Examining the Controversy of Nude Art By Melanie Wood

(This is a re-post of a post that originally appeared in Melanie Wood’s blog, posted Nov 12, 2011)

Recently I attended “Unclothed: Exposing the Art Nude,” an exhibition and panel discussion held at the Stutz Building as part of the Spirit and Place Festival. Given the nature of the topic, I didn’t expect a big turnout. Despite having a vibrant art scene, Indianapolis isn’t exactly the most progressive city. I was really excited, however, to see a standing room only crowd and to be part of a fantastic, thought-provoking discussion on what can be a truly divisive topic.

The first question posed to the panel was about Indianapolis’ community standards. We know we aren’t Paris, New York or LA, but where do we stand on the issue of nude art? Shannon Linker, director of artist services at the Arts Council of Indianapolis, brought up a good point: we haven’t really had any major controversies to help us figure this out.

The only recent example in Indy is Fred Wilson’s proposed E Pluribus Unum sculpture. The controversy isn’t related to nude art, but rather the depiction of a freed slave. Someone also referenced the 1987 photograph Piss Christ, which depicts a crucifix submerged in a glass of the artist’s urine. Many people were outraged over the image without even seeing it. To me, that’s the heart of the problem with people who condemn “controversial” art: You can’t criticize art without participating in it.

The panel kept circling back to a central question: where does the controversy come from? It doesn’t come from the art itself, but rather from the outside, from the person interpreting it. Certainly when artists create a piece, they have a specific message or theme in mind. But when that piece is displayed, it’s like a blank canvas. Everyone who views it can experience something completely different and take away a different meaning. It’s one of the reasons I love art.

If a piece of art makes you uncomfortable, it’s likely because it draws out some discomfort that already existed in you. You may not even realize it’s happening, but art is often like a mirror – we project our thoughts, emotions, fears onto the piece and it reflects them back. Nude art especially can make us uncomfortable because, as noted by panelist Tim Ayers, teaching pastor at Grace Community Church in Carmel, it exposes our vulnerability.

A gallery exhibition of nude art work was on display at the event. The most poignant piece was a black and white photo called Symmetry by Gary Mitchell. In the photo, a woman in her mid-20s is sitting spread eagle, completely nude, with everything on display. The best part? Her expression. She is completely unashamed. If you felt embarrassed or disgusted by the photo, I would argue that it says less about the photo itself and more about you and how you may be ashamed or disgusted by your own body and/or sexuality. Personally, I was jealous. I admired her extreme confidence.

It’s an interesting concept: is art inherently controversial or do we project controversy onto it? Does nude art make us uncomfortable because we are in some way uncomfortable with our own sexuality? The panel also raised questions about desire. It’s natural to be turned on by nudity, even if the piece isn’t sexual in nature. But does the desire come from the art itself or the interpreter? Is it even possible to remove desire from nudity? If nude artwork is not explicitly sexual, does that make it less controversial?

There’s no simple, easy answer to the questions raised during the panel but they’re certainly interesting ponder in the broader discussion of the place of nude art in Indianapolis. And that’s exactly what good art, controversial or not, should do. It should create discussion and leave room for interpretation.

So what’s your interpretation on the controversy surrounding nude art? Share your thoughts below!

Walter Biskupski

Body Language By Walter Biskupski

Our bodies speak
In that universal language
Not needing translation.

The still stance of wariness,
The soft curve of love,
The widened eyes of envy,
The flushed cheeks of embarassment,
And the smile of understanding.

The body as it spins
Expresses joy
Wordlessly.

My Body on Drugs By Jody Bahre

When I was on drugs, my body didn’t really belong to me—it belonged to the drugs. When I first started using, it was only on the weekends and for fun but that changed very quickly. Before I knew it, the drugs owned me– I wasn’t using them for social reasons or for an escape—I couldn’t live without them.  It was hard just to get out of bed without having substances to alter my mind. If I didn’t have any means of using when I first woke up, sometimes I didn’t get out of bed at all for the day. This meant not going to work, to school, and hardest of all, not spending time with the family. I was sick without drugs.

I couldn’t even perform simple household tasks like making my bed, cleaning the house, doing laundry, and other chores. It was even a struggle to brush my teeth, take a shower, and get dressed. There were many days when I didn’t even do any of the above.

Different drugs affected me in different ways. I missed many important appointments, lost jobs, and worst of all, I lost others people’s trust. I was incapable of being either responsible or dependable, no matter how much I wanted to be.  Once I consumed alcohol or other mind-altering chemicals, I lost the power of choice. And I didn’t care. Today I am in recovery and happier than ever! I have a wonderful sense of freedom when I wake up and can hop out of bed. I look forward to what the day is going to bring. I am accountable now, and people trust me when I say I am going to do something. I am able to be there for my family and friends. I go to school full time and do a lot of volunteer work. When I am sick and take a day off these days, it is normally just for a minor headache or a cold. I would not trade where I am today for what I was in the past on any given day.  I finally  have my body back.

