Chelsea
Kofi Fosu Forson

Friday night at the Chelsea scrawl...It's always that something in the air. The usual suspects fold into the gallery...circumspect, incriminating, gorgeous...gallant.

Art crowds at night are bejeweled, the lack-lustred temptation to score, none of which figures into the potentiality of buying art, leaving one to wonder is it ever safe to offer free wine or champagne...

In walks a tall brunette, elegant...damaged. She's sophisticated by means of body language. Her confidence is becoming of a person with charm. Among those gathered she seems wanting, approachable, careless to the painting on the wall, drinking red wine from a glass.

A gentleman stands northwest of her, unaffected by anyone or anything. She walks up to him commenting on a glassed sculpture at his side. He engages her, switching to the topic of wine. Unfortunately he has to make do with white wine. This becomes somewhat of a mockery as he is bent on red. They both find humor in this, laughing and chiming glasses.

She is married and recently gave birth, a nine-month old daughter. Her husband is Swedish. Keeping a distance from those gathered the two strangers fill each other in on their personal lives. He's more or less a free agent speculating on the various women walking around. Somehow she engages him on who she thinks would be good for him, not as wife but lover. In turn he wonders about her life as married woman.

As married couple she and her husband met at a restaurant. He was the only European standing among many men, cavorting, drinking beer. She wanted him immediately. There was no doubt in her mind she had to have him. The process began when she introduced herself. They slept together that night, months later they married.

The woman presents the gentleman with a business card, wrapping herself around him with a kiss on the cheek. She makes her way out of the gallery. He barely looks at the card avoiding people as he inspects for the final time paintings on the wall.

Outside the gallery he notices the woman standing by a parked car. She walks up to him wondering if he wants to spend the night. He thinks it strange. He rejects her offer saying he's expecting a delivery later on in the evening. She's quick to oblige him with anything he needs, stressing she has many good contacts.

He is stupefied. The woman has the world in her eyes. He can't say no however much he desired.
She kisses him on the mouth, moist and full. They hug. He grabs her derriere with both hands, filling them with his fingers. A man taps him on the shoulder. The gentleman turns around. She introduces the man as her husband.

The car-ride to their apartment was filled with light conversations. He owns a bar. She's a grade school teacher. They had come to the gallery with hopes of finding a lover for the evening. The woman found the gentleman attractive, not so much his physique. They wanted an artist, someone with passion and insight. Talking to him she knew he was exactly what she wanted, a man who would more than fuck her, rather seduce her into forgetting her married life.

The husband plays bartender offering wine glasses. He pours into each glass sitting across from them. It is almost clear that he is content on watching his wife flirt with the gentleman. She is sitting very close to him rubbing his knee. The husband looks on drinking from a mug. He obliges the gentleman to touch her. The gentleman places the wine glass on a table inserting his hand into the woman's bra. He lifts up her breast, sucking in a heated hunger. Carefully taking off the blouse while he awaits the other breast, she steals a look at her husband, smiling. He sits watching them, drinking from the mug.

The woman is nude lying across on the sofa. The gentleman partially clothed, spreads her open eating her vaginal cavity, pressing his lips, tongue exposed, against her clitoris, slurping, tasting, licking. He moves up to her breasts sucking on the nipples, positioning his body flat on top of her. Raising his head to look her in the eyes, they kiss. Her husband interrupts them suggesting they move into the bedroom.

On the bed the gentleman is totally naked. She edges up to his erect cock jerking it up and down, finally putting it in her mouth, sucking with pleasure while the gentleman attempts to finger her anal cavity. He falls back while the woman continues to suck him. The husband walks around the room unconcerned.

The woman inserts his cock in her cunt, gyrating, bouncing off his pelvis. It grows in intensity. She starts to utter unintelligibly as the sound of their bodies crashing into each other makes a thumping noise. She has her first orgasm, arching her back, looking terrified yet amazed.

With her legs in the air, he grips her by the ankles, fucking steadily and precise, looking her in the eye, maintaining his rhythm, her breasts bouncing. He falls on her, fucking her in the missionary, damning, as if with fury. She has another orgasm. He pulls out of her. She jerks him off with anger, gripping and pulling, over and over until he cums on her face. She wipes off the cum, embarrassed and exasperated.

The husband walks into the room while the gentleman is putting on his clothes. They barely speak. The gentleman walks into the living room. He looks at the husband. He opens the door to the apartment. The gentleman walks out. The door closes behind.

He stands there, somehow naked to the world, not wanting to leave, not wanting to stay. He runs uncontrollably down the stairs into the streets, never looking back.

"she sang sea-water songs"

Kofi Fosu Forson

She made me lick salt off her nipple. It reminded her of sea-water salt. Her mother used to cook with it back when they went shopping at the farmer's market. On most Sunday evenings they welcomed a share of friends to their Long Island mansion. Her father would have brought home buckets of clams, crabs and lobster. What usually followed was time spent drinking wine and dining. If Lara felt like it she got behind the piano and sang songs she one day hoped to sing on Broadway.

