Musings of a Down and Out Artist

‘I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive.’ – Henry Miller

More sex please, you’re artists

From Jonathan Jones On Art Blog in The Guardian.

There isn’t enough sex in the arts today. Look back at the 20th century and the whole point of modernism was to liberate the carnal. DH Lawrence, priest of love, competed to shock the last survivors of the Victorian age with James Joyce, who rambled uninhibited to detail Leopold Bloom’s underwear fantasies. In art, Picasso introduced the modern age with his brothel scene Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, and the surrealists confessed to unspeakable lusts. Even in classical music, there was a sense of orgasmic release, as is recognised by Melinda Gebbie and Alan Moore in their striking comic book Lost Girls, which portrays a riotous erotic encounter at the first night of Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring.

Critics worry about why people would rather see a terrible film than a great play, why they’d rather read a trashy magazine than a book, and why the most god-awful dance music sells more than Steve Reich. It’s because of the sex, stupid. If high art wants our attention, it needs to turn us on.

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