David Hochoy

It is my source of inspiration, my reason for living, my vessel, my joy, my frustration, my means of expressing my deepest thoughts and feelings.

My body is a very demanding master and a generous and rewarding boss.  It gives me great insight into many aspects of life while I am in the process of living it.  It teaches me many lessons, and allows me to learn from my students.  I am deeply grateful to have this relationship with my body, and to have traversed the path that it took for me to get to this place.

I didn’t all of a sudden wake up one day and say, “I want to be a dancer.”  It started when I was twenty years old, in graduate school in Theatre when I was asked to sing and dance in order to be cast in a musical.  And when I found that indeed, miraculously, I could dance, and that I enjoyed it tremendously, I also found that I was drawn to the challenge of controlling my body with my mind. To me  that seemed like the ultimate test you could put yourself through.

Only later did I realize I was embarking on a complete makeover of my body using every ounce of strength, discipline, self-control, persistence, intelligence, resourcefulness, creativity, and love that I could muster.  Because my body was weak.  It was hopeless, ugly, fat, ungainly, unresponsive and never going to make itself into the trappings of a professional dancer.

But underneath this seeming impossibility there was the hope, the dream, the belief that I could become something which I dreamed I could achieve, something which would make me beautiful in my own eyes and validate my existence to the world at large.

I hung on to that dream for a very long time, past the time when I told myself that I had given up, past any human being’s reasonable waiting period.  And then, finally and unexpectedly, my opportunity came, and I slipped into the doorway of a place where respectability and fame and genius resided.  I came face to face with one of the greatest dancers and choreographers of the twentieth century and my life was forever changed.  Her name was Martha Graham, and she was the most astounding person I have ever known.

One time I was backstage waiting for a performance to start and Martha appeared in the wings, ready to watch.  I rushed to her and said, “Martha, thank you so much for letting me be in your company.  I’m learning so much, and it’s so exciting I never want to stop learning.”  She turned to me and smiled, and said in her characteristically wistful way, “You’ve discovered the secret
of life!”

Julia Whitehead

Satori or Something Like It

By Julia Whitehead, Executive Director of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library

When I was a young Marine Corps lieutenant, I often reflected on the body, my body, that was physically strong, despite the knee damage from hiking 20 miles with a heavy pack and a physically lighter but psychologically heavier M-16. Despite the toe nails that turned black and fell off because of bruises sustained by running down hill in combat boots. Despite the ulcer I was  developing because I was “not in the right career field for me.”

I was grieving over the death of my father then. He died the year I went on active duty, just after I graduated from the University of South Carolina.  Dad was a young man during World War II, finishing up his flight school as the war was ending. He was a middle-aged man when I was born, the surprise baby, just four years before his first heart attack. He was 71 when his weak heart finally gave out. I was 22 then.

Although I was taller than Dad by the time I was 15, he was a giant of a man to me.  Nearly every day of my life I worried that his body would succumb to the inevitable heart attack. At the same time, I celebrated his incredible mind, his energy, his heart… that precious heart. He once told my mom that the reason he had what his doctor called an “enlarged heart” was because he loved her so much. It was at the time of his death that I figured out that the mind is the most important part of the body. And when I figured it out, nothing ever would be the same again.

Through a series of fortunate events, I left the Marine Corps and went straight into a job with Random House, as an editor. By coincidence, I find myself working with Random House often now as they published many of the works of Kurt Vonnegut. I left Random House for a position in Alexandria, Virginia, as magazine editor for the Military Officers Association of America, which lobbies for better support for our military service members. Nearly 30 years old then, I decided to leave that special job. I sought out the overseas experience I did not get in the military. I taught English to 100 Thai children at a school outside of Bangkok, Thailand. Arriving in country alone, I left Thailand with new friends and a mind full of memories. I learned from the Thai people that we should take care of each other, whether it’s through food, shelter, healthcare, or emotional support. Loving those around us helps them but it also helps us to have a healthy mind, regardless of our individual circumstances.

When I left Thailand, I was bound for the state where I was born, the state where my parents taught me about James Whitcomb Riley, James Joyce, and George Orwell…  about Hoosiers who championed workers rights… about civil rights leaders… and about a little boy who was mistreated for contracting AIDs through no actions of his own.

I knew that when I crossed the state line, I could turn on the radio at any time and find a John Mellencamp song playing. And that was just fine by me. I was home.

