Archive for Sex+ Art
A Portrait of Age and Sexuality
Since this blog deals with sexuality, and since I have considered myself a supporter and advocate of open, sincere acknowledgment and exploration of sexuality, it feels remiss to me to not post this.
From the June 10 edition of an online newsletter to which I have subscribed for a few years (this is the first time I recall seeing him overtly reference human sexuality):Dear Heron Dancers,
Over the years, positive emails and letters from subscribers to Heron Dance and A Pause for Beauty have outnumbered negative responses about ninety-nine to one. Of course, that excludes the time a few years ago when I quoted Doug Peacock, aka Hayduke, who said in a Heron Dance interview, “Beware of homicidal lesbian motorcycle gangs in the Dakotas!” (Issue 21). That time the ratio dropped to about ninety: ten. A couple of weeks ago the responses became more like eight to one, and the reactions on both sides have been much more intense than usual.
Although I wish they didn’t, the negatives preoccupy me more than the positives, no matter what the ratio. But Heron Dance now has a creative energy and excitement it hasn’t had since the early years. It all still revolves around the connection with a spiritual core, a spiritual center of…of what? Of a human life? Of life in general? Of the universe? I don’t know, but I do know that, regardless, there are times of flow and harmony and times of disharmony, distraction and setback. I want to write about those ups and downs from a different perspective than I have in the past.
The protagonist of my story is a certain wild artist, partly fictional, partly me. He’s a deeply spiritual man and his spirituality revolves around wild nature and the sense of peace he finds there. He’s put a lot of thought into how he lives his life and lives more or less on his own terms. He has a wild and free creative energy. He loves literature and music. Security means less to him than sucking, as Thoreau said, the marrow out of life. He experiences a lot of ups and downs, triumphs and defeats. He tries to walk his path with as much dignity and equanimity as he can find within himself. Sometimes it is a lot; at other times it isn’t much at all.
As with most of us, eroticism and sexuality play a major role in his life. That, of course, is the controversial part of this work. Sex is such a powerful part of life that we fear it, even try to hide it. Perhaps we should; uncontrolled, it can cause a life to unravel and, at times, it causes our protagonist’s life to unravel. I’m putting the erotic part of his journey in the story because, without it, the story lacks authenticity. They all feed each other: his creative energy, his love of wild places, his sexuality.
He’s known a lot of love in his life. Profound love. He goes through long periods — in two instances more than seven years — in committed relationships. In between, he seems to go through multi-month periods as a free agent. He didn’t used to. When he was younger, it was one live-in girlfriend after another. As our story opens, he is in one of his wandering phases. He dreams of a committed monogamous relationship, but he also loves solitude and quiet. His struggle in this area, as in the other important areas, is to keep the faith, keep touch with that spiritual core. Sometimes he loses touch and I really want to explore that.
I’m painting a lot of nudes these days. I’m working with three different models, but one in particular has captured my imagination. She’s a very beautiful art student; a young woman who sometimes camps alone in the forest. When she’s standing there with her back to me, her right hip thrust out, I want to just go up and bite her gently on the nape of her neck. Then she’d moan and I’d cup her breasts in my hands. Of course, she might turn around and slug me. That wouldn’t be good. Or she might start crying. I’d very definitely go into a tailspin. I might start crying too. If I started crying, she might not pose for me again.
This is all ridiculous. This beautiful young woman, with her dreams of far off places and of new experiences, does not fit well into my scenario, nor I hers. We’d take rather than contribute energy to each other’s lives, and we both know it. Reality and fantasy are different sometimes. And difficult. Maddening, actually.
So we talk about past loves, about wild horses and wild rivers, about art and our families. We talk about sexual experiences from our pasts. I try to be on my best behavior, but sometimes my conversation is out of balance and crosses that vague but important boundary. I’ve got this fold-down couch and I ask her to lie down and pretend like she’s pretending she’s asleep and trying to nonchalantly interest her boyfriend in sex….She does. I paint her. My painting is off balance.
I think I need a break for awhile. Maybe I need to find a different model. There is so much highly charged energy flowing around the room. Unsettled energy. I lose my bearings. My vision for this work — sexual, erotic art but with a flow, a calm and peace about it — is unlikely to evolve out of this scenario. Maybe I need to just paint women with whom I have an emotional bond, women with whom I share a sense of peace.
