Yes, my friends, I am talking of the phallus. The big, hard, erect phallus that is even now penetrating my very consciousness. But in what form? No, I am not looking at gay porn. I am talking, very specifically about a very specific approach to art making.
My intention here is not to dismiss every artwork ever made by a man. While I do hold a great affection in my heart for Valerie Solanas, I also hold some affection in my heart for some men too. So do not be mistaken, I do not want all men to die. I just think some men need to admit that their art is not motivated my the greater good as they would have us believe, but by their own penises (read ego or penises, either way it works).
I am also not implying all art ought to be motivated by the greater good. I just think some artists are not upfront about what motivates them (that being said I do personally prefer art that does do something for the greater good. But I'm sure a discussion of my communist tendencies is best left for another day).
The back story
My beloved university lecturer, whom I shall refer to as Joan of Art in an appropriate metaphor, did a collaborative work with a male artist who I consider to fall into this category of phallus-oriented art - excluding the work they did. It is because of her presence in this city of Hobart- presently my home, that I came to be at a lecture presented by said male artist at the art campus of UTAS. I had previously been subjected to only one of his lectures at university in Sydney.
That lecture was about an artwork he did with Mike Parr - brother to the infinitely superior Julie Rrap. So the latest lecture I went to of my own accord. I do not know what I expected. Actually, that's a lie. I wanted to play a drinking game for every time he mentioned Mike Parr. But it was only five times.
He did get off to a good start. It must be said he is a very smart man with an astounding vocabulary. It was a very relaxed lectured. He showed videos off his website and gave brief explanations of the videos.
So now we come to the point of this story.
In introducing one video he said (paraphrasing here) the following footage was taken of his partner giving birth to their first child. At some point during the labour she asked him to stop filming. He however continued and proceeded to use that footage for the artwork. The work (of which I unfortunately do not know the name and will not link) consisted of said footage being projected onto the alter in a disused convent. He gave a brief explanation about western religion being removed from the reality of the mess and blood of the birth of Christ and women being dirty blah blah blah.
I think what he did renders that completely irrelevant. He made some vain attempt to justify the work in what you could barely call a feminist context, because it was very much in vain. He spent most of the explanation perpetuating that self-loathing aspect of heteronormativity I hate so much (see= every heterosexual male comedian ever for examples). Wah wah wah, she was pissed at me because I used footage of her in what is probably one of the most intimate parts of our relationship that I could possibly experience (aside from sex, obviously). But it's okay - by that I mean she's still pissed at me but we're still together and expecting another (still paraphrasing, but keeping to the jist as much as a drunken feminist possibly could presently).
I couldn't actually watch the video. I buried my face in my girlfriend's shoulder, while she stoically glared at him. But I could still hear it and it felt horrible. Knowing that the woman featured had not given consent I felt like I was violating her even though no-one was given the choice about whether they wanted to watch it or not.
I wanted to walk out, I should've walked out. But I was sitting right up the back next to Joan of Art (who didn't look impressed either) who had just done an artwork with this man. To have left would've made quite a scene - a statement, a statement I clearly wasn't brave enough to make.
And it doesn't end there. Girlfriend and I left the lecture absolutely irate, ranting at Joan of Art.
I told her it completely undermined his explanation of the intention of the work.
She said I should tell him that.
And I said I was far too much of a pansy.
But being Joan of Art, she presented me an with an opportunity - by telling him exactly what I had said.
His response is as follows.
Some times you just need to be an arsehole to do what is best for the artwork.
Once again, I am paraphrasing here. But I assure you he used the word arsehole. His words. Not mine.
Obviously my argument would be better supported had he said a gaint, erect phallus. But he didn't. He said arsehole.
He was an arsehole in approaching a work involving footage of his partner giving birth to their child. In an artwork about bringing the reality of one of the defining moments of what is generally considered female to the thoroughly masculine world of the Catholic Church. A moment (by this I mean the birth of Christ) that is central to western Christianity, but otherwise suppressed - the majority of people I have encountered (yes you'd be surprised at how often I manage to being it up) seem quite disgusted by the image of a bloody cunt.
Would I have liked the work if he used footage of a consenting party?
Why yes I would've. I am able to separate enough from my ideals to acknowledge that the artwork was a good idea. Anything to stick it to Western Christianity.
So, why am I so pissed off?
Because his partner, with whom he is presumably in love and thus one of the most important people in his world was not enough to stop him from making this work. Why did it have to be that footage? Surely there would've been a consenting woman out there?
But I don't even have to assume this, because he admitted...he was an arsehole. Because he was an arsehole he made a work that stuck it to the Catholic Church. But it also stuck it to his own artwork.
That artwork could've been so much more. It could've been a well-rounded, well-resolved artwork.
But no, he chose to use footage of a woman who did not consent. Who did not agree. Who did not wish for that footage to be taken. Who did consent for that footage to be used in an artwork. Who even to the day I heard (not saw) it did not give permission for that footage to be seen, let alone be in existence.
And if this woman is so central to his artwork, doesn't using the footage - in complete violation of her wishes - completely undermine the work?
He attempted to present the work to the audience in a vaguely feminist (my words) context. But in that context it does not hold up, because of the complete disregard of the non-consenting female participant.
But art cannot exist in a vacuum.
So I can only assume that the context this work exists in is one centred around the amazingly overwhelming gravitational pull of the all-powerful phallus.
Okay. My tasty merlette is almost all gone. I'm surprised I'm still awake.
Stay tuned.
There is oh-so-much more ranting to be done on this matter!
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