I've been Lara's musical director for a year. We met at a going-away party for a mutual friend. It was one of those parties where things got out of hand from the bathroom to the bedroom. Dancing alone to rock and roll was more or less masturbation.

I was indeed dancing alone when Lara walked into the room. It was clear she had been engaging in something kinky or otherwise freakish. She was at once shy yet seductive barely making eye-contact. I kept dancing. She watched me all the while making small talk. We sat down, only two people left in the living room.

A great urge overcame me when our conversation all of a sudden quieted. She rested on my shoulder, shaking loose to feel comfortable. Her arms reached and unzipped me, removing my cock, shaking her face free of hair, placing the hard cock in her mouth. Slowly she sucked stopping to rub and feel the erection. She then knelt in front sucking harder. I grabbed at the length of hair and felt her head bopping up and down.

With my dick dangling in the air, she positioned her palms on my thighs and without any traction she sucked me looking up, our eyes meeting. I encouraged her to keep sucking until I helped remove her panties.

Her back facing, she slid my cock into her pussy. She rode me, my hands helping, feeling her ass bouncing off the cock. I rummaged through her pubic hair until I felt her clit, wet and moist, stimulating as I kept up the pressure. Her body was bouncing off me. Squealing, she would grab one breast, the other hand on my thigh, as she gyrated and humped the dick, lifting herself up enough for me to see the dick going in and out of her.

I guided her onto her knees, entering, proceeding to bang and cock, hard and hot, grabbing her breasts as I cocked hard, feeling the joy and pleasure coming out of her. I came. Looking over at the side I noticed we were being watched. We scrambled to the sofa, listening as they cheered and clapped.

We took the same taxi home that night. The following morning we met for coffee. She had planned a one-woman show and needed a director. I was more than willing. It seemed wonderful, a woman that beautiful. It wasn't clear how talented she was but the whistle in her voice, the sex in her body could only mean my gratitude and fortune.

Wasn't clear to me at first but she shared an open relationship with a boyfriend. She frequently stayed at his apartment. Sitting in the very room where she and her lover made love I felt discomfort. Surprisingly we were both honest about the intimate details concerning our professional partnership and moments when she would barge into me with her knees, exposing her breasts. I often obliged, filling them within my fingers. I would look her dead in the eye rotating the breasts until I brought a rise out of her.

I had been working on songs I wanted Lara to sing. They were songs in the blues vain. I sat there with my keyboard and played, listening to Lara belt it out. She was a consummate performer, the way she stood, city-mermaid, perfectly poised, her voice soft and childlike. When she sang I tried not to look at her, keeping my focus on the keys. What I heard was a voice so moving filling the room as sounds from the keyboard bounced off the walls. At times she would move closer to me. These were moments when I felt my songs hitting home as if she was meant to sing them.

We were both entertained by our rehearsals, usually relaxing to a cup of coffee. I'd wait while she made coffee, joining me with her legs placed over my thighs. Drinking the coffee she would reminisce about her childhood. She talked distinctly about her uncle. They spent time alone when he would seduce her into singing. It seemed as if they were a couple and in love. Lara becomes enlightened when she talks about him. Asking if it was rape, she denies it, expressing her love for him.

I then would rub her feet, creasing my fingers into the depths of skin and bone. It was a moment of arousal, looking at her melt. I complimented her, all the while rubbing her feet. She would breathe out loud, intermittently touching my hand gently, tossing her face to the left and then to the right, all the while smoothing her hand over mine.

She would pull my pants open and with spit rub my cock. I then placed her on the sofa, sliding my cock up and down between her breasts, noticing as she squeezed them together. Quietly the two of us continued, my dick moving up and down along her cleavage. I tapped my dick on each breast practically fucking them. I'd cum with a purpose all over her breasts.

There was a garden in the backyard. Lara and I sat there rehearsing. Flights above, several men would position themselves, watching and listening. The look in their eyes was that of hunger. They wanted this tall sensuous woman, standing, singing...seemingly so innocent.

To fuck her would complete their lonely and miserable lives.

Thick as the fog in June

Kofi Fosu Forson

Two Brooklyn dykes and I waited to cross the street. Short-haired tease in a white tee-shirt wondered if I had a late night. Long-haired, olive-skinned girl tossed her head around fucking with her dark hair.

It always occurred to me that I looked hot when standing, slightly bent, strecthing my arms forward, if not to catch my breath from walking at least a polite gesture from two lesbians on a hunting spree.

I told them all was good the night before but I didn't do shit. Indeed I'd been walking all day. I was tired. She had a thing about her knee, played tennis in college. Not too long before I brought up my days as a soccer star in high-school.

