Impressionist Edgar Degas was a Pervert?

May 6, 2011

Edgar Degas (19 July 1834 – 27 September 1917) is regarded as one of the greatest founder of impressionism. Degas rejected the term and preferred to be called a realist. He was an expert “realist” and painted many subjects through his life but over 50% of his work was focused on the subject of ballet dancers. Supposedly the paintings of dancers showed his mastery in depicting movement. His portraits are notable for their psychological complexity and depiction of human isolation.

“Early in his career, he wanted to be a history painter, a calling for which he was well prepared by his rigorous academic training and close study of classic art. In his early thirties, he changed course, and by bringing the traditional methods of a history painter to bear on contemporary subject matter, he became a classical painter of modern life.” –Wikipedia

I have been exposed to Degas years ago and thought he was pretty good but never really looked at it. I was exposed to almost every artist that had an impact on the world thanks to having an adopted father who taught art, constantly learned art and in retirement became a major contributor to the art world. A So, Degas kind of fell into the back of my head and I focused on modern artist I loved like Francis Bacon, Joe Coleman, Robert Crumb and a bunch of other outsider art.

In 2003 I landed a job at the Philadelphia Museum Art working in the museum specialty store at the end of the special Edgar Degas exhibit that was in town for 3 months or so. I was over exposed with his work. At first I wasn’t that into Degas’ paintings. Although I love looking at ballet dancers it seemed boring at first. I did my research. I read what I could about Degas at the museum, at home, and online. He seemed a little more interesting. I started looking at the paintings and this may or may not sound weird depending how much you know me, but I was attracted to the girls in his paintings. Even though Degas had the habit of blurring their faces or even making them ugly, they were painted with obvious sex on mind. The dancer’s bodies were painted with delicacy and strong sexuality. The younger the girl painted this way the more I kept thinking “pervert”.

“Degas, who believed that “the artist must live alone, and his private life must remain unknown”, lived an outwardly uneventful life. In company he was known for his wit, which could often be cruel. He was characterized as an “old curmudgeon” by the novelist George Moore, and he deliberately cultivated his reputation as a misanthropic bachelor.” Wikipedia

Degas liked to hide out. It is common for many artists to have eccentric personalities of all types but there seems something interesting about Degas making it a rule to keep his “private life unknown” and being a “misanthropic bachelor” makes him seem creepy to me. A pervert.

I kept my observations and opinions to myself for a while. I brought it up to a co-worker or 2 and they thought the same thing. It became a topic of discussion for almost every employee after a while. Even the security guards were talking about it. We never let this on to customers or visitors.

One of Degas’ well-known paintings hangs on the walls of the Philadelphia Museum of Art called the Interior also known as The Rape. It depicts a tense confrontation by lamplight between a man and a partially undressed woman. It seems like something uncomfortable or bad just went down. The very young woman or girl looks violated, ashamed and sad. It looks like she has been packing luggage but didn’t finish for whatever reason The older man stands against the wall looking domineering and confident in ever move he made or is getting ready to make. It’s an uncomfortable painting that even I have trouble looking at.

I don’t judge Edgar Degas for whatever goes on in his head and expressives through art. I hope that’s where it ended. I’ve heard many artist proclaim that if they didn’t have their art they would be killers, criminals, rapists, etc. I even know of a case where a convicted murderer discovered art in prison and upon release he became a full time artist. Despite the fact that he is indirectly making money off of his crimes, he has no desire or motivation to kill again because of art. Back to Degas.

I guess it really doesn’t matter to me if Degas is a pervert or not in real life. I do get weird feelings from some of his paintings but it is art. He has influenced many other impressionists and even indirectly has influenced me (with his style and passion not his perverted intent).

If you don’t know Edgar Degas look him up and see for yourself. It might just be me and few hundred other perverts that agree he is a pervert. What’s obvious to me isn’t always obvious to others.

The most important thing about art is reaction. Whether it’s a good or bad reaction it is a good thing. It’s when people feel indifference to art that it looses its value.

Degas was great artist despite all controversy. His work does invoke emotions.


Live Book Reading from Yellow Socks Video

April 29, 2011

Now you can read it yourself. Just click the Yellow Socks cover pic.


Naked Therapy?? Meet the Naked therapist . . .

March 10, 2011

Sarah White is my new hero. I mean heroine. Sarah has combined her modeling experience, marketing experience and her passion for psychology to create a unique service called nude therapy.

The 24-year-old sexy psychology fan from New York City has undressed the world of psychiatry. Her idea is that by stripping away her clothes during a “therapy” session makes her clients (mostly male) comfortable enough to “strip” away the layers of their mind and emotions. Sarah believes that her nudity will induce her clients to open up and bare their true feelings.

Sarah says “Naked therapy has been very eye opening and worldly for my clients. The goal is to show patients I have nothing to hide, and encourage them to be more honest. For men in particular, seeing a naked woman can really help them focus, look deeply into themselves and speak their minds openly.”

My favorite quote from Ms White is “Freud used free association. I use nakedness.”

Her therapy begins on her website: http://sarahwhitelive.com

The initial session is $150 for an hour of one-way cam and text. Sarah builds the relationship from there and the sessions can eventually evolve to 2-way cam with audio and in some cases in person.

Sarah is not a psychiatrist or even a licensed therapist but her practice or service is completely legal.