Although my Dad never got to meet my wonderful husband, J.T. and our beautiful boys, Joseph and Daniel, somehow he is still present in our family. And if I end up with an enlarged heart of my own, well then my family will know that it must have happened because I love them sooooo much.

This year marks the 16^th annual Spirit & Place Festival running from November 4-13th. The theme changes every year, and this year’s theme is “The Body” which fits perfectly with our performance.

My name is Jenni White, and I am the director of the play Birth, written by Karen Brody, made possible by the collaboration between HealthNet, the University of Indianapolis’ Theatre, Nursing, and Midwifery departments.  This is my birth story:

My miracle baby boy was born at 8:11pm on November 24, 2003, at The Women’s Hospital in Newburgh, IN.  He was 9 lbs., 20.5 inches long, a bit jaundiced, but otherwise completely healthy. I call him my miracle baby because it took 2 ½ years of actively trying to conceive for him to come to us. I was on clomid for about six months, and even with that treatment, my ovaries proved to be non-functional. I was deemed infertile and so we shifted our focus to adoption. Over a year later, I was in Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues for the first time; and I believe that experience–with over 40 women on stage with me, all that estrogen and vagina power–helped me release a miraculous egg because Zion Jacob was conceived that night – March 8, 2003.  I have been in the show every year since.

His birth? I was induced at 6 a.m. on a Monday morning, four days before my due date. They broke my water to speed things along.  It didn’t. I had an epidural at four centimeters because the nurse upset me so badly I couldn’t focus and get my groove back. After the epidural, I slept most of the day. By 6 p.m., they weren’t happy with my progress and said we may have to do a c-section. I said no. My husband said that we had to do what was best for the baby…and for me. My doctor said she’d give me an hour to make a decision. By 7 p.m., I was pushing with every contraction (well, I was told
when to push based on what the monitor said), and I remember seeing forceps. My doctor said, “Jenni, you are going to deliver this baby, not me. If you want this baby out, you’ve got to push it out. Now.”  And I did.

If I were to do it again? Home birth, in water with candles, music and my circle. It’s all about YOU and your baby. Make the decisions YOU want.

What is your birth story? What advice would you like to share with other women?

Cutting Dad’s Meat 

I remember the first time I saw my mother cut my father’s meat.  It was Sunday dinner.  The family had gathered around the table.  Prayers had been recited, dishes passed, and everyone was digging in.  We had just launched into a discussion of the latest news of the day.  But then I noticed Dad.  He was just sitting there, his gaze downcast, hands at the side of his plate, fumbling with his  silverware.

After a few seconds, he cast a helpless glance at Mom.  “Oh,” she said.  Without missing a beat, she reached over, took up his knife and fork, and proceeded to cut the well-done roast beef into  bite-size pieces.

A couple of years later, his gait grown halting and unsteady, Dad would need help walking to the table.  When he sat down, Mom would tuck a napkin into his shirt as a bib.  Instead of cutting his meat, she would feed him his meal.

I remember a day Dad and I were home alone, and it was time for breakfast. “What would you like to eat?”  “I dunno.”  “How about eggs and toast?”  “Okay.” The eggs fried, I set the plate before him.  Nothing. “Oh,” I said.  I cut the eggs into bite-sized pieces, and proceeded to spoon them in.  Occasionally, a bite fell onto shirt.  “Oh,” I said.

In medical school, they did not teach us how to administer spoon feedings or wipe bottoms.  Instead they taught us about epidemiology, diagnosis, and therapy.  We learned, for example, that about 5 million Americans currently have Alzheimer’s disease, and that, with every 5 years after the age of 65, the risk of developing it doubles. We learned that Alzheimer’s disease is associated with the build up of plaques and tangles among the cells of the brain.  This causes the loss of memory and thinking skills.  Eventually, the patient loses the ability to carry out even the simplest tasks of daily living.  We learned that there is no effective treatment.

Over the course of my career, I had helped to care for many patients. But never one quite like this. These hands that fumbled aimlessly with the silverware, then later hung limp at his side–these hands had once cradled my brother and me as infants, then taught us how to throw and catch, then handed over the keys to the car, then hugged us at graduation.

The disease gnawing away at his brain and his mind had gradually inverted things.  Now Dad could no longer watch out for us.  We needed to watch out for him.  The father no longer fed the son.  Now it was the son who fed and cradled the father.

 It’s the 21st century. How much longer will this take? By Deborah Hearn Smith, CEO,  Girl Scouts of Central Indiana

As I was growing up in the 60s and 70s, we were fighting for change. In my lifetime, I have witnessed improvements in racial stereotypes, and have seen women break through the glass ceiling. What I’m appalled by is our lack of improvement in the issue of objectification of women and girls.