Dykes were all right with me. I'd known some, even got off on a couple of bases with one. Sucking tits on a girl you know is into girls is more like an offer, a favour, a one off.

Somehow they found me attractive. It wasn't clear what they wanted to do but they thought it nice to come along.

We ended up at a bar on the L.E.S. I loved their body language. Short-haired girl offered her body open-faced. The other stood in a slant, observing, not saying much. Her mug of beer rested on the bar. Not like her partner who stood facing me, sip after sip, taking me in.

I knew then what they wanted to do. We found a cheap hotel, walked up and into a room. I posed at one end with the bed seperating us. They remained next to each other not talking. One girl smiling at me, the other looking away...

Short-haired girl was first to grope me, rubbing over my crotch. She wouldn't let me kiss her on the mouth. We did however embrace, massaging my lips over the whitest of skin on the neck and face, softly as she gently resisted. Not wanting to stop, I grabbed her in my palms, meeting open-mouth to mouth but not touching.

Other girl came over undid her partner's bra. With tongue sliding across the back, she wrapped her arms around to squeeze the breasts that formed full-figured, cupping them, pressing them against the chest, turning her around to suck them. I couldn't see but heard the slipperiness of moisture as she sucked and released the breasts from her mouth.

The two women made out, hugging and grabbing each other, deep-tongue, rushing their fingers within each other's hair. They kept eye-contact stopping to rest their lips on each other, half-circle to half circle, resuming their kiss, passionately with intensity. It was aggressive yet romantic as if they were in love.

I exposed my dick, rotating my fingers up and down. It felt hard, stiff and ready for a fuck.

Undressing and falling on the bed, long-haired girl proceeded to tongue her partner's pussy, licking, motion after motion. Soon thereafter, short-haired girl began to moan. Stuck in this position, the moaning and gyrating increased.

I crept up to the bed, stuck my dick out at short-haired girl. She jerked it back and forth, cradling my balls. The closer I got to her mouth she turned her head the other way, lifting herself onto her knees. Long-haired girl got on all fours, hurting as her partner banged from behind with curls of hair on the pussy, slapping her ass, grabbing onto hips, banging.

On the edge of the bed I did everything to maintain my hard-on watching as the short-haired girl held her partner by the shoulders and banged away, slapping her ass as she did.

I walked out of the room, up and down the hall, kicking at myself. I could hear them huffing. Angled against the door, the noise settled, not knowing whether to walk away or ask for explanation.

I barged into the room. The two women were dressed. Short-haired girl brushed by me, exiting the room, closing the door behind.

For the first time long-haired girl looked at me and smiled.

A Love Poem for Deviants Like Us

Because I sleep with the dog between my legs
Doesn't mean I'm in love
Sometimes we walk down Park Avenue at night
My dog, Pepe, likes women in fur
It reminds him of Cassy---
The cat he couldn't fondle
Our home is a dungeon
On the loveseat are my whips and handcuffs
Anyone is invited from virgins to vandals
When we make love
I'll be wearing my black leather boots
You can wear my fake moustache
But keep your hands tied behind your back
I don't know you, you don't know me
If you want me to,
I'll get on my knees and bark
Your flesh is white
My mouth is black
We can be so dangerous together

Kofi Fosu Forson February 14, 2000

Kofi Forson in Conversation with John Lurie:

John Lurie, musician, actor, composer, painter exploded onto the New York music scene with his band The Lounge Lizards. He experienced fame with his portrayal of Willie in the film Stranger Than Paradise, a movie he scored. He has since scored many other films including Down by Law and Get Shorty, which he received a Grammy nomination. His television show Fishing with John was the first of its kind.

Please click on the following link:http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-john-lurie/1948

Sexual Picasso
Power of Sexual Conscience

Kofi Fosu Forson

Sexual conscience is one reason why Picasso was Picasso.

Conscience normally merges two distinct intellectual points.

Modern technology has allowed for activities present in social networks. But surreptitiously far removed from daily blogging and status updates is a notion of telepathy and psycho-sexuality which impacts the sexual-conscience.

Within that vacuous space found in the world wide internet once two points take on the notion of intellect and sex, forms of energy are transported from one point to the next. These are shaped as phantasms which manifest intellectually or sexually.

Without the notion of these energy sources made probable as human, given a profile or photograph, communication renders itself in fantasies if not e-mailing, exchange of texts and what one would assume to be the closest to normalcy in a phone call.

When communication becomes nothing more than signifiers as in a social network not much is left for articulating emotions and profound discussions. Much of this becomes brief interactions expressed through adoration where one responds positively to a posting. Intellectually nothing is ever gained just a want and need to be accepted and acknowledged as safe.

Somehow within the realm of accepted behavior there are those who live off these profile pictures as fantasy. Orgiastic exchange of words, thought and photographs result in an emotional and intellectual escape. How they manifest is probably likened to a dreamscape.