That which does not have cannot give. And that, dear Heron Dancers, is all I have to say for today. That’s probably more than enough.
In celebration of the Great Dance of Life,
Roderick W. MacIver
And one of the responses he received via email (original may be read by scrolling down here):
Ah yes, Rod,
I can thoroughly relate to your protagonists adventures with the model. I, however, am a eighty year old female….in an asexual relationship…..hmmmm let me just call this my protagonist…too personal to tell you it’s me.
She was divorced after a twenty year marriage when she was about forty. Did it all. Over the next twenty years. There were married men, there were monogamous several year relationships, there were one night stands, and there have been three live-in relationships.
There were road trips across the country, and a spirit-led three year trip to a majestic tropical setting, far away from her usual life. Life was so simple that she owned no keys . Her body and the wild beaches and ocean were joined, and her bed was in a retreat center just off the beach.
And always the theme of liking to live life on her terms, liking solitude, and wanting to be lovers with nature at its wildest. Dancing naked in thunderstorms, swimming naked in the salty waves, camping peacefully beside a waterfall, walking the beaches, and crying at the majesty of sunsets. Alone thank you, unless in the throes of infatuation with another man.
She now lives with a man that she has lived with for over ten years. She has seen him through having his prostate removed, only to find that the cancer was not gone. And he has seen her through some mysterious process which allows her only to walk in a crippled way. NO more running through the forest, or on the beaches. All that is left is the freedom of being in water, or on a bicycle, and even then, not too far into wilderness. They always carry a cell phone now in case….bones are frailer at these ages. This life, even though only fifteen years ago , she was up on the roof of the house, nailing back shingles that had come off in a windstorm, and watching a controlled burn of the prairie, with the wind from the flames whipping past her face, And she thought nothing of being 65 and being on that roof. Now, she could maybe not even get up there.
As I said, her relationship is asexual. She is not. It is a terrible quandary at times, when she sees the young boys on the beach with the silhouettes of their front side beckoning her both forward , and back in time. Or when she meets an occasional vital older man, who recognizes her inner self.
When she was younger, the dilemma was her sexuality versus commitment to a relationship. Now it is the same, but the relationship has become more important than the sexuality.
That does not mean it does not still hurt. Or tug at the fibers of her heart and her well used and well loved other body parts. She wishes she could have it all….wild natural interaction, wild personal interaction, and a peaceful and loving commitment.
She remembers well that unbalanced feeling of an unfulfilled sexual attraction. That which would not leave her alone, until she was driven to another man, another sexual adventure, another crashing onto the beach of the wave of eroticism that had come over her. There was no fantasy, dream, or writing that would take the place of the “action”. She often wondered how the nuns lived, and concluded that they were better at suppression than she, or more committed to their marriage with Jesus, than their marriage to their body. She was not. Her body, her sexual nature was so very important and so very strong, that it nearly ruled her entire life at times. It would not let her feel balanced until fulfilled.
Age has dulled the lack of balance, and though she often walks in peace, she feels the loss of not having it all. Of giving up that which has been so vital and important. Her ability to walk for miles down the deserted beach, her chances to tangle her body with another, in the highest forms of ecstasy that she ever experienced, AND a committed partner beside her.
She supposes she should thank aging and circumstances for making the choices she could not have made for herself. She is very, very grateful for all that life has brought her.
And she is even grateful for today’s life….as out of balance as it may sound….it has its own sense of balance.
A subscriber
I have nothing to add.
Love,Emerald
“When our time is up, when our lives are done, will we say we’ve had our fun?…all the love I’ve met, I have no regrets, if it all ends now I’m set…”
-Lostprophets “Rooftops (A Liberation Broadcast)”
Let’s Talk About Sex — Part 2
In this second half of our interview we talk more about erotica, writing, and linguistic/cultural/philosophical questions in relation to sex. As I said last week, I really had a blast talking with him.
In this installment I also read from my story “What We Do,” featured in the upcoming Swing! anthology, to be released soon!!
Thank you again for listening, and thanks again so much to the fabulous Dr. Dick!
