvas, 2017. Accessed at https://www.helenbeard.art/portraiture-1/arco9hb6vn1o0bhtmrgdrwhyw2wiwx [13 April 2019]
Figure 4: Floral, Elly Smallwood, Acrylic on paper, 2017. Accessed at https://www.widewalls.ch/artwork/elly-smallwood/floral/ [13 April 2019]
Figure 5: Thérèse Dreaming, Balthus, Oil on canvas, 1938. Accessed at https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/489977 [13 April 2019]