However in a semiotic understanding what shapes thought is not the physical word not if abused in totality. The case for chatter as abuse is obvious. Taken as an example of intimacy one responds to another in a natural and intellectual sense.

What is attractive is the idea of thought and resonance, honesty and brilliance.

It prepares for enlightenment throughout the emotional and intellectual physical and virtual space. Much of this surrender awakens the sexual conscience.

Language is then transmitted between both virtual sources. This seemingly is recognized not so much as relationship but events occurring moments at a time through telepathy and the psycho-sexual.

The sexual conscience therefore can and does redeem the individual from normalcy, the idea of copulation versus livelihood. In essence copulation is livelihood, philosophically or Freudian.

Once the physical copious act balances philosophy with psychology, the gratuitous need to copulate isn’t recognized commercially. It’s rendered in a circular and cyclical form balancing the creative, psychological and sexual foundations found in each human.

That sexual conscience is one reason why Picasso was Picasso explains how if one balances dimension of sexuality ingrained in our conscience into a perfect circle a lot emanates from this vacuous and virtual space.

I recently had an in-person conversation with Jenny Shimizu which was published in Whitehot Magazine. Jenny Shimizu is a Japanese American model, actress and television personality. She was discovered by Calvin Klein and can recently be seen on BRAVO television's Make Me a Supermodel.

Please click on the following link: http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-jenny-shimizu/1925

The following is Part 2 of a Five Part interview with Laura Conde, Mexican Artist.

Kofi Fosu Forson: Given the virtual promotion of pornography where do you draw the line between making art and fueling a cause for sexuality and art? Does your work promote pornography and if not what are the philosophical and artistic reasoning behind images of rape? Can you equate the themes of torture with mathematics and philosophy, if so how?

Laura Conde: I am interested in the social limits of art, as well as to enhance systems of thought different from the formalized rational systems.Constantly I doubt about the language, I doubt about science. I believe that there is a hidden malignity behind this desire of objectifying everything, naming and defining everything.

The media mass spreading of pornography is a cultural phenomenon and I am not interested in promoting it or to participate in it because to end of accounts it is the pornographic glance the one that more labels and reduces desire and sexual experience to very poor classifications, the sexuality is not this, this would come to be a very distorted projection of the libido in the real world of million people that live in the Web like a being of his own life, is like an image that has been traced a million times and in the end it finishes being a monstrosity. It is hyper-explicit and overloaded, almost baroque because it thusly must be able to adjust to so many and so varied profiles, but is not real nevertheless it is in the limits that could be a denominated culture.

There will always be doubts about it if these manifestations are an important part or not about what we are as societies. Because no matter how hard it is reprobate, it does not stop calling the attention of millions of people who visit pornographic Web sites, for example. In my work I retake images of pornographic origin sometimes but always as a critic or a parody. For me every practice that leaves the common sense and resists to take part of the collective is interesting, the pornography consumption is an anonymous, intimate activity and generally that the consumer realizes in secret form. I am interested more in this quality of the activity that in the explicit or sexual content on it.

My work does not have to do with the pornography but with the desire and the politics of genre. I am interested in the playful sense that can reside in the sexual activity. And it is in this sense that sometimes I stare at masochistic images or self inflicted tortures. I do not approve rape or that a human being is damaged or that something is done against his will. What I do find very valuable however and they do not have anything to do with rape, the sense of humor and parody in means of sexuality.

It is in this way that the feminine masochism according to how I see it, is not more than a critic to the dominant structure socially,activity in which indirectly, via parody, it exaggerates the category of femininity established by this structure through the recognition and taking illicit pleasure of this relation of apparent disadvantage.

What my work speaks about is of the authority, not only the authority in society but in art, that during centuries has guaranteed representations of women where they only appeared as an object of desire, in images done by men, for other men, they never show them as subjects capable of having their own desires. The images that I have been working with the last years are directed both to men as to women. And talk about female desire, women conceptions and beliefs I grew reading and listening and what I do is to make this conceptions of my own and interpret them according to what I live as a woman, as a mother and as an artist.

I see fashion magazines that portray feminine models so thin that almost disappear make me wonder if the masochism or the sadism is really something so far from our daily experience. I do not think so.I believe today that divisions of genre had stopped making sense.There is so much anxiety to define you as a hyper-man or a hyper-woman,more masculine than masculinity, more feminine than the femininity. And if the definition that history keeps from women is one of submission and vulnerability, the woman of nowadays seems more submissive and vulnerable than ever.

Extreme diets, rigorous exercises to have a perfect figure, excessive sexual disposition and an urge to please the other… Let’s not forget the importance in questioning sexual power and the physical that is sex.

Flesh for Lulu
Modern Interpretations of Skin

Kofi Fosu Forson


By design a stranger in passing registers as human body, part flesh, otherwise clothed, signifying ones gender, subculture and association. Given each person’s idiosyncrasy much can be said about what in particular resonates as beauty, a body part or genuine aura. Nonetheless it is a physical attraction void of intellect.