Love,
Emerald
-Salt-N-Pepa “Let’s Talk About Sex”
Let’s Talk About Sex
I am really, really delighted to announce my interview with the eminent sexologist Richard Wagner, a.k.a. Dr. Dick of Dr. Dick’s Sex Advice! Dr. Dick interviewed me for his podcast series called The Erotic Mind, in which he interviews erotic artists, and I was honored to take part.
The first half of our interview may be heard online now! (Dr. Dick’s podcasts may also be found on iTunes under “Dr. Dick’s Sex Advice.”) Our full interview encompasses a number of topics about erotica and writing in a cultural, spiritual, and artistic context. I had much fun talking with him! This first part that’s up now focuses on how/when I became a writer of erotica, my pen name, personal history, etc.
In addition, I also read from my story “With Random Precision,” found in the anthology Love Notes: A Music & Sex Anthology published by Ravenous Romance.
I enormously enjoyed working with Dr. Dick, and I encourage you to check out this illuminating interview with him at the Swing! website. I myself find his dedication remarkable, and I personally thank him for his service in the field of sexuality.
Thanks for listening, and thanks again to the magnificent Dr. Dick!
Love,
Emerald
Salt-N-Pepa “Let’s Talk About Sex”
Sex and Music!
Not only is it an awesome combination, but it’s also the subject of the new e-anthology published by Ravenous Romance containing my story “With Random Precision”! I am thrilled to announce the release of and my inclusion in Love Notes: A Music & Sex Anthology edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. (Due to a glitch on the listing, I was not listed as a contributor when the book went up on the site today, but that has been fixed now.)
Since I already received a comment about my story’s title from the illustrious fellow contributor Jeremy Edwards, I want to mention here that I did not actually come up with it — it is a phrase from the song that plays a key part in the story, “Shine on You Crazy Diamond, Pts. 1-5,” by Pink Floyd.
Sex and music are two of my favorite things (and I’ve heard are a number of others’ favorite things too!), so I am really excited about this anthology. Love Notes, an e-book, is available for purchase and download for $4.99 at the Ravenous Romance website; today it is the featured book of the day!
Love,
Emerald
-From “With Random Precision”
Welcome to The Green Light District!
Welcome to my new author blog/site, and thanks for visiting! As is briefly stated in the sidebar to the right, this site is mainly an author site dedicated to publishing/writing news, but it also contains commentary on social/political/spiritual/other matters as related to sex (and really, what isn’t related to sex?). In particular, since I am a strong proponent as such, sex workers’ rights will likely come up from time to time.
On that note, though this site is brand new, I have uploaded the preivious blog posts from my MySpace page relevant to both writing and the aforementioned topics. Posts are labeled by categories listed on the left and have been back-posted under the dates they were originally posted on MySpace.
Commenting is open to anyone; as of yet, you do not need to register or provide your email address (we’ll see if that continues — i.e., how it goes in spamworld once the site is active), and you have the option of posting anonymously. Also, as the site is brand new, if you experience or observe any glitches, please feel free to email me and let me know.
Thanks again for coming by, and welcome anytime!
Xoxox,
Emerald
-Counting Crows “Round Here”
Gift of the Amorous Woman
During the tumultuousness of last week and the week before, I was reading Amorous Woman, the debut novel of Donna George Storey. I started writing this blog moments after I finished the book last week after having stayed up past sunrise (that’s right, the sun came up and I deliberately stayed awake) to do so. It had been hard enough during the week I was reading it to put it down when other things called; upon coming within the last 100 pages, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to stop reading until there wasn’t any more to read. I was interrupted similarly while composing this blog, but the book and my response to it have been somewhere in my consciousness virtually ever since I closed it that morning last week.
It so happened that I had begun reading this book during this time when I was experiencing particular intenseness in my own experience. As I finished Amorous Woman, the two seemed, if not indistinct, somehow inseparable, as if my personal experience and what I had experienced reading the book had intertwined some way to create a unique manifestation either one on its own did not embody. What follows here is not a review (I am still working on figuring out how to succinctly convey the unspeakable beauty and poignancy of this book to accompany the unquestionable five stars on Amazon); rather, it is a personal account of my response to the work. As with many of my blog topics, it felt profoundly important to me and seems to be calling to be shared.
