Sex
A girl in every port
A search for cultural roots takes photographer Reagan Louie into Asia's sex industry.
Sexual tourism is a red-hot button on the scale of politically correct travel. While ostensibly about pleasure, jetting off to partake in exotic, erotic smorgasbords for a price is an activity that taps directly into deeply ingrained perceptions of gender, race and uncomfortable global intercourse between First, Second and Third World cultures. For San Francisco Bay Area photographer Reagan Louie, this rich territory, spiked with ideological land mines and oases of sparkling female beauty, serves as something more complex and ambiguous.
As a second-generation Asian American, Louie has made a personal and artistic practice of traveling East in a photographic search to reclaim his roots. In the 1980s, he visited his father’s birthplace in China, creating a visual record of the eye-opening, vibrant color pictures that for him, and many viewers, create a link between China and Chinese American identity. “A psychologist might say that my search had been caused by ‘cultural marginalization,’” he wrote of that series, “In Search of a True Life” — something that for him became an ongoing project about postcolonialism.
In the mid-1990s, during picture-gathering trips to Asia, Louie homed in on the sex trade, which is the basis of his recently released book, “Orientalia,” as well as an exhibition at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, “The Photographs of Reagan Louie: Sex Work in Asia” (through December 17).
These are portraits of women in China, Japan, Thailand, Korea and Southeast Asia that, for the artist, express a dynamic of Asian male sexuality as seen through images of women. The pictures are crisp and colorful visions of clothed and unclothed prostitutes — hostesses in karaoke bars, masseuses, or employees in betelnut kiosks or glassed-in shacks on roadsides that sell various pleasures to go. Sometimes these women are seen with men, but more often they look to the camera and, by extension, to the photographer from a difficult-to-read position. As SFMoMA curator Sandra Phillips describes them in her wall text, the pictures “offer a dispassionate examination of a topic that is both controversial and conflicted.”
This is the angle Louie takes in conversation about his art. “All my work is about how society shapes an individual to some degree,” he says. “The first time I went to Asia in 1980, I experienced a different kind of dynamic between men and women. Not that we [Asian men] are exactly emasculated in the U.S., but we’re somewhat neutered. Asia has very masculine societies; men have a dominant role. I was aware of it from the beginning, but I didn’t know what to do with it.”
His first-ever visit to a sex emporium in Hong Kong, where he was shooting during the hand-over from the British in 1997, was an eye opener that jumpstarted the project. Louie, a family man with wife, kids and a dignified job as a professor at the San Francisco Art Institute, entered a new world that offered very distinct examples of the gender dynamic.
“Asian men and their interactions with the sex industry are like a frat party; there’s a lot of joking around and playfulness. It’s not just about sex — there’s a full sense of socialization. It’s a very Asian thing, and I saw it often in different countries. ” The primary venues, he says, are karaoke parlors with private rooms. A photograph taken in China in 2000 depicts such a scene, with three women smoking, singing, eating and drinking with a couple of men in what looks like a living room but may be a private karaoke chamber in the Enjoy Business Club, a glitzy, neon-trimmed establishment photographed elsewhere in the series. The image is far more social than salacious. In another, perhaps taken in the same location, a man and a woman chastely croon together while watching the video screen.
More often, the pictures are of women on their own or in an artistic encounter with the photographer. Few of the models look directly at the camera — their indirect glances serve as a protective mark of professional distance. “I’m shy,” Louie admits. “The camera allowed me to enter those places and to meet those people.”
Once inside, he finds multiple layers of social evidence. He photographs a Chinese bar girl named Ting Ting in front of star-patterned wallpaper. She appears to be in her early 20s and is wearing a miniskirt and Snoopy T-shirt, an element that subtly introduces a specter of Western influence (evidence that appears frequently in the photos). It takes a moment to notice the tag that reads “N-30″ taped to her shoulder, clearly a number identifying her as merchandise. It’s not easy, however, to discern her internal state as her expression is a blank, vague smile, and the lighting is at a professional level that eclipses a sense of documentary spontaneity. This, like all the others, is clearly a posed picture.
There’s a similar quality to the much raunchier “Yuan Yuan, Macau,” a 1999 hotel room scene that depicts a nude woman sitting in a chair, matter-of-factly exposing her genitalia. Her head is tilted back slightly into the executive-gray curtains, her face made up and her eyes hidden beneath stylish wire-rimmed sunglasses. The picture, in some ways, addresses the difficult dichotomy between body and mind with an almost shocking brazenness.