Animal magnetism, brilliance by definition, more than represents hetero or homo spontaneity, an exact and immediate interaction based on the intellectual and sexual ego. Modern society renders it more particularly, musculature or perfect body, a heightened reason with which we have become pronouncedly a sexual culture.

Somehow as a redirect, language still possesses musculature and substance. Many have chosen an alternative route where graphic display seems more formidable, therefore making the act of peeling away at skin more satisfying than intellectual qualification found in the common man.

Does the modern man qualify as animal and not as intellectual? Is it love and fear that best describes this predicament?

Porno is not pornography. The subtexts of art, music and fashion can be found in pornography. The word “porno” however derivative renders the pornographic material as caption. These become postmodernist human cartoons where bodies mount and interact not solely for pleasure but derision, abuse and euphoria.

Language therefore between the translatable acts of sex and the viewer supposedly promotes desire. It resonates when the viewer is susceptible. Otherwise a conditioned psyche finds the humor and disgust in it all.

That varied sense found in history as orgiastic hasn’t so much evolved as it has proved notion that the human animal is at first sexual. If prompted, gruesome display whether sexual or violent best defines ones disposition.

However conditioned and programmed to love, a false notion predetermines a so called “ordinary” and “normal” livelihood. On matters sexual we are at once befallen by fantasies expressed through moments in the day to day orchestrated when the body conditions itself.

This is when dialogues within the day are transported into visions of fancy at times pleasant or graphic, bordering innocence and experience. Such notions as fetish and type continuously excite the senses. Much can be said that the mind’s narrative best defines a true lover. Circumstantially the brain is by far the truest sex organ.

In an ostracized society we more so primarily find favor in what is subject as matter of fact. That an elongated erect penis is the key to sexual pleasure removes the counterbalance through which we find language within the barriers of love and sex.

If not love then is sex not more than just a dry-hump?

Speculating as one watches porno it’s often clear that the male subject with the elongated erect penis is merely thrusting and that the female partner is pretending.

What presumably is an act of sex results in the male partner dry-humping the female thinking she’s being pleasured when in actuality she’s doing her best to complete his ego.

Language depicted between the male and female gender is bound by love. Modern society has removed its relevance. What we become are essences signified by gender, race and subcultures.

All too real there are few notions that reflect a conscience that death and love equals sex and self-imprisonment borders rape, torture and murder. Life once a continuous cycle has been met with factors resembling a camp or prison whereby people associate themselves by color of skin, tattoos, colors as in fashion or plainly exorcising the nature of skin by fornicating.

The disillusionment of porno neither borders an envisioning of sexuality nor does it further progressivity of love. Unlike a Bacon masterpiece where religion, the masculine body, mania and torture erode in the absolute, porn remarks at an immediacy best explained as nonsense once again meaninglessness …a modern-day cartoon.

Image by Tracy Hunter

Following is a Five Part question and answer session with Mexican artist Laura Conde.

Laura Conde engages in the precepts of Art, Sex and Philosophy. Much of this is understood in a rather mathematical and psychoanalytical manner. None of her paintings promote pornography but it’s from that realm of modern torture, penetration and the vulva rendered metaphorically as damaged does she gain her interpretations and formularizations of what is now a crisis.

Kofi Forson: On the subject of Gender how do you think male and female sexual diversity has helped to create an open view of sexuality in society and art? Does this hurt or help preservation of innocence or does innocence and experience build a stronger sexual psyche?

Laura Conde: I believe that without the work of theoreticians, the minority artists and groups who began to raise the voice in Art and Literature we could not perhaps speak today of diversity and opening. It has been an arduous and complex work without a doubt, and without the studies of feminist groups on psychoanalysis and gender politics of sort I do not conceive that I myself can approach a topic like the one of femininity, that is one of the concepts that began to resonate more in my head when I started to study art.

At the time I was influenced by the work of theoreticians like Julia Kristeva, Foucault, Deleuze, and the production of artists like Barbara Kruger, Cindy Sherman and Nan Goldin. Also I was obsessed with psychology and psychoanalysis. A friend and I began to study the work of Freud and Lacan. Her mother was a psychoanalyst, for that reason since he was a boy he had grown strongly influenced by her way of thinking. My mother also spoke to me about Freud when I was young. She in detail explained to me the Oedipus complex and the main contributions of Freud to sexuality.

Soon my friend and I read the antiOedipus of Deleuze and Guattari, we discussed it so much because it was a direct critic to psychoanalysis, that one we were so familiarized by.

The thinking about desire and Capitalism in that book in truth is something that I must mention because it influenced so much my formation at that time. It would not have begun to interest me in art if I had not had always this sensation of been strange among people of my same genre and community. I had the security from very young that I was different from other children and I was not able to understand it until I was older and I had the possibility of watching the work of other artists who in spite of being thousands of kilometers away and having another nationality, had restlessness verysimilar to mine.

