"Forbidden Creature Virgin Whore"

In the summer of 2013, I was asked by a dance company based in Philadelphia, PA, to be creatively involved with their production of "Forbidden Creature Virgin Whore." Miller Rothlein is owned and operated by wife-husband team, Amanda Miller and Tobin Rothlein. Amanda is the creative director, choreographer, and general expert in putting together the works; Tobin is a filmographer and photographer. I'd met them both while Tobin and I were grad students at MICA in Baltimore, and was quite excited and pleased to be invited to participate.

So, you might think, what does a visual artist, illustrator, like me have to offer a dance production? Well, I asked myself the same question and expressed deep misgivings to Amanda when we first talked. I knew absolutely nothing about dance, I told her, and felt inadequate to the task. Amanda reassured me that while I knew nothing about the medium of dance, I was certainly qualified to consult with them on the storytelling as I'd done extensive research into the genre of fairy tale and mythology, and that my involvement in this would be perfect.

My fall schedule was so hectic that I only got to attend one of the rehearsals-- which blew me away. Amanda video-recorded subsequent rehearsals and sent them to me via shared online documents, and we chatted via phone about the meanings of the gestures and how each character would look and behave. Once we had a handle on the characters and their roles, the story grew organically. All that was left for me to do was to write an essay that expounded on the meaning of the piece and explained its story origins.

Here is the essay in its entirety. If you are moved to provide feedback, please do so.

Miller Rothlein’s Forbidden Creature Virgin Whore

4 Nov 2013

Paul Struck as the Forbidden Creature. Image by Tobin Rothlein.

Stories and myth have great potential and power, yet the stuff of fantasy is often dismissed as a banal and trivial pastime by academics and fine artists who insist that any serious pursuit of it is best left to children. However, fantasy is a place where the unnameable exists. When lives lack justice, the realm of the fantastic provides a place to experience psychic redress; it is a place where we can create imaginative ways to live in a hard world. Fantasy is the social safety valve when dangerous proclivities beckon. Children know this instinctively. Whole worlds of particular logic reside inside the mind that can distinguish truth from social construction. We build elaborate imaginative scaffolds to support our conclusions about the world, while ignoring hard evidence that would defy those perceptions. Our ability to bolt down stylized interpretations of reality means that we suppress our appreciation of ambiguity and individualized expression. The indelible nature of stories is a testament to this.

Any story, therefore, directly reflects the moral and philosophical mind of the writer, storyteller, or artist. It mirrors a reality, a truth that exists if only in imagined form, a truth nonetheless shaped by actual perception. Metaphors simplify the message, and the meaning can switch and swim through the centuries, ideologically aligned to the next storyteller’s social or political agenda. History is filled with this kind of cultural conquest; there is no better way to create cultural change than to write over a story’s bones with a different meaning.

Existing stories define a society, produce its identity, and reinforce group behaviors. Gender expression is one of those areas of human behavior that is rigorously policed, and in all traditions, tales of fiction are expressly used in a direct attempt to control sexual behavior. Archetypes, metaphors, and formulaic morphologies have always streamlined this effort, and sweeping generalizations function to predictably move the story forward. We wonder how we continue to be exposed to these particular efforts today if we ask: what does it mean that our male characters still must adhere to strict codes of masculine behavior? What does it mean that our female characters’ sexual natures still continue to fall within predictable and recognizable patterns of behavior? That we are living on the inside of the juggernaut hampers our ability to perceive the nuances between real gender expression and those which are shaped by social construction.  

In Forbidden Creature Virgin Whore, agency emerges as a primary force that drives each of the characters’ lives within the story arc. Each character, possessing varying degrees of agency and scope of influence, exerts the force of her/ his unique assets upon the other characters. The quality of the agency and how creatively each Archetypes can navigate within her/his proscribed roles determines the ability of our characters to move and function within the story arc. Limitations placed on human behavior produce interesting survival strategies as well as generate destructive behaviors and artificial competition between individuals. Once we set our Archetypes into motion with the initial interaction between “actives” determined by traditional stories, we can then experiment with the outcome. What does it mean for an Archetype to “play a role?” Does it need to step outside of that role in order to claim power? Can the roles be redefined, shifted? What is necessary to create the kind of outcome whereby the Archetypes can be broken and real expressions of gender can be made viable?

