Sunday, February 02, 2014
From the Euro Art Girl to the Viral Street Femme
Reinterpretation of the Conscience, Art and Woman
I love the European woman, lost my virginity to an Italian girl I met in an art class at the School of Visual Arts. She wasn't an artist, rather she was an obese woman, the kind you would find in a Fernando Botero painting.
My knowledge of the European sentiment was instituted in my mind during a semiotics course at SVA. It was a class taught by Bill Beckley, American artist and photographer. I was overwhelmed by texts from philosophers such as Roland Barthes, Umberto Eco and Georges Bataille. The books by Barthes with their yellow covering, Image, Music, Text and S/Z, left an imprint on my conscience. The books themselves, literally, were works of art and made for great collections. In this class we delved into interpreting Vladimir Nabakov's Lolita in literary terms, the study of signs and signifiers. This understanding permeated how we interpreted each and every text.
What it did for me was put into play the European ideology, much the same I learned at Hunter College in a a Negritude class of African philosophy. By chance I took the semiotics class twice and was made aware once again how I appreciated the beauty of language in Baudrillard's Seduction. It was love. The language implemented was love. There was a strong sense of music in each and every word. And as Barthes would suggest every work of art is up for interpretation.
The European woman was first ingrained in me at The Metropolitan Museum of Art where I participated in summmer classes for two years. I was intrigued when I saw and studied impressionist painters, modernist masters and to be in the overall company of great works of art. The notion of art was European. There was no other reason to doubt that, Manet, Monet, Picasso plus every other notion from the Rennaisance to Abstract art.
My foundation for art was Europeanized from the start. It was a philosophy my life was goverened, built a conscience in me separate from the notion of everyday life in family and friends. When one undertakes the role of artist much of the life experience is distinguishable in the art practice. If the artist is consumed by art, art is simply representative in everything. Seperating the human experience from that of art becomes almost impossible.
The human experience is made up of life and its trials and tribulations. Art is a conscience. Once the human comes to terms with his philosophy of life he builds the role of artist. The notion of love permeates his role.
What is the sexual pathology of the artist?
Almost every woman I have had an intimate experience was centered on the subject of art. There are artists who pathalogically prey on the opposite sex. They put extreme value on the actual act of sex. For some art is sex. The practice of making art is love. Many artists in time have been great lovers, carried over into their lives tremendous amount of lovers. The love life of an artist is an interesting one. Much is made about how they interact. For some artist don't make great lovers. They are too preoccupied with their art and their click. It is also presumed that an art romance does not last.
My brief romance with a Brooklyn artist proved me right as I also see fellow artists go from love interest to love interest. I met an artist at an opening. Our conversation was based on philosophy and gender. We had a sexual tryst that very night. After a first official date we became lovers. She gained an upper hand because she worked at a prestigious firm and she had a hand in my writing as a poet. Our love was built on our roles as artists, going to galleries, supporting other artists. But her ego was greater than mine. Once I found my own footing as an artist it created a problem.
This particular artist was American, distinctly different from my other relationships with European girls. European girls are acutely philosophic. Our exchanges are primarily based on art and philosophy. The artist click here in New York is ego based. Each sentiment surrounds hoopla or exaggeration. Honesty is difficult to attain. Most people interact in circles. And at openings especially Thursday night in Chelsea they run amuck like wolves in a pack.
I think about actresses from the French New Wave, Anna Karina in Vivre sa Vie, Brigitte Bardot in And God Created Woman, Catherine Deneuve in Repulsion and Jean Seberg in Breathless. These women give off impressions of art. They are of sex but in an articulate and an inoffensive manner. This is a basis I particularly refer to the notion of art in women.
The Black woman as African is mother of the Earth. She is rotund, motherly as in a 70's Pam Grier. But modern terms allow for the AfroPunk female or the New Wave black female. I have not been privy to know the black female in art. The depictions of black women in art are usually of mother and child. In music videos they are of women gyrating and twerking. And on the same topic, light skinned black women are most favorable in pop culture. I am open to exploring black feminism on the topic of art.
The European woman has set a precedent in my interactions with women. There is a natural dialogue. It revolves arround my conscience and instinct. And coming from my relationships with European women, there continues to be this hunger and a path leading to who and what is the female in a more pronouncedly virtual world.
But I am now discovering the black woman in a socio political manner. Instituting the image and shape of the black woman into my conscience. Currently it is removing my notion of women as white. But continuously the path has been set for me to appreciate the female from the young pornographized white female to the street wise black girl, I imbibe a newer generation of women and femininity into my conscience.
What once was based on the European art girl is now street, viral, virtual philosophy.