What is it to be woman or to be man? Is it that you can only be a thing in spite of feeling often like both or like none? Are the particular characteristics of each genre imposed on men and women when they were born? Where are these characteristics written? What happens if I do not fit in any of both genres totally? There is somebody that does?

I believe that both men and women have had to defy many conventionalisms and concepts given by fact at social level to be able to find some answers with respect to what motivates them and are passionate about, what ever makes them feel alive. Long time perhaps we were confused by others. We catalogued and domesticated our desire for their convenience. The way to find their own freedom is a way that each human must cross alone through the discovery of themselves and of its vital potential.

If desire has been manipulated and domesticated so many years it has been because it represents energy and motivation. Not always is it easy for many human beings to leave the establishment or to accept the fact that others decide to do it can be frightening. After all there are centuries of agreement and repression. I think freedom is obtained through innocence and innocence not in terms of purity, but of a constant questioning of life and existence, once that eternal question is asked innocence finishes. The fault happens then.

But the fault is not either something that can or must be avoided. Both innocence and fault are part of the process of growth of the human being and while we do not take nothing for granted we continued being alive and while questionings continue, to continue living will worth the pain , so for me there are no established sorts, I only conceive desire, and desire does not have object.

We are like in Deleuze and Guattari, wanting singularities, not even individuals, there is multiplicity of people in each individual. Each of us concentrates a multiplicity of“ways of being” in relation to desire. We are attracted to the hair of a person, the neck of another one, the rumps of a baby, the morbidity of an object, the sweet or rancid scent of a skin. We constitute our desire with fragments of stimuli that we oriented towards which we think is the object of our desire.

This object is not but the representation of which by itself it is irreprehensible.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY FRENCH PHOTOGRAPHER: Fabienne Perrier

Model: SANDRA NICOUETTE

Kofi Forson in conversation with Tony Ward, artist, actor and model icon: (Please Click on the following) http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1861

NEW PAINTING by Laura Conde

NEW PAINTING by Laura Conde

Half-lives of Fractured Selves
(The Body Kingdom)

Kofi Fosu Forson

The most beautiful person is fractured if not by ego then in proportion with the physical self and how he or she balances the body kingdom. This is made do by the mirroring of the self. None of which is ever compromised only subjectively achieved within the eyes of a lover, an unofficial biographer or through the favor of a conditioned poet who is compelled to honor as if brainwashed.

There is no self-model. We exist within a series of half-lives. To some this is a celebration of the self or a conquest bringing to fore a pronounceable ego which in itself is the self-mirror.

Ego as foundation is a construct allowing the self to command and achieve persona. That sense of character builds to a crescendo where the individual is aware of self in guarding against defeat and maintaining a high esteem.

An implosion occurs when physical beauty isn’t enough. The very physical self brought about by narcissism breaks down. Once again conclusively the mirroring factor warrants a need to uphold what is the body kingdom.

Centrally we are kept within an enclosure of doubt and uncertainty. Beauty at best is sold commercially allowing for moments pleasure if contentment. Most would agree that we have failed. None of this is a calculation based on political, socio-political or an independent divide. Evolution by discipline nurtures our advancement into the future. Pushing against this natural rhythm is what makes a society conscious and yet self-deceiving.

Conclusively living within the parallels of consumerism to be free of influence takes a hardened original model. Given the comfort zone within societies very few are willing to shift from their personal understanding of normalcy. If at best we were to follow the ideology or philosophy based on a human level we would all communicate with no disregard.

To be from Brooklyn is different from Istanbul. Knowingly ideas relative to one’s conditioning allow for a common sense in language and semiotics. Somehow the examples of race, class and gender remain constant in separating who we are and what we are becoming.

Government and religion are among many dividing factors but the constant is that of an individual with an ego and persona. How far must one go physically or virtually to establish oneself as derivative of an original model? Communities in film and fashion are examples where the ego is central to status and a greater cause. True to form most would murder for talent but have no understanding of brilliance.

Individual spectrums have allowed for communities in the world wide internet. Whereas September 11 was categorized as the invasion of normalcy the world as a whole has undergone a change albeit climatic, economic and psycho-sexual.

It has allowed for certain behavior whereby people interact within privacy meaning the physical body is indifferent to emotions and sensations. We therefore become a community of spasticity, spirituality perhaps intellectuality.

What is virtual then has very little relevance to the all too real. Can there be a separation or does virtual reality suppose a sub-element within the manifestations of what occurs in society relative to the physical experience?

Facebook, Myspace and other websites that allow for instant messaging encourage immediate forms of communication which separate physical contact between two or more entities resulting in self-gratification (cyber sex) or a heightened sensation due to an intense accumulation of intellect and sexual depravity.