In our first Archetype of the duality-laden Virgin/Whore, the issue of threshold, crossing over from sexual ignorance to one of knowledge is a primary characteristic. The Virgin/Whore seems initially to have the least agency of the three female archetypes. Disadvantaged by youth and inexperience, her sexual potential is rigorously policed for fear that female pleasure should discover itself and become loosed for its own sake. This name of half of the Archetype could be any of the Disney franchise’s princesses; she is also Juliet or the Bride. Yet, the other side of the Archetype has plenty of hidden agency, revealed as a cunning survival strategy of manipulation. She is Hannah Montana-cum-Miley Cyrus and her female potency is a veiled threat to order, yet it is a crucial part of society’s usual functioning. Her moral strength lies in her ability to maneuver around the restrictions placed in her way. While she remains subject to the whims of masculine desire, she is also poised to find economic security and independence.

The Domestic Goddess is another dual Archetype-- again, at once glorified and bound; her responsibilities afford her some rights by virtue of a sanctioned status. She is the holy bitch who does all the chores; she is the eternal font of physical and emotional sustenance, the giver and indefatigable doer. Call her Supermom and she is Martha Stewart feeling justifiably superior to all other mere mortals in the domestic sphere. Put her in “binders full of women” and watch how corporate competition exacts a heavy price.  Call her the Beloved Servant and we see Scott Thorsen’s face surgically altered to become Liberace’s. The Domestic Goddess is the concubine and employee; her face reflects the power exerted upon her, yet exalted by virtue of the motherhood contract: the physical creation of children and community defines her as a fully-fledged member of society, and she is protected by its moral jurisdiction. The Madonna’s strength is in her endurance, love, and fierce devotion to her children and family, and her ability to suffer rejection and loss.

The Archetype who fiercely lives outside the socially accepted norm and for whom the standard life script will not do, is The Forbidden Creature. Armed with claws and awareness, she is dangerous because she lives her life deliberately on the margin of society. This is the loose cannon that bashes holes in the sides of the social construction and subverts the normal plot. Beware of the Vampire or the Wicked Witch, this creature will kill and consume; Joan of Arc will stubbornly choose immolation over having to wear a dress. It may turn herself or her prey into something unexpected. It does the unthinkable, the unacceptable, and for that offence, the traditional story often writes her into oblivion, yet the character functions as a sharp counterpoint to the story’s “norms”; she is the uncomfortable anomaly that exists to defy our perceptions. The Forbidden Creature’s goal is to live on its own terms, and its strategy is to know itself and its boundaries. It is the unimpregnable, unignorable, unfuckable She.

Finally, our male Archetype, Everyman, is our Prince Charming. The world is his oyster. He confidently, aggressively claims the space around him, unencumbered by any restraints on his libido. Everyman’s goal is conquest and his interactions with each female Archetype are driven by his insatiable sexual curiosity. Don Juan’s effect, while sowing his oats, is to sow the illusion of separateness and competition between the Archetypes as they all vie for attentions and favors. However, the success of Romeo’s encounter with each female Archetype is shaped by the agency each is granted; the more agency she possesses, the less power he has over her. Everyman’s tremendous agency is a two-edged sword: the gift that enables him to be the ultimate Bad Boy is also the very thing that suppresses his ability to truly emotionally connect. However, it is also the key that potentially allows him to subvert his paradigm and become the Hero.

The danger and delight is that we see these stories and Archetypes not merely as mental playthings to lightly entertain us but as real examples upon which to model our human behavior. The story’s power is in its synthesis of reality; it discards problematic details and exceptions for the sake of its internal logic. Human perception intuitively looks for coherence in much of the world even when it does not exist, which also means that people see the truth better when it is fictionalized. We can make use of this pattern-seeking tendency and bend the logic of a story to our own stated goals-- which is to break the stereotypes and create a plurality of expressions. We subvert the story by focusing on the personal strengths of each Archetype and amplify them so that the characters can grow and thrive. Each discovers what it needs to expand beyond the limits of his/ her roles, finding nuances in a gendered performance. The Virgin/Whore discovers her agency through female pleasure, the Domestic Goddess casts off that which binds her and sees what her creative powers can do, the Forbidden Creature becomes a uniter and teacher, secure in her Otherness, and Everyman begins to freely express his emotions. The liberation of each Archetype comes from shared agency and the willingness to connect and to honor ambiguities and differences.

*********

References

Jackson, Rosemary. Fantasy, The Literature of Subversion. Routledge, London, 1981.

Propp, Vladimir. Morphology of the Folktale. University of Texas Press; 2nd edition, 1968.

Zipes, Jack. Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion. Psychology Press, 1991.

Daniel Kahneman, “The Marvels and Flaws of Intuitive Thinking,” Thinking: The New Science of Decision-Making, Problem-Solving, and Prediction, ed. John Brockman. Harper Perennial, 2013, pp 386.

The Brand Cage

Several times a year, I put my work in solo or multi-artist shows. It keeps me on my toes as an incentive for generating new work outside of my commissioned illustration work.  Almost without fail, somebody asks me how long it took for me to make "X" piece of art. I usually first ask whether they are a student or serious painter, but I can usually already tell. This bean-counter has a certain look about their face.  I can see their  brain gearing up to crunch the numbers to determine whether the price I have set is in accordance to their preconceived notions about what they think artists should make per hour or per image; it's an amount that is usually stacked against what they themselves make.

My usual response is that it took me 40 years.

In an excellent e-flux article (online art journal) about the political economy of art, contributor, Anton Vidokle, at one point writes about James Abbot McNeil Whistler's libel suit against John Ruskin. Ruskin took Whistler to task in an 1878 review, claiming that Whistler's price for his painting, Nocturne in Black and Gold, was too high a price to ask for a painting that looked so hastily done. Ruskin's argument is that art should be cheap and only reflect the actual time it took to make it. He was suggesting that artists be paid a labor wage for their work based upon an outdated mode of art production, the Guild structure. Asked by the lawyers in the libel suit why he was charging that amount for his painting, Whistler's response was singularly apt: he said that his price reflected the knowledge he had gained over a lifetime of study and practice.

Previous generations of artists who worked as craftsmen within the old European Guild structure relied upon patrons and sponsors to legitimize the work and determine its value. Whistler's libel suit was but one sign of a  paradigm shift away from this hierarchical structure under which artists have traditionally labored.  Bohemian artists of all kinds, no longer bound to the labor wage construct of the Guild declared a divorce from the bourgeois status quo. Artists began their own collectives and their own shows, and often held down other non-art-related jobs that paid the bills. Freed economically and ideologically from the institution of the salon, too, artists could then begin to experiment with style and content in a way that they couldn't before.

There is a modern counterpart happening in today's illustration field. The huge industry that is Publishing is faltering and shifting hard under the weight of the digital onslaught, and fees for art have gone way down.  To compete with dwindling opportunities, some artists have scrambled to "brand" themselves as quickly as they can so that they look professional, as marketable, ready to hawk their product at the most competitive fees possible. With their 30-second elevator pitches memorized, brand-ready students fresh out of art programs are chomping at the bit at a chance to work for a labor wage.  Do you think the "brand" as a business model is the milieu for inspiration and creativity? Do Andy Warhol or Jeff Koons spring to mind? Branding just makes it harder for artists to become untied from the corporate art industries upon which they have had to rely for their livelihoods.

However, in the next ten years the Publishing Industry (or what it was traditionally) will be gone, but the recent "branding" strategy that the Market has pushed many artists and small publishing houses into doing will remain. We can observe that the branding spree has created very segregated genres within the illustration field (ie. the very specific look of the children's market), but we can observe this very same phenomenon within the fine art markets too. I can't tell you how often I have gone to a conference or show only to think that I've seen all of the work before. The markets have their own "look" to them, and artists think that they must tailor their work to fit the market trends and not the other way around. Sadly, this is indeed, the case when it comes to these institutions: conform or be cast out. We have abandoned the bohemian mode in favor of professionalism, marketability, easy categorization, and consumability.

