Popular Feminism: how is it that nudity still creates an uproar?

SINGER SHOCKS IN A SHEER DRESS*

Or: *Singer celebrates her own body in a defiant protest against skewed conventions of conservative feminism.  Protest or exhibitionism? (And does it matter either way?)

As you will all know by now - unless you are one of the very few people who have not gazed despairingly at Rihanna's impossibly toned body having eaten 3 Cadbury Fruit and Nut bars within the space of 10 minutes and been made aware that bikini-body season is now undeniably upon us - Rihanna shocked the world (i.e the headline-hungry media) by wearing a dress made entirely of Swarovski crystals and a very small amount of fine gossamer thread - as far as I could work out.  Here is the image in case you cannot imagine such an outfit being feasibly possible (it very much is):

A field day for the media in one outfit

As you can imagine, the general reception was one of vocal outrage.  Apparently her daring outfit served to objectify herself (I didn't know that such a verb could be used in the passive tense but apparently so) and pollute the minds of her young fans.  By this standard I might ask why I am not a morally polluted and depraved young woman having grown up with images of a leather-clad Madonna kissing an equally scantily-clad Britney?  Likewise why don't  Hannah Montana fans wander around with permanently visible tongues and stripper heels on.  We don't (and yes I do include myself in the Hannah Montana/Miley fan community) because it does not take Stephen Hawking to work out that imitation is not the guaranteed product of admiration.  Such generalities are not only patronising -  in that they expect Rihanna-fans to be stripping off immediately in thoughtless imitation - but also damaging for the fragile reputation of feminism. 

Rihanna's appearance and Miley's general attitude towards her fashion choices and media backlash are both physical and visual examples of how women should be able to celebrate their own body and their own appearance and in doing so negate any claims that a woman's body is anybody's but her own.   Rihanna responded to one questioning reporter by saying 'Do my tits bother you? They're covered in Swarovski crystals girl.' This succinct and definitive line reminds me of that famous Maya Angelou poem Still I Rise in which Angelou defiantly asks:

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

How is it that such a poem, in celebrating the power of the female body and the unwillingness to stoop under the shame that may be forced upon such a power, was received with widespread support and veneration, yet when 35 years later a celebrity represents such ideas by wearing them rather than saying them, she is the focus of cruel and damaging backlash by the very media that should be promoting Angelou's philosophy?  People (and by people I mean men and women) need to understand that the word feminism should not bring to mind a troop of bra-less razor-less lesbians in Dr Martens, in fact it should be acknowledged and accepted that Ryan Gosling can be a feminist (arguably the antithesis of the aforementioned stereotype), that Barack Obama is definitely a feminist, that Rihanna can be a feminist even when twerking in a thong and some loosely strung together diamonds because after all a feminist is someone who believes that women are equal to men therefore this fragile word encompasses all the sane people in the world, be they white, 70-year-old grandpas or daring 20-something celebrities.  

Poem of the Week: Papa Love Baby

Steve Smith: PAPA LOVE BABY

My mother was a romantic girl

So she had to marry a man with his hair in curl

Who subsequently became my unrespected papa,

But that was a long time ago now.

What folly it is that daughters are always supposed to be 

In love with papa.  It wasn't the case with me

I couldn't take to him at all

But he took to me

What a sad fate to befall

A child of three.

I sat upright in my baby carriage

And wished mama hadn't made such a foolish marriage.

I tried to hide it, but it showed in my eyes unfortunately

And a fortnight later papa ran away to sea.

He used to come home on leave

It was always the same

I could not grieve

But I think I was somewhat to blame.

I recently went to see a play called 'Stevie' at Chichester Festival Theatre, in which Zoe Wanamaker - also seen as Madam Hooch in Hooch in Harry Potter among other roles - played the titular part (with outstanding stamina and lack of care for her health - she appears, dragging theatrically on an ever-present cigarette, in every scene of the 2 hour play).  

The play documented the life of the poet Stevie Smith who was the amused and amusing voice of the suburban masses throughout the 1940s and 50s.  Stevie (born Florence) Smith grew up in a troubled household and she came to blame herself for her father's desertion of their family.  Her obsession with death and fear and later religion are very much present in her poetry, although she laces these poignant and pithy poems with sardonic humour which (although they can be seen as flippant) make them all the more powerful.  

Although I could only vaguely remember the poem 'Not Waving But Drowning' - read it, trust me its multi-faceted viewpoint and the last vivid line will stay with you  - I was previously unaware of the great body of poems, as amusing as they are contemplative, that she had written during her long, independent, and sometimes undoubtedly lonely life.

This poem draws to mind an image of the petite, bobbed Stevie Smith narrating her poem to a faceless audience (which reads as if it is meant to be heard) in a careless manner, which serves as armour the more sensitive, impressionable child which hides inside her.  Although this poem is funny at times 'But he took to me / what a sad fate to befall / A child of three' it is also beautifully melancholy when one thinks about Stevie's actual ruptured childhood.