The behavior found in the virtual, meaning the thinning prospectus which rejects human contact has led to a disturbing trend among societies where love has taken on different definitions and that what is natural love has been intermingled with intellect, sexuality and politics.

Perhaps this is evolution… A damning supposition that saw sex grapple with intellect, love at first natural took on the proportions of Tantra…more or less a perversion given the topics of generations and gender.

Ego and beauty within this supposition thrives matched by love and intellect.

What sex is has no relevance. It’s absolute.

Photo credit: Fabienne Anne Perrier

Photo credit: Eve Prime

Kofi Forson interviews Siobhan Duffy drummer and performer originally from God is my Co Pilothttp://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1832

Noah Becker of Whitehot Magazine concluded his conversation with me on the subject of MUSES... Part 2 follows in what was a great chance for me to reflect on what has been the past ten years in working with and exploring the beauty of the female in art and profession.
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=81920235069&h=XgNlC&u=5jTyz&ref=mf

White Beauty/ Love and Death

Kofi Fosu Forson

White female, product of unconquerable ego manifest in politicizing of beauty and self-worth, has for lifetimes now permeated the conscience to finally reach a melting point where love and sex offered as torment both intellectually and physically comprises of our existences void human proportions, that is nature and ability to survive love and death, translatable in fornicating, while car, home and companion would suggest normality, leaving potentially others removed from its cycle to fend for themselves in a world where white female continues to serve as sign of heroism, eternity, power, libido…

“Pussy” profanely used to describe the coital flower of the female in most terms would have digressed conditionally into the Kathy Acker chosen word of “cunt.” To have approached the world puritanically we may have kept to the word “vagina”. Much of this disdain made relative to the female would have stemmed from a Hemsleyian, Thatcheresque or Clintonian appeal.

Women are and will always be appreciated for their sense of nurturing, comforting the beast that is man, woman and child.

The white female would then have supposed a conditioning of inhabitants of the world centuries before and hereafter to impressionably exist under the acceptance of white beauty as the governing principle from which beauty starts and ends.

How does this affect multi-culturalism or is this notion now dead preparing room for a whole new generation on matters gender, sex and race. Marketing of this stems from disturbing trends to preserve youth as in hair implants, plastic surgery and the tendency to disrupt natural progression of living.

The world is viewed in matters black and white as in race and politics. Excruciatingly so we are lead to think racial matters have never been better than now with the election of President Obama.

The true sense of racism is an intellectual one which was determinably made official by aspects of colonialism and slave ownership. Blacks are made to think they can’t reach intellectual partnership with whites. When they do in their own right, other blacks deem them as white. Certainly there’s no rationale. One is forced to operate under their own terms whether it’s black women getting weaves or black men pursuing white women.

White female in history when in companionship with black male has stemmed from empathy and sympathy within the constraints of socio-politics, political movements, music and art as well as the genuine appreciation for another with respects to love.

Indiscretionably the female within modern gender politics views the male for his disposability. This can be found within the ramifications of psychology in how women choose their partners whether for sex, money or their availability.

Thinning of intellect and sex is obvious as it has made the transference from everyday real to virtual.

Love in turn lacks romance whereby everything and anything is programmed to fornicate leaving us as a society labored in love with nothing original to say amongst each other in fear for our lives stranded within a conclusion of love and death.

Click following link to see my interview with Emory Douglas (Artist for the Black Panther Party)
http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1759

Sexual Identity
Love and Modern Reality

Kofi Fosu Forson

If vice then commit to it!

Puritanical lifestyles serve no purpose in this our age of dominance. Evil guilt once redeemable through repentance is the scorch that symbolically serves as tribute to life, sex, love and intelligence.

The misery that is smoking cigarettes is still issued by most lovers after sex. As if our lung turning purple was merit, what would then replace the after-play when our bodies with sweat merge as we pant for air to then inhale breath of smoke adjoining our senses male/female?

“Smoke me a hot cigar,” she said. The pleasure with which he sat under lamp light well-dressed smoking a cigar…This was prelude to an encounter. The frozen letters of smoke hanging in the air… His breath releasing circles of the letter “O” that pop with pizzazz…Perhaps a jazz melody embraces the background. Is this not finesse to watch your lover at play?

If female she sits in the nude cross-legged wearing a bowler hat smoking a cigar. Given the spotlight effect and with gender assumption she would swing her legs back and forth in this a display of amateur affectation.

More or less they are suggestions for foreplay. The sexual embrace is politely determined as coital, male member inserted into female when in actuality the gratuity with which lovers perform is much the gender and politically situational means separating male aggression from female passivity or male sensitivity to female insatiability.

It is not a reforming of sex. Centrally the act of love, poignantly in its animalistic realm is decent and encouraged. Each and every aspect of sex is pertinent to the animal as creature as lover as human. The circumstances surrounding the act from flirtation to arousal must be distinguishable within the sexual ideology.