I knew some time ago amidst both the developing online acquaintance I had been having with the author and the reviews I had seen of Amorous Woman that I wanted to and would almost certainly eventually read the book. I don’t believe I went into Amorous Woman underestimating it simply because it was categorized as a work of erotica. I would hope that, especially as a writer of erotica myself, I do not underestimate erotica just because it is erotica — fall for the all too common myth of believing that because something focuses on sex or is intended to arouse, its artistic or literary merit is inherently lacking (more on this in a bit). And it’s not as though I was unaware of the brilliance of the author. I had been to her blog, read interviews with her (some specifically about the book in question), and had had the opportunity to communicate (electronically) with her personally. Further, I had read much of her short fiction and had no doubts about her literary talent.
But I didn’t know she was going to do to me what she did. I didn’t know that I was going to finish Amorous Woman in a state of breathlessness, reeling and stunned and speechless, rendered a way that select works of art throughout my life have rendered me. I didn’t know she was going to do the same thing John Irving and Sue Monk Kidd and Victor Hugo and F. Scott Fitzgerald have done to me. What that is, I can’t exactly explain, but I can say without hesitation that Donna George Storey did it to me too. It’s something that leaves me seemingly beyond words (ironic) and deep in a haze of incredulity, yearning, gratitude, and ultimately, raw feeling. Like the simple act of reading has gone in and effortlessly cut through anything that might have been blocking it straight to my heart, grasping it and pulling it back out and laying it in front of me, nothing left to cover something deep inside that has often remained covered. I cannot take it back, cannot undo it; I am unable to go back to where I was before.
The response from me was so profound that considering it now, it seems it almost overshadows my appreciation for the simple beauty of the writing, the strikingness of the imagery and opportunity to experience another culture so extraordinarily intimately, the incredible expression and examination of the characters through their virtually flawless presentation. It’s as though something larger, perhaps all of those things seamlessly put together and thus forming something literally greater than the sum of its parts, is there for me, leaving me almost unable to step back and recognize and articulate these incredible aspects of the book as a creative work.
I understand there has been a resistance to and subsequent shortage of stocking this title on the actual shelves of bookstores due to its categorization as erotica — which I respond to with a combination of dumfounded bafflement, infuriated frustration, and frankly, heartbreak. The idea of people missing out on the experience of this book because of a pervasive ignorance (in regard to what is allowed to be classified as “literary”) and a puritanical repressiveness (in regard to sexuality) in this society almost makes me want to cry. It also strikes me as a maddening irony that Donna is exactly the kind of artist who aims to and has delivered on the aim to propagate beautiful, exquisite art (in this case writing) that is sexually honest and explicit — yet (some) book retailers are failing to wake up to this, choosing instead to allow the drudgery of the woefully sexually repressed culture in which we live to perpetuate its disservice of failing to embrace this kind of artistic expression.
Amorous Woman and these surrounding circumstances make me realize even more how it is not that sexual explicitness and exquisite artistry are antagonistic or somehow mutually exclusive (not that I didn’t already know that); it is that the stigma is so prevalent in society that they are that it seems to have discouraged large numbers of talented artists from creating art that includes sexual explicitness or the intent to arouse. Hearteningly, there are exceptions, and Donna has certainly demonstrated herself to be one of them. I know that furthering such art and thus decomposing said mythical preconception is a specific aim of hers, because I’ve seen her say it. This book is about as prime an example of such an achievement as I could conceive of.
I extend my wholehearted thanks to Donna George Storey for this breaktaking offering. To me, Amorous Woman is more than a book. It is a gift.
Love,Emerald “We need more writers willing to acknowledge that the sexual urge is as worthy of a complex literary treatment as anger, jealousy, ambition or love in its PG-rated form.”
-Donna George Storey in an interview with Maryanne Stahl
Just Expressing My Perspective
Today I read an op-ed in the New York Times by graduate student in theology Eric Johnston about his political support of Rudy Giuliani and his reasons for optimism concerning Giuliani’s position on abortion rights and his own anti-choice position (“Anti-Roe and Pro-Rudy,” 9/14/07). The response I present here is not actually a rebuttal of the premise of Mr. Johnston’s piece, which I found a rather thoughtful perspective on the subject. Nor is it really even related to reproductive rights, the subject of the most obvious difference between Mr. Johnston’s and my socially philosophical positions. Rather, it is a specific response to a few lines he puts forth (which he actually attributes to Rudy Giuliani) in a paragraph he is using to illustrate what he perceives as Mr. Giuliani’s politically philosophical view. Granted, the example he uses happened back in 1999, so it’s not as though the described example is even currently an issue…but the postulation surrounding it somehow claimed my attention so much that I find myself compelled to address it.