So: read more Stevie Smith, you will be among good company - Sylvia Plath was a self-proclaimed 'desperate Smith-addict' as was Smith's good friend and fellow literary genius George Orwell - she deserves to be rediscovered within a modern audience. 

A 3D Phenomenon: the rise of immersive art from Pliny to Paddington

We live in a world in which we are spoilt for visual choice when it comes to art, most notably cinema.  We can watch a film in normal, comfortable 2D, slightly odd, headache-inducing 3D or frankly unnecessary 4D, 5D and 6D.  The last three are all the same, just marketed differently for ‘variety’.  This obsession with pushing beyond previous dimensional boundaries has diffused into other realms of art, however surprisingly it dates back further than the past few decades.

According to acclaimed Algerian artist Maurice Benayoun, the first exhibition of interactive art was documented by Pliny the Elder in the 5^th Century BC.  The story goes as follows: An ancient Greek artist, Zeuxis, challenges fellow painter Parrhasius to a painting contest.  Zeuxis presents a painting depicting grapes so realistic that birds peck at them from the sky.  Parrhasius, impressed by this feat, invites Zeuxis to his studio in order for him to unveil the painting.  Zeuxis does so, reaching to draw back the curtain, and is taken aback when he realises that the curtain itself is a painted illusion.  Parrhasius claimed, ‘Zeuxis may have fooled the birds, but I have fooled Zeuxis.’  In effect, Parrhasius’ painting was meaningless without Zeuxis’ interaction with it; Zeuxis’ involvement in the piece is what gave it such ironical significance.  Although the nature of such a concept may have changed to fit modern audiences, the concept remains the same. 

           

Dennis Severs (1948-1999) was an American artist who dedicated the latter part of his life to the restoration of a George I terraced house in Spitalfields, London.  Visitors to his house are urged to ‘travel past the picture frame’ and immerse themselves within the smoky atmosphere of the 18^th Century building, which is created by period furnishings, guttering candlelight and concealed subtle sound effects. 

Inside Dennis Severs' House: 18 Folgate Street

            “The game” Mr Severs said himself, “is that you interrupt a family of Huguenot silk-weavers named Jervis who, though they can sometimes be heard, seem always to be just out of sight.”  The house’s motto is adamant that “you either see it, or you don’t” – a firm reminder to those who suffer from ‘pigeon-holed intelligence’, that Severs’ canvas is the imagination of his visitors; his art relies on the suspension of disbelief, the willingness to enter through the picture-frame.  Thus, without a conscious interaction with this art it is rendered meaningless: in this case the house would be negated to an impressive exhibition of antiques, a laudable celebration of local history, the obsessive product of an American anglophile.   In this way 18 Folgate Street is a large-scale reproduction of Parrhasius’ painting in that it requires the participation of the viewer, albeit in a more imaginative way. 

            

Similarly this phenomenon can be seen within the traditionally confined arena of theatre.   Although interactive theatre is not a new genre, its popularity has exploded in recent years.  One company leading the pack is Punchdrunk, who seek to reject typical theatrical formats which expect passive obedience from their detached audience.  Instead, the company occupies dramatic sites for their performances and thrusts the audiences into very personal and changeable narratives in which they must immerse themselves within the actors and set.

One such performance is The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Fable, which takes place in the abandoned Temple Studios - a vast multi-tiered building just outside Paddington Station.  The working film set, in which the audience is free to roam among the actors, is designed with the same precision and attention to detail as Dennis Severs’ house, because in the absence of a typical format the audience are compelled to make sense of the fragmented spectacle before them: by hastily reading a desperate love letter found on the bed of a disused caravan, by inspecting the wares sold in the various shops on each floor of the building, by following the pungent smell of antiseptic to a gloomy corner where a sinister medical examination is taking place.  

Stageshot: A Drowned Man
Photo from www.thepublicreviews.com

Once the audience have grasped the idea that they will never be able to piece together the complete narrative, if indeed there is one, they become aware that their enjoyment of and immersion in the show is more important than their understanding of the obscure plot – indeed every member of the audience’s experience will be as unique as they choose it to be.

So just as Parrhasius’ painting required Zeuxis’ interaction with it, so do Dennis Severs’ house and the Punchdrunk Productions; each ask the viewer or audience to ‘immerse themselves’ within the art form in a way that creates a unique impression upon each person as they experience it.  This increasing appreciation of sensory art forms, from 3D cinema to immersive theatre, perhaps stems from our desire to dispense of the demarcations associated with traditional entertainment and assume some responsibility in the understanding of the piece rather than remain as submissive spectators peering towards stage from the comforting distance of the upper circle.