David Hockney - Artist

1960's Photograph

Lucien Freud 1990's Painting

I became aware of David Hockney when I was first at university, through images like those offered up in his Los Angeles period paintings. It's their still, airless, somewhat photo-realist perfection and 'orderedness'. The bleaching quality of the sunlight reminds me of the Australia:

'A Bigger Splash', 1967

'Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy', 1969

'Still Life on a Glass Table', 1971-2

'La Terrace', 1971

I bought two books ('David Hockney by David Hockney' and 'David Hockney Photographs') and, looking back over them now, I am surprised just how many of the works from that period had gay themes - lots of naked guys, nudity often accentuated by tan lines (another Los Angeles-Sydney connection):

'Man Taking Shower in Beverley Hills', 1964

I particularly liked the works involving his then boyfriend, Peter Slessenger, cos they publically presented the intimacy of gay lovers:

'Peter and I lived together. Peter's the only person I've lived with; we were lovers. I've lived with other people, but not really as lovers. And of course it makes a difference.'

Some of the paintings of Peter:




And some etchings:



And some photographs:


All these images were really important for me at the time, re-affirming the possibilities of a public gay life.

And, to finish out of the ball park, a fabulous portrait of the British poet W H Auden, 1968:

Transformations: Saturday Night - Monday Morning

I've always been aware of the degree gay guys can shift round their persona and image.

The guy you know at ya local grotty sex-on-premises establishment (perhaps 'Headquarters' or 'Signal' in Sydney, or 'Keller Klub' or 'L'Impact' in Paris) as a rough horny trade dude - beery and smokey breath, stale smelling crotch, musky armpits, unwashed sweaty feet ... maybe even cum on his breath from the last guy he's just blown (fill in your own fantasy here!). Who you wanna turn round and shove up hard against the wall. Spread his legs apart, more. And work ya cock up his lubed-up and waiting hole. As you bite hard into his thick muscled neck. And ya feel more of his hairy legs as his jeans slowly fall down round his ankles. The warmth of his big furry buns is ya crotch. ... .

And then you bump into him unexpectedly in some work or social situation and, through some strange inexplicable process, he has transmutted into 'a well-mannered suit', with the personna of an elegant pink jelly-fish in Armani and Armani. The process is a bit like medieval alchemy - but turning gold into lead. He talks about the delicacies and intricases of his office politics. And then, inevitably, about the latest renovations at home - the ingenious ideas he's had using the space in the attic as a storage room ... or, if he's not quite so 'jellyfish', as a 'playroom'! You hope he won't tell you about the sling, as though it's never flashed across anyone's radar ever before. And usually with a conspiratorial wink. You don't talk about this kinda stuff - you just do it. You are uncertain - can you say 'let's get away from all this bullshit and fuck' or would that get you a startled reaction? And 'I sorry, I really don't think that's very appropriate'.

Sometimes, the jelly-fish is still plainly visible in the rough horny trade dude, like the first picture of the set of guy above. And then there are guys where the transformation is more convincing or real - and you think 'There is hope':


But, worst of all, there are those where it is all about 'fashion':


Now what's this all mean? I reckon most people try to resolve these seeming contradictions (and lots of others), when it seems much better to see them as just different even opposing aspects of a single but multiglot self. To be explored rather than sorted out in a 'I'm trying to discover my real myself' way. As though there is one single essential self. And think of it - you get more for your money this way!

Mapplethorpe - Flower Portraits

I first noticed these Mapplethorpe flower portraits when I came across the photographer's other work - you know, the stuff that was famously removed from a show in the US, and gave rise to some vigorous debate around the censorship issue. That I posted on earlier.

And then, after I'd picked myself off the floor, and looked again and again, and noticed it was a whip handle stuffed up the artist's pouting arse hole ... I looked at these beautiful floral photos. Actually they speak for themselves, but (you know me) I won't resist putting down a few ideas!

