Sex
Balthus’ provocative poses
One of modern art's lions shows us that sexual moments and nudity aren't necessarily erotic.
Surrounded as we are by blatant and pervasive sex, looking back at the work of Balthus can give us respite — and a more nuanced, playful vision of eroticism.
All the great modernist painters of the 20th century — Picasso, Dali, Matisse — drew frequently from the female nude and erotic themes for their art. Balthazar Klossowski, aka Balthus, presented a new vision that blended explicitly erotic and high art. His paintings are full of women and girls with their bodies on display, but they meander between the erotic and a direct confrontation of his audience. One of his hallmarks is a testy, teasing, relationship with his audience as he pulls them between considerations of the sexual and exquisite compositions in the same moment.
A new book is out from Rizzoli to accompany the largest exhibit of his work (now at the Palazzo Grassi in Venice through Jan. 6, 2002) and to commemorate his death in February, 2001.
Balthus’ most notorious and compelling painting, “The Guitar Lesson,” is a perfect example of his vision. It presents a woman with a girl draped over her lap. The girl’s skirt has ridden up to her belly as the woman pulls her hair and has her hand poised over the girl’s vagina. The girl’s hand is raised to pinch the woman’s erect nipple.
In a letter as he was preparing the painting Balthus described it as “a rather ferocious one.” “It’s an erotic scene. But you have to understand, it is not in the least quirky, none of the usual little naughtiness you show around under cover with winks and nudges. No, I want to proclaim in broad daylight, with sincerity and feeling, all the throbbing tragedy of a drama of the flesh, proclaim vociferously, the deep-rooted laws of instinct. Thus to return to the passionate content of art. Down with the hypocrites!”
The son of a highly cultivated family and a pupil and friend of renowned German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, Balthus arrived on the scene a young 26 at a fevered moment in the history of art. He had been a painter since he was 16, encouraged by a mother who also painted. He was also surrounded by many major cultural figures such as Rilke, who helped publish his first ink drawings in 1921, and painter Pierre Bonard, who further nurtured his talent.
As he gained his first successes as a painter in 1934, modernist art movements captivated Europe. The Bauhaus and expressionist movements had swept Germany, futurists were ardently followed by the cultural elite and future dictator Benito Mussolini in Italy, while France played host to a grand collection of artists and intellectuals like Man Ray, Picasso and Matisse. Most major artistic and creative movements in Europe were focused on defining the new and breaking from the old, classical orders that dominated 19th century culture.
While nearly all of these artists and groups were drawn to the erotic in one way or the other, Balthus made it his priority to present it as high art. His was a constant campaign to bring two potentially disparate camps together; for him they probably coexisted naturally. He called the erotic the “passionate content of art” and he gave it a passionate form. “The Guitar Lesson” is a rigorously classical composition, one borrowed from the pietá in the Western tradition, dressed with references to Dutch still life paintings and thoroughly informed by classical perspective. By combining his own sense of eroticism with formal elegance, Balthus got to have his cake and eat it too.
Balthus also played with nudes, confronting the viewer with the implied question: what is more erotic, nudity or suggestion? “Alice in the Mirror” confronts you with a seminude woman, her naked pubes at the exact center of the painting and a breast staring back at you. But her eyes are a dirty, cloudy blue that almost obscures the pupils entirely and suggests either an ethereal calm or complete removal.
The centrality of the nudity in this painting puts sex front and center, but there’s also the setting of the painting: Alice stands with one foot on a chair in a bare corner brushing out her hair. For a contemporary viewer it might elicit ruminations about how women’s identities are tied to their bodies or how we use nudity as a symbol for sex, but the original buyer, Pierre Jean Jouve, thought otherwise and described the painting as “having such an intense carnality, that I considered ‘Alice’ as being my companion.”
But Balthus plays a two-front game. He’s not merely concerned with carnality but with an exquisite form or vehicle for that eroticism. Despite his comments about “The Guitar Lesson” he also made other, more accommodating remarks that demonstrate his keen sense that his paintings’ subject matter might obscure the grace of their execution. In a letter about “Alice in the Mirror” he wrote, “I don’t believe it is obscene and I think the grave, severe atmosphere it is steeped in is such that even a young girl can look at it without blushing.”
It’s the clothed women in Balthus’ paintings that appear most erotically charged. In “Therese” a young girl stares languidly out of the canvas as her skirt slides up her thigh. A companion painting of the same model shows her sitting with eyes closed and legs open so that you can see her underwear as a cat laps milk from a bowl in the foreground.
Still other paintings of the same model like “Therese on a Bench-seat” feature her alone and oblivious to the viewer, apparently in a moment of quiet contemplation or lazy repose while her skirt inches up her thigh. Your eye moves instantly to the point where the skirt stands ready to reveal more — both because that’s the land of erotic potential, but also because Balthus has used composition, drawn it seems from early Dutch portraiture, that draws a viewer’s eyes where he wants them.