We are more than our bodies. Our bodies are the shells that carry our brains, our hopes and dreams, our passions and fears.

Like many women, it took me until my 40s to feel completely comfortable in my own skin. I think by then your priorities shift and you figure out that your looks are pretty far down your list of worries. But our girls deserve better; shouldn’t they feel just as good in their teenage skin as they do in their 40s?

According to a 2006 study by the Girl Scout Research Institute, girls believe that their health isn’t as important as looking “normal” and fitting in. Mothers have a strong influence on their daughters’ health habits. “A mother’s weight, body image, attitude, and health habits are strong indicators of whether or not her daughter is overweight, satisfied with her body, physically active, and looks  to her mother for advice on healthy living.”

This is where we can make a change. I challenge you to do three things.

1) Talk with your daughters and granddaughters about healthy body images. The media is not going to do this for us. Discuss health in a holistic way–spiritual, physical, and mental.

2) Make the pledge to get healthy for yourself and for the girls in your life who are watching you. It’s not about the way you look, it’s about your health and wellness. Get active; go for regular health exams.

3) Attend at least one Spirit & Place Festival workshop. If you’d like more information about negative body images and how we can all work together to make a change, the Girl Scouts have partnered with Women’s Fund of Central Indiana, Girls Inc. of Greater Indianapolis, the Marion County Health Department, and NCAA Division I Women’s Basketball for a panel discussion. We’ll be at the Madame Walker Theater on Sunday, November 6. Pre-registration is required.

The time is now. Our girls and women should consider their health to be so much more important than their bodies. Like the early 60s, this issue is simmering. What will you do to help bring this issue to a boil?

Ophelia. Holden Caulfield. Billy Pilgrim. Moby Dick. When I read or hear these names, I call to mind an image of a body or an idea of the intellect that resides in one of these bodies. We each create a slightly different image, depending on the particular features we make more prominent in our imaginations after reading the writer’s words.

Writers’ words have had a lasting impact on me, and we at the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library are so happy to be included in this year’s Spirit & Place Festival. The festival was the brainchild of three great writers: John Updike, Dan Wakefield, and Kurt Vonnegut. They were “thinking out loud about Indianapolis” 16 years ago, and the product of these thoughts is this dynamic festival, which brings together the best this city has to offer. This exciting time each year is when the entire city pulls off a grassroots operation that exists nowhere else in the United States. We all should be very proud of our Spirit & Place Festival.

This year, the festival runs from November 4th through November 13th, with events taking place all over the city. The festival’s theme changes from year to year, and this year’s focus is The Body. The Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library’s event is “Vonnegut on The Body.” We are bringing Dan Wakefield back to town and showcasing Vonnegut’s descriptions of the body through words and art.

Thanks to the abilities of great writers, we can imagine Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim, Harper Lee’s little Scout, and Orwell’s Winston or Julia. Just as the Spirit & Place Festival delves deeper than the surface of Indiana’s unique creative organizations, writers that we love to read take us far deeper than the surface of an individual.

Someone recently asked if we will be considering the mind as part of the body in our descriptions of Vonnegut on the Body at our November 11th event. We agreed that the mind must be included as part of this theme, but we conceded that this incorporates more complexity into the discussion.

Consider Faulkner’s Benji, Bukowski’s Chinaski, Camus’ Meursault, Crane’s Private Fleming, or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. In some cases, the writer actually gives a description of the individual. In other cases, the writer provides very little descriptive information but the reader creates an idea of the character based on his or her words or actions. Who are some of your favorite characters and why?

Celebrating the body in action–the body of an athlete–was one of the inspirations for founding the National Art Museum of Sport (NAMOS) in 1959. It can be seen in the paintings and sculptures in the museum (located in University Place on the IUPUI campus). Even when a racquet player is standing perfectly still, one can see the ripple of muscles under his white tennis sweater. 

Museum visitors can mentally take stock when viewing a successful baseball batter, golf putter, or distance runner: Is that the posture I should have? Is that the way to turn my shoulders when I swing a golf club?  Is that the way I should throw a soccer ball? Throw-in of a soccer ball is the theme of Jessica Kovan’s painting in NAMOS’ current exhibit of work from its “Commitment to Excellence in Art and Sport: A Fine Art Competition.”

Artists and photographers will have a chance to capture the moves of athletes–young and old, skilled and amateurs–Friday, November 4, 2011, from 6 to 9 p.m. at the Harrison Center for the Arts during First Friday with Spirit & Place. The resulting drawings and photos will be exhibited at NAMOS.

Do you want to have an artist record your golf swing or bowling throw? Then volunteer to Elizabeth Varner, ecvarner@iupui.edu. You must be 18 or older. She’ll add you to list and give you the details of your three 10-minute posing sessions during the evening.