The pictures are wonderfully uncluttered - often just a single flower and a single colour background - paired right down for the maximum sculptural effect. A formal exercise which often incorporates their vase. I particularly like how Mapplethorpe shows the crisp line moving round the outer edge of a flower, like in second and fifth photos below, against an often dark background. And his sensitivity to colours: the selection of the complementary pinks and yellows, with dark blue - above and below.





These black and white photographs have something of the quality of old prints. And it seems the lack of colour enhances their sculptural formal effects.



Enjoy!

Unpredictability and Serendipity

There is a wide-spread view that it's good for life to be planned cos this gives a sense of control. It's scarier (for some) not to have that. But I am more and more aware that these days I more consciously encourage myself to be open to possibilities that unexpectedly present themselves. And to develop the skill of being able to rapidly change direction to take advantage of this unpredictability.

Of course, no-one runs their life just one way or the other.

My last post was going to be about traveling in China, but then I came across The Lips as I was about to start and, well, things got less cerebral. With a rapid direction change, towards the crotch.

And then, associatively, I began to think of serendipity (which of course is not the same thing), and came across the origin of the word in a letter in 1754 from Horace Walpole to a friend living in Florence. He had been reading of a Persian fairy tale set in Serendip, Persian for Sri Laka, in the reign of Bahram V in the C5 AD:

"I once read a silly fairy tale, called 'The Three Princes of Serendip': as their highnesses travelled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of: for instance, one of them discovered that a mule blind of the right eye had travelled the same road lately, because the grass was eaten only on the left side, where it was worse than on the right—now do you understand serendipity?"

In fact, the tale up to this point is really an example of abductive reasoning, rather than serendipity, which is the gaining of something desirable not sought. In the story, The Three Princes, because of their cleverness, are accused of stealing the camel and are about to be put to death by the King. A traveler steps forward, saying that he has just seen the missing camel wandering about in the desert. Bahram spares the lives of the princes, lavishes them with rich rewards and appoints them as court advisors. These rewards are the unsought (serendipitous) results of their sagacious insights.

And this thought journey is of course great evidence for my initial idea of picking up on things that unexpectedly (and perhaps associatively) present themselves, often jumping off from the previous idea. Rather than evidence for serendipity ... ?

Do you reckon these are 'The Three Princes of Serendip', heartedly wishing each other well before they set out on their now historic journey?

Maybe these are the princes, taking a well-deserved break 'en route' (pun intended):

Or these, celebrating the great success of their Assinine Enterprise by quietly communing with one another in the living room of their elegant Columbo mansion:

Now we (you) have serendipity!

Sergeant Willsun Mock - A Salute

We've probably all watched a fair amount of stuff on TV about the fighting in Iraq and are, perhaps, experiencing a certain degree of emotional burn-out. But yesterday, I turned on CNN towards the end of a piece involving an interview a young soldier, Sgt. Willsun Mock, from Harper, Kansas.

A fresh young good-looking bloke - auburn hair, chestnut-coloured eyes, freckles - you could still see the boy in the man. He was a certain classic American type, something of a Huck Finn. But also everyman.

Though quietly spoken, he seemed clear and articulate. He understood his point of view, but with no trace of arrogance. There was also a sensitivity and trauma that did not suggest weakness. Just the unspeakable all around him. He said the war had changed him and, though he didn't elaborate much, I understood it had allowed him to connect with the inner self truth, in a clear and direct way. It's the thing we usually spend a life-time trying to achieve. The horror of war had accelerated this process for Will.

When asked why he was going to stay in the army, he said without self-aggrandising calculation:

It would break my heart to see one of my brothers in the military serving in a place like this. I would much rather myself suffer than one of them, and they have kids to think about, and I'm a little young for that right now.

He was posted in Iraq in 2004 and involved in the Falluja offensive, and been redeployed in August 2006. He was being interviewed during this second tour of duty.

Will Mock was killed by a roadside bomb on the 22 October, in eastern Bagdad.

I burst into tears.

