Fartwork

Attentive readers might have gathered by some of my previous blog posts that I’m in art school. Right now, I’m working on a series of altered books that illustrates the “perversions” of big literary names – one book by Jean-Jaques Rousseau fans out into a scene of couples spanking, I carved the shape of a butt plug into a James Joyce book, you get the picture.

I’ve shown the series to two classes: one focused on repurposing or reappropriating objects, and another focused on queer art and theory, and the difference in reception was astounding.

The former class had the intended reaction: some giggles, nobody really wanting to say the words “butt plug”. In contrast, my queer theory class engaged with it with a kind of excitement and insight that made me giddy for the rest of the day. Not that there’s anything wrong with giggling, it’s just that the first group was sort of missing something.

Okay, it sounds like I just wanted to tell you about my artwork. I've ranted before about the connotations of erotic art, so I'll spare you. But my point is that I think spending a semester trying to unlearn the loads of repressive BS our culture enforces made a lot of us eschew some of our expectations in other areas, like art. And that

uh,

sex-positivity makes art better.