Such images raise lots of difficult questions. Are these women being demeaned or empowered? Are they exoticized or exploited? The ambivalence is much of what makes these pictures interesting, as is the way that they are framed both in the book and the exhibition.
“I didn’t do anything furtively — without the girls there would be no pictures. I paid them for their time, which introduced a collaborative nature. Most of the pictures are staged — the women arranged themselves for the camera.” Clearly the notion of the artist entering an economic transaction with a model parallels the usual parameters of the hooker/john interchange. It’s a thorny, provocative aspect of these pictures that raises the obvious question: Did the artist partake in the services on the menu? Louie responds coyly: “Is taking pictures a form of sex?” Was he even tempted? “Sometimes they’re sexy, they’re good at their job. They know how to draw a man in.
“I’m full of contradictions and conflicts,” he continues. “I implement myself, but it’s not a ‘Heart of Darkness’ vision. I wanted to depict survivors, not victims.”
Louie is quick to point out, in the standard porn terms, that all the models are over 18 (at least that’s what they told him), and he’s wise to avoid that political quagmire. But his project doesn’t completely skirt potentially controversial topics. There are images that depict interracial desire — a white woman with a Japanese man, an Asian female with a white man in Hong Kong — as well as ones that point to aspects of community, commodity and fetishized identities. Louie doesn’t attempt to cover all the bases. He doesn’t photograph male sex workers or offer a critique of sex tourism — an aftereffect of global capitalism that often illustrates incredible international inequities and the enduring specter of racial stereotyping. He’s aware of all these things, but in the end, he admits this is more the product of an artistic vision, something that began to fascinate the artist and consumes him. He leaves the theorizing to others, especially other artists, whose work he has included in his own show to provide a historical context. Pictures by Picasso, E.J. Bellocq (famous for his early 20th century portraits of New Orleans whores — see Brooke Shields in “Pretty Baby”), Cindy Sherman and Japanese photographer Yasumasa Morimura offer other takes on the sex industry.
Another to whom Louie turns is self-proclaimed “activist hooker” Tracy Quan, whose iconoclastic opening essay in “Orientalia” challenges various mainstream readings of the business, mainly the zones between selling fantasy and the realities of carnal commerce.
Quan writes that her job is “about enchantment, not just service.” She feels a profound sense of shame when she learns that the pricing system at a Hong Kong brothel, as seen in a sign in one of Louie’s pictures, is predicated on ethnicity (Malaysian and Philippine women go at bargain basement rates). Yet she also admits to identifying with the fantasy of Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman,” and weighs in on the side of pleasure over politics. She admits, for example, that for those low-priced women she hopes “not for ‘social justice’ … but the outright privilege of being a special, exotic treat.”
She has more pointed opinions about the hegemony of feminism. “I envy the prostitute who hasn’t been confronted daily, as I was from an early age, with feminist attitudes and ideologies,” writes Quan. “When I look at these pictures, I imagine that these women are much freer because they are not bogged down by feminist arguments.”
Such statements seem constructed to deflect criticism, but may also fuel the show’s controversy. “What does it say about the current dialog that they’re contextualizing these photographs with the words of a strong, activist hooker’s voice who doesn’t necessarily identify with feminist or activist concerns?” ponders Tina Takemoto, a professor of visual studies at California College of the Arts in Oakland. “Would these pictures still be interesting without Quan’s statements?”
“Without Tracy’s kind of progressive view of sex workers, I couldn’t do this project,” Louie admits. “I chose to do this work to explore if an artist could successfully take on a loaded subject like that on its own terms, and not sugarcoat it.” Some will argue that Louie’s extremely glossy pictures, presented in the museum in an impressive, life-size scale, do just that: put a plastic product sheen on a complicated situation.
Ultimately, it’s these unresolvable questions that make Louie’s project memorable. It’s impossible not to be seduced or rankled by them, and to clarify our own stance in relation to the issues. “At the end of the day, you have to give shape to your own experience,” Louie says. “I work very intuitively. I wasn’t calculating that I was going to find my roots, I just take the pictures and follow their lead.”
Glen Helfand writes about art and culture for the San Francisco Bay Guardian and other publications. More Glen Helfand.
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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