Let all that lurks in the mud hatch out...

Several things conspired to cause this entry, not the least of which is my fascination with the *function* of fantasy and art:

1) I had been reading Rosemary Jackson's book, Fantasy, The Literature of Subversion (Routledge, London, 1981)

2) I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine about an art student of his whose work was, to say the least, non-academic; you could say it was downright scary.

3) Recently on G+ I had the great fortune to be in conversation with a thoughtful fellow from Antwerp who posed the following question: "Is there an aesthetic and moral limit to what may be phantasized about?"

Immediately, my mind leapt to 120 Days of Sodom by Marquis de Sade, who wrote many of his more famous works while in prison or asylums for about 30 years of his life. Sade takes the reader on a very catalogued and detailed journey to the depths of the human fantastic concerning sex, social taboo, and depravity, all the way to a complete break with the social contract. He does this in order to examine the fine line between what titillates us and what horrifies us. A very interesting read, but not for the faint of heart. Sade may not have been a nice man, but his work still has social value.

The college student caused a lot of concern for my teacher friend when the student handed in a little book of fiction whose eponymous antagonist rivaled the exploits of a good serial killer novel, with a dose of necrophilia for good measure.  Needless to say, this was of serious concern for the school's "risk assessment" authorities who questioned his motives and intentions. Short of expelling him, the authorities confronted him well enough that he felt inspired to transfer to another school.

But I couldn't help but wonder about the limits to our infringement on artistic and self-expression. In the news recently, an artist was questioned by the police for his paintings of burning banks. This artist was able to formulate a cogent thesis about his idea of the of the financial system being in peril and his work was simply a metaphor. Perhaps if the art student was able to intelligently formulate some ideas about exploring the boundaries of the social construct, he might have escaped such scrutiny. But alas, he was just a sullen mook with a foul attitude.

Then I began to think of all the horror genre artwork in the fantasy and sci-fi conventions and websites I'd seen and thought: what is so different about them and this kid? Sade? Or the latest horror author/ filmmaker? One famous artist had a seasonal "little shop of horrors" in his hometown where he'd hung hand-sculpted latex human thoraxes with bloody entrails from enormous rusty iron hooks for gleeful Halloween patrons. And when I see paintings and digital images of hacked up/ decapitated/ mutilated/genetically modified female bodies or zombies of same I wonder, what is the function of this?

Rosemary Jackson's Fantasy, the Literature of Subversion explains that the function of the fantastic is to express "desire". The fantastic not only manifests or makes apparent any form of desire, but can conversely, work to expel it if it threatens cultural order. In this way, the fantastic serves to point out the basis upon which cultural order rests. Fantasy literature and art (beginning with the likes of Hieronymus Bosch) often shows that which is silenced and unseen in culture. It is a manifestation of what lurks in the mud of the social subconscious. It's a social "safety valve." 

However, I think that our deeper psychological problem with the creepy art student or Sade is that there is no hero at the end of a very sad and horrifying story.  It doesn't even try to be campy. It is why the horror and fascination with Jack the Ripper is eternal. We (Americans, at least) prefer our fantasy with some kind of closure. We like our stories to have happy endings where the bad guy gets his due and the dragon eats the knight's sword. Perhaps it is this part of the social contract-- the justice part-- that is the main reason we even *have* a fantastic genre. The creepy art student had no clue that the Fantastic is a very powerful tool; used incorrectly or clumsily can result in various kinds of social expulsion or censure. That's what society is supposed to do; it monitors the edges of the social body and negotiates and fixes the leaks and cuts with moral outrage or laws.

Pagan oral stories warning of the edge of the forest reminded listeners that to wander alone from the safety of the group was to pit ones self against the untamed forces of the wild, of un-civilization and that *It* would strive to kill whomever was stupid enough to stray. Perhaps in these modern times, with slasher video games and violent movies, we require a bit more gore to warn us. But hey, art dude, it's supposed to be *fantasy*, not a manifesto.

Camille Paglia said it: there should be no censure on the limits of our imagination for it serves a direct purpose as a social safety valve. In the act of fantasizing, we will always be reminded of the social contract and its limits and reasons for existing, the rights and humanity of others, but by questioning those boundaries, it enables us to widen the quality and wonder of that which we call humanity.