Apparently, you can catch more flies with honey than you can with Sith lords. Read on after the break, this one goes deep.
Whenever you guys “like” one of my posts, I get an email about it. Which is cool because I never expect anyone to enjoy anything I post here. Basically, I assume that anything I write or post slips under the collective internet radar and goes unnoticed. In a way, this is my goal. The idea is that someone of like mind may one day stumble across these entries more or less by accident and find something that blows his or her mind because there’s this massive collection of banal minutiae that essentially coincides with that person’s mental checklist of what is awesome and/or useful and he or she totally “gets it.” I don’t expect this to happen, but that is how I am planning it, more or less. I don’t promote any of my posts in any way. This site is not connected to my Twitter or Facebook or any other social media sites. I don’t even tell my friends about it. This is my thing, just for myself. Getting traffic or hits or whatever is essentially irrelevant. I don’t expect traffic, I take no steps to encourage it, and the design principle guiding the blog entries (childish language deliberately misspelled on all “high-attention” words) should theoretically drive some people away.
On the other hand, it warms my bitter, cynical spirit a bit when you guys “like” my pictures. It says to me that someone else in the world connected with me on some level, even if it was just superficial and fleeting, and not for the reasons I ever intended. For a brief, shining moment, there was a connection. You saw something and thought, “That’s cool,” and you clicked a handy link. It’s like taking a photograph – you are forever capturing the relative positions of a bunch of photons as they are zipping around the universe, freezing a moment in time and space that will never exist again. And I get an email about it.
What’s funny about it is, I thought that the Darth Vader painting would get more attention. Usually when I post a picture of a painting, it gets one or two “likes,” because of how WordPress promotes new posts for a few minutes at the bottom of your dashboard or whatever, so I expected Vader would get one or two “likes.” It was the most recent one. The colours are strong. It’s at the top of the page. It’s Darth Frickin’ Vader. Instead, what happened was nobody “liked” poor old Vader at all, and five people scrolled down the page and “liked” the painting of the nude woman. The painting I only put up as “filler” because I was catching up on my Posts Per Day thing. The painting that is, to me, little more than a study in a new medium, an experiment with new techniques. The one I am actually proud of got no love.
So this post is me attention-whoring and giving the audience what it clearly wants. I don’t know how many of you can actually “read” my intention with these paintings, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you do, really. Some will see these paintings as me trying to say something about the world, which is awesome because it’s true. They mean something to me. They will mean a different thing to anyone else, and it’s not my job or inclination to tell anyone what to think. Frankly, I don’t care what anyone else “gets” out of it. I didn’t paint them for anyone else, I painted them for me. I’m just sharing them with everyone else, and you are one hundred percent free to take from them anything you damn well please.
Some people see a nipple and their brains automatically file it as “porn.” That makes me chuke (a portmanteau I just made up, combining “chuckle” and “puke,” because it’s funny in a way and also shameful and disgusting). The rules for what constitutes “porn” are so ridiculously arbitrary. Very conservative people will see side-boob and butt-crack as “porn” even if they are not presented in a sexual manner. For some people, it’s only porn when you can see the labia – pubes is “artistic,” but pink is porn. In other circles, the image has to be an explicit depiction of an actual sex act to be considered porn – the you-know-what going into the you-know-where. The line between what is “art” and what is “porn” is super-fuzzy and indistinct. It’s a ridiculous idea to begin with – who is to say that porn is not a kind of art?
The only reliable “cut-off” is the point where you cease being interested in the image for the sake of the image itself. When the body parts or the sexual nature of the images have more impact on you than things like colour and composition and technique, etc., then you can start to wonder whether or not it could be called “porn.” For some people, all it takes to make that transition is softly-parted lips and the hint of a nipple. For some, the hoo-haw has to be spraying you-know-what all over the thingamabob while foreign objects are being crammed into the wee-wee and ding-dong before that transition occurs. Each to his own.
Personally, I don’t consider my own work “erotic.” The nudity is incidental. There are no sexual undertones – each one is a moment of raw honesty. Boredom, bliss, ebullience, ennui, playfulness, laid bare. If all you’re seeing is tits and bums, that’s very, very sad.