From the article:
“Social conservatives have reason to trust Mr. Giuliani’s instincts, however. In 1999, the Brooklyn Museum of Art exhibited a painting of the Virgin Mary spattered with elephant dung and surrounded by pictures from pornographic magazines. Mayor Giuliani tried to cut the museum’s city subsidies. . . . By all accounts, Mr. Giuliani is not a devout Catholic. His argument over the Virgin Mary painting was not, ‘You’re insulting me,’ but rather, ‘If you’re going to use taxpayers’ dollars, you have to be sensitive to the feelings of the public.’”
…Are you kidding? Seriously—is that a joke? The idea of being “sensitive to the feelings of the public” being a determinant of the use taxpayer dollars leaves me almost stupefied. I wonder if anyone would take seriously the notion that 1) this happens, and 2) that it should.
Here’s the first point of view I would offer: Perhaps the use of taxpayer dollars would suggest an adherence to the Constitution—specifically, say, the First Amendment, which right there at the beginning expressly grants the freedom of speech. (I don’t recall anything about a sensitivity to the feelings of the public anywhere in the text.)
Further, on a list I would denote of the things most impeding to creativity, the prerequisite of being “sensitive to the feelings of the public” is quite near the top. Especially for artists. I can hardly think of a more inhibiting premise to the creative process than postulating a requirement for the outcome to somehow adhere to said sensitivity.
In addition, if anyone could manage to specify just what “the feelings of the public” are so that sensitivity to them could be practiced, I would find that damn impressive. I have yet to discern what the overall feelings of the public are in any way that would seem to allow a universal sensitivity to them.
Lastly, I will discuss something I almost hesitate to even point out because it is so absurdly obvious. But I will do it anyway. Since the matter in question involves art, I really would think it would not need to be pointed out yet again that art is subjective. What some people may receive as offensive, others may not. I have not seen the work in question, but just the description of it elicits this possible response in me: I feel I could view such a piece as a portrayal, with the images of Mary surrounded by pornographic pictures, of the madonna/whore dichotomy (which is really a unity — similar to the yin yang symbol) existent in women, which I personally quite appreciate. The elephant dung could be interpreted to display the shit piled by society on either depiction of the human female (or on the dichotomy itself), which has, in my opinion, been evidenced throughout human history. Were this my interpretation of the piece, I would not find it offensive.*
To Mr. Johnston, of course, I extend all due respect. It simply felt important to me to present what I see as significant deviation from the postulation(s) implied by the statement(s) presented.
Love,Emerald *Of course, I have no idea how I would really interpret it or if I even would, since my historical experience has been that any real response to a work of art is contingent upon actually experiencing it, and since I have not experienced it I cannot really have any way of knowing how a response from me might be stirred. “I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received.”
-Antonio Porchia, writer (1886-1968)
Creativity and the Emotional State
Recently I have come to realize something — or rather, the possibility of something. I came to realize it through a succession of indicators being brought to my attention and a subsequent curiosity about their correlation. I have noticed a number of intimations lately about the connection between creativity and the emotional state. The most pronounced and detailed has been in the book I am currently reading, What Really Matters: Searching for Wisdom in America, by Tony Schwartz. Schwartz wrote this book about his journey seeking enlightenment in America, specifically through the practices and approaches used by spiritual professionals in this country. He has worked as a journalist by trade, so the book so far provides much detail about the different areas Schwartz sought to encounter and his experiences within them. It has on a few occasions seemed uncanny to me how the certain part of the book I am reading seems to correspond with something occurring in my life at that moment.