Diana Kirschner, a clinical psychologist from New York-based clinical psychologist, told the Daily News: “She’s using the word therapy here, but I don’t consider this therapy. I consider this interactive soft-core Internet porn.”

Personally, I think it’s brilliant marketing idea. In a world of online relationships and web cams, Sarah White is using her beauty and psychiatry studies to make a few dollars extra. I think I might try it in reverse. I’ll have my female “clients” pay me to have them strip their clothes off to help themselves. It might work.


Digital Distorted Portrait or Something

February 15, 2011


Glen or Mikiko? I was Teenage Asian Girl

February 14, 2011

This is a story I wrote in 2005 and it appears along with other various stories, journals and poetry in my book called Dangers of a Confessional Mind published by LuLu books.

 

Friday, February 04, 2005

 

Glen or Mikiko?

I felt like the dude in Kafka’s Metamorphosis. I awoke this morning on my bed in a different form. I wasn’t a bug or caterpillar or anything like that. I looked down at my tan body and my small frame with shock and terror. As I started my morning ritual of scratching my balls and giving my dick a few quick tugs, I couldn’t find them. I looked down and there was a black mound of hair with a slit between my legs. My chest hair was gone and I had small petite breasts with brownish nipples. I closed my eyes and opened them again. I tried to go back to sleep assuming this was just another nightmare from watching another Katashi Miike movie before I fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep.

 

I sat up on my bed and lit a cigarette with my little thin fingers. I took a few drags and ran to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My face changed too. My eyes were slanted and brown. My lips were full and my nose was wider and flatter. I ran my fingers through my long black hair. I was looking at a beautiful young Asian girl in the mirror and it was me. I remembered that story I read in National Lampoon magazine when I was thirteen about the guy who woke up one morning and he was girl. I remember wishing it was me. I wanted to feel what it was like to be a woman. I wanted to feel my breasts and vagina and look in the mirror. That was when I was thirteen.

 

I thought about my friend Harry telling me last night that he thinks that our friend Robert should live his life as a woman. I thought of the countless times my friend Kevin has said “If I had a clit, I’d never leave the house.” I thought of how jealous I was that my friend Dave looked really good in drag.

 

Here I am. I’m a  hot young Asian girl. How am I going to explain this to everyone at work. I’ll have to call out. What will I do for money? What will I tell my girlfriend, Stacy? I hope she’ll still love me as girl. I hope she likes Asian girls. I hope my cousins (roommates) don’t want to fuck me. I’m going to have to get a new drivers license. I thought about going to a doctor. I don’t have any insurance. Will anyone believe me? I wonder if my parents will still love me. I don’t have any clothes to wear either.

 

When I fantasized about this as a kid, it was a sexual thing. As an adult, reality is overwhelming me. Sex was the last thing on my mind until I decided to just stay in my room all day with a mirror. I called out from work. They said my voice sounded funny. I said I was really sick and tried to speak in the lowest tone available to my new body. I called Harry first because he was the only one who would actually believe what happened.

 

“You should enjoy it first. Then see how you feel tomorrow and maybe see a doctor.” he said.

 

Ok. That’s what I’ll do. I called Stacy next and told her I need to speak with her as soon as possible.

 

“What’s wrong with your voice?” she asked.

 

“I’m still sick. You’ll see when you get here tonight.”

 

I took care of the immediate. I needed cigarettes. I had to sneak out without my cousin’s seeing me. I put on some pants and a hoody. Neither of which fit. My clothes were double my size now. I walked to the corner store and tried not to draw any attention to myself. It was run by Koreans. The small teenage girl at the register said something to me in Korean. I didn’t understand her.

 

“Sorry. I thought you were Korean.” she said.

 

“I am Italian.” I said. She laughed.

 

I actually had no idea what I was. I mean I know what I was not what I am now. The boy in the back of the store was staring at me. When I looked at him he winked at me. I felt scared and I felt kind of good. I got my cigarettes and a cup of coffee and walked home fast. I went up to my room and avoided my cousins. I lay on my bed and prayed. I was calmer. Ready to accept this. For now anyway.

 

I took off my jeans and hoody and examined my self thoroughly. I relaxed some more. I gently touched myself everywhere. My nipples were more sensitive than ever. My stomach was flat. I touched my vagina and it was wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it in my whole life. Just the slightest touch on my new clitoris and my body surged with excitement. I felt like I did the first time I ever masturbated. I looked down at my tiny frame. My small breasts. My skinny legs. I watched my hand rub and stroke. Within minutes I exploded in an orgasm better than any I’d felt before. I collapsed and laid there for about five minutes I was ready for more.

 

Wow. I can orgasm over and over. I did. I finally fell asleep from sexual exhaustion. I slept for the next six hours. I awoke with a knock on my bedroom door. It was Stacy. Fuck. I wasn’t ready to tell her. Show her my new body. I was in a panic. I sat up and felt something against my thigh. I looked and it was my penis hanging under my flabby hairy belly. I was myself again. I sighed in relief and lit a cigarette as Stacy walked in my bedroom.

 

“Hey, what did you want to tell me?” she asked.

 

“You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.”


Impossible Love

January 29, 2011


Yaatjiyleeih Owjladnhab

January 19, 2011


%d bloggers like this: