Do We REALLY Need to Rehash Whether Erotica and Nude Photography Can Be, or Are, Art?

Isn't this question stale-dated by now?

Everything has been said before, but since nobody listens we have to keep going back and beginning all over again. (Toutes choses sont dites déjà ; mais comme personne n’écoute, il faut toujours recommencer.)

— Andre Gide, “The Treatise of the Narcissus” (Le Traité du Narcisse)¹

Having just started this substack, written but two posts on each of the two poles between which I intend to spin, I can already imagine readers rolling their eyes. To be fair, it probably isn’t you, good Reader: after all, you are here, reading this; I imagine the eye-rollers won’t get so far as to click through. But for my own sake—and perhaps for the sake of a few brave skeptics still willing to engage with what seems to them dead issues, and of course for your sake, dear Reader, who may be intrigued enough to read but also, at the same time, niggled by certain concerns along these same lines, I want to address, straight-on, one of the objections that might be made to this substack’s project.

The objection is this: Haven’t we gone over this? Isn’t this an issue from the puritan and prissy past? Aren’t we all beyond it? Good Lord, woman (I imagine you saying) Kenneth Clarke’s Nudes came out in 1956, the Chatterly trial was a mere four years later; anyone old enough to remember a time before those two events is going to be in their seventies or older. Why are you still banging on about this? Isn’t it unnecessary?

Now you might think, Reader, given my essaying here, that my answer would be a clear and convincing “no”; but I think my actual answer would be “yes and no”.

Aren’t we all tired of this? (The photograph is by Arny Freytag, and is of Playboy playmate Kymberly Herrin (Miss March 1981); this particular image is an outtake which was published as part of a blooper pictorial in the January, 1985 Playboy.)

It’s true that this is an issue that has been much discussed. Indeed, there have been waves of discussion of it—during the porno chic of the 70s, in the midst of the intra-feminist porn wars of the 80s, through the various fights that broke out as the internet and third wave feminism ramped up in the 90s, etc, etc. Each time more NSFW material—both visual arts and narratives, my focuses here, as well as the most common medium, film, and many others—is freed to thrive, and more of it is taken seriously. Each time those who are practitioners of any of the arts, crafts, or businesses involved (erotica writers, nude art photographers, porn stars, and every other possible job you can imagine in and around this set of industries) are somewhat less stigmatized, and so forth. While there are certainly reversals, for the most part the side that takes the erotic within the arts seriously emerges stronger after every battle.

At the same time, the fact this discussion keeps happening is a sign that it isn’t quite as settled as all that. Maybe it’s all been gone over, but obviously not everyone is (or stays) convinced. So while it perhaps ought to be unnecessary to go over these issues again, but that is a long way from saying that it is.

So I say yes and no: no, because there is a real and important sense sense in which all this has been said before (although even that isn’t entirely true; more on this in a moment), but at the same time yes, because not everyone has been persuaded—and because, at the same time, genuinely new issues arise.

In what ways, then, is it still necessary? What points remain outstanding?

Earlier Discussions Didn’t Reach Everyone or Cover Everything

First, there is the simple fact that however much heat the discussions let off, and however far that warmth penetrated, it only went so far. Perhaps in the course of a given discussion² some people will be convinced—certain participants in the debate, some artists or viewers who had discovered new artistic avenues, intellectuals who turned the issues over, or sophisticated elites eager to keep up with the times. But after each debate there also remain a lot of people who aren’t persuaded—people who thought the other side had a better claim, or who are too grossed out or morally scornful to be open to persuasion, and so on: there are always hold-outs among all the various groups, even those who generally go with the winning side. Another factor is that there is always pushback later on, reversion to the mean, people for whom reasoned arguments fade while deep prejudices remain, and so on, Which is to say: not everyone who is convinced stays convinced. Not to mention those who only came of age after the last debate, or simply never heard about it, and so forth. So even if, glancing through the bibliographies and histories of past debates, it is clear that the earlier discussions have been had, this does not mean that they are over and need not be addressed again.

It’s sort of like how, when studying history, at pretty much any point the bourgeoise seem to be “rising”: take a sufficiently broad survey class and you might hear this about half a dozen centuries. And it’s always true! Because going from 5% to the population to 10% is a huge jump, but then so is 10% to 20%, and 20% to 30%. In each case, a vast expansion seems new, and has powerful new effects and attracts much new comment, regardless of the earlier expansions. There were always people unaffected by earlier expansions now touched by the new one; each new stage has a lot of new effects out of sheer volume of change (so that having the bourgeoise have X amount of power and influence and money will do things that half of it would not); and so forth. (The same is true for urbanization, rise of trade, industrialization—any of those phenomena that take a long time and spread slowly, you can look at widely disparate eras and see things being reacted to as if they were new.) In the same way, people will speak of being sophisticated moderns in the nineteenth century, the 1920s, the 1960s, the 1990s—and it will always be true, none will contradict the rest, and yet it still leaves more to do.

Then there is the further fact that the argument and its effects go further each time, which means that what is being defended, the thing itself, changes. Take, for instance, the question of explicitness: before the 70s (roughly) erotic texts were far less explicit than they became after, as (with exceptions) were nude photographs. So anyone shocked by or dismissive about the latest generation of such creations can always say, “well, Ulysses and Lady Chatterly’s Lover were shocking, but they didn’t use this kind of language! That earlier example was a nude photo by a well-regarded photographer, to be sure, but in that one she didn’t have her legs open!”—And so on. Since what we are seeing and creating and reading is new—has, in some sense, progressed—the question of art has to be re-litigated at each stage.

It is also, separately true that the social context into which works appear changes, which also changes the question under debate. For instance, the rise of second-wave feminism brought a whole new set of objections to NSFW art works—not that they were immoral specifically for being explicit (that is, immoral from the point of view of a prude), but that they were sexist and objectifying and so forth—a whole new type of immorality that sexually explicit art can be charged with. So the old defenses have to be rethought.

Similarly, when artistic nude photographs were things that could only be done (or at any rate only could be easily done) by professional photographers in studios the defenses would sound different than when they became widespread (first with the polaroid camera, and later with the digital camera) and widely shared (on the net), which might seem to some people to degrade the professional ones by association. The context of the other contemporary creations, and in particular their number, would shift how the new creations are received—even if, say, it is the same style of art, or even the same photographer. (Thus the work of an artistic nude photographer might be persuasively artistic in the 80s, but with the proliferation of porn on the net people will reconsider and take what they are doing to be (they think they realize) just smut after all.) In the new context, the defenses have to be offered again, updated, changed, rethought, reexamined.³

So for all these reasons, the issue is not, I think, moot, but remains a live debate.

The Eternal Questions of Erotica v Porn, Nude Art v Porn, Etc.

Then there is the fact that a lot of the past defenses of NSWF art have been based upon distinguishing literary erotica from literary porn (in the world of texts) and artistic nudes from porn (in the world of the still visual image). The defense has not been of the most explicit, purely-intended-to-arouse material, but rather based in saying that, sure, that might be mere smut, but this, now, this is a piece of craft worth watching or looking at or reading—indeed, worthy of respect.⁴ But since new pieces of art are created, new distinctions and defenses must be made. Further, since the cultural boundaries between that which is considered art and that which is considered smut (which is to say generally considered, considered widely enough that we can assume agreement for the most part) change over time, the defenses must be rethought, the arguments recast, since the boundaries that one is defending has changed, requiring the whole issue to be raised yet again.

Let me make a digression here and try to clarify what I am arguing in these essays.⁵ First, I should make it clear that I don’t have any objections to porn, whether visual or textual (or any other sort). And I certainly don’t deny that I look at and read (“use”) it myself. I do think, however, that there are differences between porn and erotic art that are worth demarcating in language, so while I do not intend to use the word ‘porn’ wholly negatively, and certainly not with any amount of censure, I do intend to distinguish it from other NSFW art: I think texts and images which are solely meant to get you off are worth distinguishing from those which are trying other things, too. Secondly, I think that erotic literature and nude photography can and do rise to the level of art—to any level of art, both high and low, which is to say that, some of it will be art but not particularly good art (but still trying for more than mere arousal), other examples will be good solid middlebrow artwork (and there’s nothing wrong with that any more than there is with porn), and yet other instances will be great art—and there will be every imaginable stage in between, too. So while I enjoy and use porn, it is the NSFW art that has some claim to be art, at whatever level, that I intend to focus on in this substack. And thirdly, in addition to talking about artistic erotica and nude photography (which, as I just said, will be my focus), I also, separately, hope to talk about the art (or perhaps I should say the craft) of pure porn: the ways in which it can be done with style or humor or substance even if those virtues don’t collectively raise the porn to a level that could be called (in any serious way) art. Digression ends.

Returning to the main discussion: since the defenses of the erotic (and the nude) in art are so often dependent on distinctions between the erotic/nudity and porn—certainly those that have achieved any sort of reasonably widespread agreement are—they will require rethinking as the lines between, and ideas about, those categories change. These issues are more complex than I can deal with here, and I hope to devote a number of future essays to it. But let me simply outline a few considerations that bear on the necessity of revisiting these issues:

First, what counts as porn and what is erotica/nude art photography is to a large degree culturally dependent—which is to say, relative to the standards of the culture. I don’t think anyone would be shocked by Goya’s La maja desnuda or Joyce’s Ulysses today, but people sure were shocked back when they each came out. Thus as the culture changes, our conception of what art can do and remain something other than porn changes, too. Some texts written, and photographs taken, in the 21st century with clear artistic purpose and success could and would not have been received as such a century ago. We are all creatures of our time, even when we contemplate the timeless beauty of the aesthetic.

Second, this is all further complicated by the fact that there are lots of different reasons for various artists to try to push the boundaries—in every direction. A lot of nude photographers deny they are doing anything erotic at all (in some cases I think they’re right, but the habit of denial goes far beyond those). This is to placate potential customers, and models, and controllers of channels of distribution (such as, say, Amazon and Patreon and Twitter and all the other places where the art might, in one way or another, rest on its way to being conveyed to an audience)—all of whom, incidentally, have clearly not yet been convinced by the arguments that my imaginary interlocutor says have already been done to death. And even among those nude photographers who do admit to producing erotica often won’t admit to pornography. Yet on the other hand, sufficiently established and respected photographers will openly ape pornographic styles (like, for instance, Panayiotis Lamprou, as I discussed here), and some may even claim the term. In the same way that the rich will dress down where the middle classes feel a need to dress up, artists will push in both directions, depending on whether they need respect or markettable outrage.

And of course something parallel holds in literature too. Alan Moore called his (and Melinda Gebbie’s) highly artistic and extremely complex erotic work Lost Girls pornography, where many (less established and less widely respected) writers will insist that what they do is not pornography but erotica. Just to take one example, I myself subtitled my fiction “an erotic novel” and not “a pornographic novel” in no small part because I feared Amazon might ban (or shadowban) the latter. And so on.

So for all these reasons, too, I think the issues of art and porn are not, in fact, settled.

We As A Culture Are Still Hung Up On Sex and Masturbation

There is an extraordinary amount of beautiful nude photography in the world, unquestionably artistic and up to anyone’s aesthetic standards. But I bet a lot of people aren’t willing to hang it on their walls. I have already argued that Julien Sunyé’s Black Holes photographs are brilliant art and not really erotic—but I wouldn’t like to ask my spouse if it was ok if I put one up—certainly not where our kid and/or guests could see it! I think a lot of erotic novels are interesting as novels, but I don’t want them on my bookshelf in the living room. And I am not, of course, alone in this. While I am sure there are people who will happily frame nude photographs and hang them in their living room, I think the number is far less than those who would put up, say, landscapes. Nor do I think that this is because those who wouldn’t are secretly ashamed, or really think they’re doing anything wrong. Rather, I think they fear other people’s judgments and reactions even if they themselves are confident that what they are doing is not at all shameful.

This, of course, is because any admission of sex or sexuality is highly charged in our culture (by which I mean, in the broadest way, the culture of English-language speakers who populate the net). It’s embarrassing to admit to being interested in these things, even to people who you suspect (or even know) are interested in them as well. This is even more true because erotica is not only about sex—it’s about (or at least seems to imply) masturbation. Even people who might thoughtlessly brag of their sexual conquests or make sly jokes about nailing their girlfriend while hanging out with their buddies might hesitate before alluding to (let alone outright mentioning) their singular pleasures. At the very least, to hang nude photography on your wall risks condemnation or (what is in some ways worse, because it can’t be openly addressed and cleared) silent scorn. When asked what book you are reading, who would be ready to name an erotic novel?

Hell, even creators of such works are often shy about it. Most of those who publish erotic literature or porn) do so under pseudonyms. Just to give one example, I, Cyntha Gioia-Puel, am not really named Cyntha, nor Gioia-Puel; I picked the name for an erotic novel and have now kept it for a discussion of the same. Perhaps this is cowardly, but it feels simply like good sense. Similarly, a majority of nude models do not use their civilian names, and while this is less universal among photographers, there are plenty of those as well. (The fact that nude photography can be presented as non-erotic distinguishes it from erotic literature, and lets people be a bit more open, particularly photographers who are culturally accepted as artists more than models, who are (unfairly and in no small part due to sexism) stigmatized.) It is said that most censorship is self-censorship; in the same way there is a great deal of behavior that might look like shame that is, in fact, only a reasonable desire to avoid judgment and snickering. There are those who have no such fears, and I admire them, and thank them; but I, at least, am not yet ready to join them—and I think I am in a majority even among those who love nude photography and/or erotic literature, and (in my case) like to discuss it.