Balthus was forever borrowing and twisting the past into his version of an incredibly erotically charged present. You sense a man in full charge of his obsessions who gains even more power and release from playing his fantasies out on canvas and having viewers, buyers and connoisseurs share in his game and pleasure. Indeed, he painted erotic subjects right up to his death in February. His last, unfinished painting depicts a nude woman asleep on a couch, a mandolin about to fall from her hand.
That’s what’s so extraordinary for a contemporary viewer. Today we can easily find pornography to fulfill carnal urges. And artists today used nudity for political purposes as well as titillation. But it’s rare to find an artist both skilled and daring enough to breathe a vivid life into his erotic fantasies with formal elegance.
Max Garrone is Salon's Vice President for Operations. More Max Garrone.
Massage therapists rubbed wrong by sex talk
A Jennifer Love Hewitt show and the Travolta allegations have masseuses tired of being confused for sex workers
(Credit: iStockphoto/sybanto) Joe, a licensed massage therapist, knows what it’s like having a famous client who expects something extra. He had an Academy Award-winning actor begin gyrating on his massage table before raising his hips in the air to show off his erection. “He was hoping that I would play with him in some shape or form,” he says.
Needless to say, Joe isn’t surprised by allegations by two masseurs that John Travolta got handsy during massages. (Travolta’s attorney has denied all the allegations, and called them “ridiculous.”) “It happens all the time,” he says, and not just with celebrity clients. He frequently encounters men who try to fondle him, usually while he’s working on their glutes or lower back and their hand happens to be level with his crotch. “They think they’re so original, but they’re all so much the same,” Joe says, his voice rising. “They all use the same tactics, the same body movements, the same gyrations and grinding my table, the [heavy] breathing.”
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
A night at the vibrator museum
Early vibrators were hand-cranked, two-person jobs -- and prescribed by doctors. How far we've come since then
(Credit: Antique Vibrator Museum) I can now say that I’ve used a turn-of-the-century vibrator — on my hand, but still.
The silver, hand-cranked contraption is usually kept behind glass at Good Vibrations’ Antique Vibrator Museum in San Francisco — but staff sexologist Carol Queen made a rare exception. “This is very special,” she whispered, unlocking the case and carefully pulling out Dr. Johansen’s Auto Vibrator, a relic from 1904. The “auto” part is not so much: It was a two-person job, with her having to crank the device’s handle to get it thrumming. Pressing my finger tips to its inch-wide circular platform of pleasure, I was pleasantly surprised by its power.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
Maggie Gyllenhaal on sexual liberation
The beloved indie star tells Salon about her "vibrator movie" and why she loves playing transgressive women
Maggie Gyllenhaal (Credit: Reuters/Mark Blinch) When I met Maggie Gyllenhaal about six weeks ago, she was enormously and gloriously pregnant, stretching out on a sofa with her shoes off and feet up in a Manhattan office building. (Since that time, Gyllenhaal and husband Peter Sarsgaard have welcomed their second daughter, Gloria Ray, to the world.) We were there to talk about “Hysteria,” the charming, lightweight feminist farce from director Tanya Wexler that explores a key event in the history of female sexuality: the invention of the vibrator by Mortimer Granville, a Victorian doctor who was seeking to cure the mysterious “female malady” that lends the movie its title.
Continue Reading CloseMother-daughter sexperts
Susie Bright and her daughter, Aretha, make parental talks about sex look easy -- and fun
Most parents loathe talking to their kids about the birds and the bees, let alone pubic hair grooming, faked orgasms and “water sports” — but most parents are not legendary “sexpert” Susie Bright.
Better than talking about these things, she penned an advice column in 2009 with her daughter, Aretha, then 19, for the ladyblog Jezebel. Their answers to questions about everything from porn to Paxil were unflinching but playful, and at times controversial. Now the pair have collected those columns into a new e-book, “Mother/Daughter Sex Advice.” Together, they read as an irreverent version of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” for the Internet age. The mother-daughter team also reflect on what the experience of writing the column was like, and it turns out it wasn’t as weird as many would think: For the most part, it was just a continuation of conversations they had been having throughout Aretha’s life.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
On the rack: A cultural history of breasts
Did breasts evolve for lactation or to enhance sex appeal? A new book explores why they matter
(Credit: iStockphoto/NadyaPhoto) It’s hard to be boobs. Sure, breasts are cherished as givers of milk and the pinnacle of sex appeal, but the modern world hasn’t been good to mammaries.
As Florence Williams writes in “Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History,” they’re the most tumor-prone organ in the human body. They “soak up pollution like a pair of soft sponges,” and transmit environmental toxins to babies through breast milk. “Breasts are bellwethers for the changing health of people,” she says. While we’ve “genetically modified our crops to be able to protect them from the ill effects of pesticides,” Williams writes, “we haven’t yet figured out how to modify our breasts.” Aside from using saline and silicone, of course.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
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