The event has affected me more than any other of the war. And in a more general way. Like that photo of the young girl running naked down a dirt road in Vietnam, her clothes and skin burnt off. So I'm not interested in how this may be used in the debate about US or Australian involvement. It just tells me about the vile fucking insane waste of war. And that not much has been learned by anyone since the monstrocities of World War One, and the pronouncements around the time of the Versailles Treaty about 'The War to End All Wars'.

Adam Raphael - Photographer

I like the work of Adam Raphael but I'm not sure whether he's not a bit too Abercrombie. What do you reckon?

The black and white prints seem his best, particularly when they play with light and use strong chiaroscuro effects like in the first one - there is a beautiful sinuous moving line down the outside of his arm muscles created by the dark background, and his ribs, pecs and abs are heightened by strong shadowing:




In general, the colour photos don't seem to do as well as the black and white ones, but they do better give the sensuality and warmth of flesh. Do we like that kinda thing? Well, ... ! This is not a one-handed read post, guys! Not enough dick/crack/armpit/blah for that:






And there are a few which tend towards a kind of poster portraiture:




And don't we all wish we were as fresh as the last guy. Well, I must confess guys, and with all modesty ... opps, the mirror just shattered!

Gay in the Cinema - 'The Celluloid Closet' Vito Russo

'The Celluloid Closet' (1981) by Vito Russo is an historical overview of how gays and lesbians have been represented in film. In the following years, it was paralleled by a tour presentation by Russo, with clips of films he discussed.

Now what interests me was the movement from direct to covert presentation, the turning point being the period of late twenties and then, in particular, 1930.

The earliest films portrayed gay quite openly. An experimental sound film, 'The Gay Brothers' (1895) produced by the Thomas Edison Studio, showed two men dancing. The title might be seen as some kind of cover, but the characters were gay acting and we (the wider audience) would be expected to understand this content.

'The Soilers' (1923), a satire of the western 'The Spoilers' (1914), was a comedy starring Stan Laurel and set in the Alaska gold rush. In a fight scene between Laurel and the sheriff, a gay cowboy enters the saloon. All the mannerisms are on full display - eye batting, sashaying, hair fluffing, hand on hip work ... . Laurel, the winner of the fight but somehow now out in the street and in the gutter, gets blown a kiss by our friend, along with the mouthed words 'my hero':

Laurel rejects these attentions, and, in a turn that might surprise you, gets a potted plant on the noggin and is swept away with the trash. So our ire at such initial stereotyping subsides. Though this is comedy and we know that humour can mean reading a scene as the reverse of how life really is or should be.

Films became more sexually explicit as the twenties roared. And alarms bells began to toll - by 1922, censorship bills were before the legislatures in 32 US states.

'Salome' (1923) initially had an openly gay relationship between two Syrian soldiers - but this was cut, with the censors describing the film as 'a story of depravity and immorality'.

Ben Hur (1926) did manage the following ('meaningfully' lit) scene for our delectation, but time was fast running out:

Now, much under cover, the leads in Wings' (1927) had their women, but were the real lovers:

Things came to a head. Will Hayes, as head of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, achieved the Motion Picture Production Code in 1930, the Code that regulated (censored) films till the late 1960's.

A director, if he now wanted to have faggotry in his film, had get it in under deepest cover.

In Ben Hur (1959), William Wyler (director) and Gore Videl (writer) realized the rivalry between Messala (Stephen Boyd) and Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) was not sufficiently motivated, with Vidal explaining his solution:

'I proposed the notion that the two had been adolescent lovers and now Messala had returned to Rome wanting to revive the love affair but Ben-Hur does not. ... I told Wyler 'This is what is going on underneath the scene - they seem to be talking about politics but Messala is really trying to re-kindle the affair, ... . Wyler said ' ... don't tell Chuck'. I did tell Stephen Boyd, who was facinated. He agreed to play the frustrated lover. Study his face in the reaction shots, and you will see he plays it like a man starving'.

And Boyd plays a man desperately in love and in lust, and wonderfully honestly for any period. See it if you can. Or tell me what you thought if you have.