Do I expect all this to change? Certainly not in my lifetime. But I think that until we can hang a beautiful nude photograph on the wall, and talk unashamedly about reading a good erotic novel at a cocktail party, there is more to be said about the artistic worth of these genres, and we can’t say that the subject is over and done.

(Until then… Call me Cyntha.)

Because Good Work Always Needs More Attention

And, of course, there is the necessity of pointing to good work, and talking about why it is good.

While I intend to write plenty of essays on general topics (such as this one), I will also write essays recommending specific works (such as my earlier pieces on Julien Sunyé’s Black Hole project, and Ashley Zacharias’s Slave of the Aristocracy). In these, the defensiveness that arises from the third set of issues, that is, the fear of judgment, and to a lesser degree from the earlier sets too (that is, people still unpersuaded and new situations requiring new arguments), will naturally also arise, and I will seek to explain or to justify why the works I am promoting are worthy of aesthetic attention and respect (and to what degree and of what kind). But of course part of the idea is just to promote them. I have seen a vast universe of brilliant nude photography and read a fair amount of literarily worthwhile erotica,⁶ I want to recommend it to my readers—and, ideally, get recommendations in turn.

And then there are issues of aesthetics and criticism. I am (under my regular name) the sort of geek who reads literary and artistic criticism for fun, but there is less of it about the you-see-it-turns-out-we-haven’t-fully-settled-the-issues-of-their-worth genres I am writing about here than about—well, almost anything else. And I want to not only recommend good works, but think about them—say what in them work and why it work, point out parts that don’t work, and generally treat them as objects of serious (albeit amateur) critical study—which are, after all, what I am claiming they are.

So no, I don’t think this discussion is stale-dated. I think it is a live topic. I think there is more to say—because we are in a new world, because we still feel the need to hide, because there are still specific works to explore, because the philosophical and aesthetic issues of how sexuality relate to art are themselves interesting, and because, above all, not everyone was listening the last time. For all these reasons and more, I think this discussion is worth having.

If you want to join me on this intellectual exploration, I hope you’ll subscribe; and if you enjoy it, perhaps you would be willing to recommend it to others who might do so as well.

1. The link is to the full text in French; the English translation I have given is from Wikiquote. (The quote is repeated online frequently, in various wordings, but nearly always without attribution; indeed, I had seen it unattributed so often that at first I thought it was spurious.)

Despite some searching, I have been unable to locate a copy of “Le Traité du Narcisse“ in English. Is it really possible that it has never been translated? Gide is prominent enough that I find it hard to believe, but I sure can’t find a translation. If anyone knows of one (aside from the obvious kludge, I mean), please leave a comment and let me know!

2. Obviously these are not well-bounded phenomena; rather, it is a recurring issue, more or less discussed as particular events stir up new thoughts and then as, over time, they settle again. There aren’t really separate discussions, just an ongoing boil: but it is a convenient oversimplification, and not, I think, an overly misleading one.

3. Although of course the earlier contributions (or at any rate some of them) remain vital and interesting and important, and I will try, as best as I am able, to bring insights from earlier thinking and criticism and philosophy and writing on these topics. But since my reading is, alas, not yet complete, if any of my learned Readers wish to add any important citations to the conversation (say in the comments), I would be grateful to hear about them.

4. This is obviously not true of everyone who has taken the liberated side in these debates; some thinkers have actually tried to defend the artistry of pornography as such—embracing rather than shunning the label, and defending what is, or at least can be, done within it. Some, indeed, scorn talk of erotica as mamby-pamby, or dissembling, or not fully embracing of a sexuality they approve of, and will speak positively only of porn, not of erotica. But while these argumentative tacts are quite interesting (and, yes, are yet another topic I hope some day to discuss), this line of argument has never carried the day, at least not in the sense of achieving widespread acceptance; most people who defend the artistic seriousness of any sort of nude or erotic art will do so as opposed to porn or smut, rather than offering a broad defense of porn or smut as a whole.

To be clear, people do defend porn on free speech grounds, on “it’s fun” grounds, on libertarian “you-do-you” grounds, and many other grounds, regularly; that’s not what I am talking about. What is rare, I think, is to have it defended—broadly, across the board—in any artistic way. People may think it’s fine to see and watch and read and use; but that doesn’t mean they think it’s worthwhile. That is usually saved for erotica (if given to anything in this realm at all).

5. At least, to the degree that my position is consistent: these essays are thinking out loud, and I will not hesitate to “speak what [I] think now in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing [I] said today”. I think there is a consistent vision underneath it all, but it will certainly sound different when articulated in different contexts and from different vantage points, and while I hope the continuities will be seen, I cannot spend the day in explanation.

6. The difference here is simply because it’s a lot quicker to see a photograph than to read a text.