What we humanly must recognize are the signifiers which potentially announce our role as humans and lovers. Obviously these are interchangeable.

In a society of abnormality we choose indecency over courtesy. Politeness is the charge in most behaviors. Understandably there are types in race and gender. Speculation of intense love and hot sex are subjective within the aspects of talent, personality and seemingly fateful love.

If sexual identity is given to play, fetish, multiplicity of lovers what then encourages the actual act of love. Most would suggest vacations and an alternative to the act. The banality of most lives is the circumstances surrounding pills for penile extensions and increase in sexual libido.

Attraction is at once physical but the origin of mating is more or less matching one’s inner dimension with another. Circumstantially great lovers are born out of couples who embrace the same identity or language. Opposites do attract but evidence is given to their nature and how much they are able to imbibe the notion of attraction. This then leads to probability and destiny which stems from association and the day to day.

Sexual identity stems from love and respect of self. Otherwise it reaches a point where nothing more is achieved than a mating process. Suggesting modern love, sex and intelligence as a retraction from internet pornography is laughable.

Pornography in general has always been a subtext as in art and pornography, sex, drugs and rock and roll. What was once a means of titillation is now introduced into our daily lives. Impressions of mature and teen sex, threesomes are now very common. These are new templates in a sense which excite our minds as fodder. Desperately people are seeking partnership but in doing so they have ulterior motives whenever money and sex are involved.

Tying a woman to a chair requires skill. Going on date after date is near boredom. Going on date after date to find a woman to tie to a chair is damn near embarrassing.

Origin of one’s identity is to define what identity and then embrace it. It’s a life-long process.

Sexual identity stems from love. It is not an entity. Practices such as BDSM originate from a psychological pattern esteemed in one’s combination of psyche and love or lack there of.

Sexual practices have become much the flavor but every act responds to a part of a person’s
history and psychology.

It isn’t the type of sex one practices. More so sexual identity is a mark of a person’s identity through nature and psychology.

http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1739

Modern Aesthetic
Female Intellectual Beauty

Kofi Fosu Forson

Beauty in eye of beholder will soon be founded on principle where women form likeness with mannequins evident in Vanessa Beecroft intervention, removing any references made about originality, hence human conditioning of love would be relegated to physical desire and fornication.

Flesh has been restricted from its natural progression into maturity. What once was normal now undergoes a certain death with hopes of producing a new, however artificial, understanding of the body.

Manifested in this somehow is disrespect for the spiritual being. Physical self becomes fallout shelter misinterpreting sex for love and acquaintanceship for trust.

Sex then will be made definitive as an act between two bodies without any immediate attraction just a need and crush to experiment whether with toy, enhancement drug, exotic wear or video.

Many among us live in isolation as self-made individuals removed from the notion of normalcy. Ours is a life with potential. We make sacrifices which allow for an independent livelihood expressed through need for intimacy, intellect and an understanding of sex as desirous, lustful, bound by love between two individuals who share a common philosophy. Given the gamesmanship of love and sex there are those who take on lovers. Women are prone to display such behavior whereas men if not identified with one partner choose several randomly. Current trend among women is multiplicity of lovers who serve different purposes.

The female as an intellectual has a heightened sense of consciousness and beauty, at times giving off notions of prescience. That an intellectually beautiful woman has a sense of foresight!

Does beauty equal intelligence? Combination of intellect and beauty manifests into a euphoric disguise where it seems improbable for both elements to merge.

Intelligent women who are equally beautiful charismatically form at center a neurotic and guarded disposition. Reason being their physical selves are at odds with their central core existence.

An artist’s perception of this would be Picasso’s cubist paintings of Dora Maar. They express a psychology which translates the dilemma found in the beautiful physical self and neurosis suggested by intelligence.

Internally the particular woman would be prone to theatrical and outlandish display found in an actress, dancer or interventioner. It becomes a balancing of both extremes without which would combust as means of eccentricity as a living and breathing encyclopedia or chaste female speculating on sexuality.

Erotically the woman in question is a confident lover not so because she’s a great lover but that she knows of her existence both intellectually and sexually. Thereby it allows her to be desired based on her reflections on love, romance and sex, the act of which she wants and imbibes as crucial element of her nature as woman but would rather be with someone she loves with her mind and body. Otherwise it’s scarcely relevant and at best a conquest.

Narcissistically intellect and beauty in the female allows for persona other than the one that exists. Circumstances surrounding this border fantasy and the stimulating of ego. By envisioning a persona other than self allows for distinction expressed through fashion, personality and character.

The self is lived as fantasy presenting an acute delusion. At times it serves as shield from unwanted attention marking need for privacy.

Angularly the female determines appropriation between fantasy and functionality which form to define ultimately an intellectual and beautiful woman glorified as lover, an aesthetic, peculiarly haunting.

NO SE FUMA