Last night I began the chapter on Betty Edwards and the field of study on the right brain and left brain hemispheres. I have not gotten very far, but I have encountered some basic ideas about the two hemispheres of the brain. My knowledge thereof before beginning the chapter was pretty limited to the cursory notions I remember learning briefly sometime in school: the left side houses the logical, analytical orientations, the right side the creative and intuitive, to put it very very broadly. It is mentioned in the book that some have proposed that it is more advantageous in general to function in one or the other, a notion I admit I discard immediately. Betty Edwards, after whom the chapter is titled, postulates that the ideal is to develop the capacity to access and utilize whichever hemisphere contains the capacity that most serves at any given moment. That resonates with me.
As the description of the two hemispheres continues, it is contended that our culture tends to nurture and encourage the functionality of the left hemisphere of the brain over the right. Consequently, it is maintained, people often find it difficult to access and operate from the right side — if the analytical tendencies and rational preconceptions of the left side are active, it literally takes up room and attention needed for the right side to utilize its capacities. I then read that sometimes, therefore, it is difficult to access the creative force within us when the left side of the brain is in control.
If this is indeed the case, it answered an almost lifelong question for me.
And that is, how can it be that this thing that I love to do more than almost anything else, this thing that captured my passion in my single digit ages and has shown no signs of letting it go since, this activity that takes me somewhere almost nothing else does and brings from me things almost nothing else has, how can this phenomenon, writing, be something I at times so steadfastly avoid?
I have been writing since I was seven. It was probably about that time, actually, that I started to label myself a “writer,” which I have referred to myself as ever since. Writing has always compelled and captivated me, and there have been times throughout my life when I find myself in a state of what it strikes me to call right now “writer-ness,” when it is truly what I am doing and I don’t know what time it is and I don’t know if I’m hungry or if I have laundry to take care of or if the phone rings or what the character I’m writing will do next, because it’s really not up to me, it’s up to that character, and I’m just here to put his or her life into physical words. At those times, I feel like I am “resurfacing” when I reorient to my practical surroundings, and the natural high that seems to ensue from those episodes can last for hours or even days.
And other times, I will think, “Maybe I should go write,” in the back of my head, and some kind of vague resistance will emerge in me, and almost without even realizing it I will instantly find something else I should be doing or that needs to be taken care of. I will write later.
Why? Why, why, why on earth would that happen? It has baffled me for years.
Given my basic understanding of the two hemispheres of the brain, I concluded a number of years ago that I have spent most of my waking life oriented through the left side. The analytical, logical side, the one that doesn’t deal with feelings and is more than happy to rationalize them away if they manage to make it through the incredible mechanism of repression so strengthened throughout many years of my life.*
So if I (or I should say if my personality) harbors a fear of feelings, which it indeed does, then it makes sense to me that venturing into the entire realm of the right side of the brain may elicit fear. Once there, who knows what I will encounter? And yes, it may be the space that holds this magical process of writing that has captivated me for more than two decades, but it also a place where unanticipated things may be presented, and control, then, may be lost.**
So I don’t write. Or even if I sit down to, I feel something in me is blocked, something is not allowing access to that place. I am restless. I look at my characters as if I am in charge of them, as if it is up to me to decide what they do and then make them do it. As if the settings in their lives are things I think of, and then describe the way I want the reader to see them. I recognize when I am in that place. And I recognize the difference in my writing. I would not characterize the result in a complimentary way.
When something in me does give in, when my state somehow shifts, that’s when it happens. That’s when I know I’m writing. That’s when it’s there, I’m just the vehicle, I am recording as if through observation the lives of the characters I am having the privilege to bring to the page. They go places that I see inside me, places I can imagine long after I’ve left the computer, as I’m driving, eating, walking, I see them. I am not telling anyone what they look like. I am sharing them as I view them, as my characters encounter them.
In order to do that, do I have to go somewhere inside me that, on some level, really scares me? Perhaps that is why, despite my unadulterated love for that which I do, which is write, sometimes, I don’t.
Love and support for all souls,Emerald *Ah, yes, what an easy way to deal with the messiness of feelings…and oh, my, does it have its price. Feelings cannot be gotten rid of. It simply isn’t possible, no matter how much the mind might be convinced that they may. Feelings may only be processed, and following that, they are released or transformed. **Control is an illusion. And one worth working on eliminating the attachment to. “The process of making art is a process of confronting oneself . . . . In some ways it is like meditation. Art involves a confrontation with oneself that can be surprisingly uncomfortable.”
-Roderick MacIver