This branding is troubling. Once there in that pigeonhole, if you want to stretch your wings, there's no way out except via a major overhaul. Imagine having a brilliant insight into your work that dramatically changes your style or content overnight. Then what? Do you take five years to gradually shift your work so that it better reflects your ideas? The markets's tight genre structure means that you will still lose those clients/ buyers whether you do it quickly or over a period of time.

Refraining from branding just means that your cage isn't as tight. Perhaps it's time to ask whether the structure itself is at all conducive to real creativity.

Another Place To Inhabit

With all of this recent anticipation of the Hobbits movie and the "brohood" of the Ring, I've become quite sick of Tolkien lately.  The Fantasy genre is positively swimming with creative folks embroidering ad nauseam the world of Middle Earth and its inhabitants. You'd think there were no other worlds to inhabit.

The Romantic era gave us medievalism, and with that all of the traditional values conferred upon the practice and valuation of all things from the western European Middle Ages: chivalry, nationalism (tribalism), traditional gender roles, religion /magic, dragons, folk tales, and general pagan shenanigans. And with the advent of the barbarian, a whole industry was born that centered around a particular masculinity that still beats its chest in culture today.

I really don't fit into this genre at all. It's a new feeling of late and so my portfolio doesn't yet reflect this realization. None of these Middle Earth stories have any real appeal to me as there are no characters for whom I feel any sympathy. Not that there aren't heroines (or people of color...?) in these traditional stories, I just can't get enthused about the roles they *do* play. Guinivere? Seriously, come on. How about Eowyn? You mean Joan of Arc?  The idea of exalting the methods of any woman's immolation via beautifully crafted paintings is a kind of aggrandizement of which I'm psychically not capable. Others will suggest that I invent a strong female character to insert into this world. Yeah, that's been done before and no one really buys it. This world exists for a very specific segment of the population and functions in a specific way.  This is a closed story.

The Neo-medieval Time Capsule manifests as any number of permutations but is basically a world of metal-plated men with swords battling valiantly against a cantankerous beast (or each other?) for a maiden. She might be a warrior, --some assistance here, please!-- but is otherwise unable to make it on her own.   Vladimir Propp would be pleased and amused that his theory of the formulaic fairy tale still holds true. Aren't we tired of these stories yet?

The romanticism, the nostalgia of this genre is what I haven't been able to navigate. I should have known I'd personally have trouble with this genre when, long ago, I was told that my science illustration needed to be softer, less real-- We don't want to scare the kiddies! What I didn't know then that I do now is that much of the publishing industry and its illustration complement in general  is colored by the rose-tinted spectacles of Romanticism. The casting back to the past, the valuation of  traditional painting, the seeming non-existence of heroic non-white, non-males in stories, all painfully point to the fact that I really don't belong here.

So where *do* I belong? I don't lean towards the sentimental or romantic. I'm a forward-thinking person who loves science and technology in particular. Growing up I read a lot of Isaac Asimov and Frank Herbert... Well, you guessed it. And I should have a lot sooner.

Science fiction is a platform for the new and innovative; it embraces new technology, ideas, people, genders, identities, and orientations. Diverse biological forms can walk around and technology and democracy is the rule. Here is a place where the improbable is made possible by science and progressive ideas. If you are feeling icky about all of the implications of medievalism in fantasy, fear not: there are lots of other places to inhabit.

Making Small Fissures in the Status Quo to Upending Paradigms: Part 1

An astute student in my illustration class recently sent me this question: "Because some art material/idea(s) is frowned upon, does that make it worthless? Why should anybody have to fear what society might think? As artists, shouldn't we be the front-runners to confront social norms and boundaries?"  As a student, you may have studied Duchamp's "Nude Descending a Staircase" DeKooning's "Women", Judd's minimalist sculptures, the "drip" paintings of Pollack, Matthew Barney's "Cremaster series",  all reviled for their "outlandishness", their "insensitivity" to materials, their violence to "proper" anatomy, their strangeness or lack of convention.  But all of them stood the test of time and are now considered important works. Why? Why do we say that Marquis de Sade was a vile man with violent notions of social behavior within his literature, but that his work was important? What does the "fine art" establishment today have against comic books, illustration, and graffiti art? Why do the mavens of "high" western literature frown upon  fantasy and science-fiction? Why do the critics of opera and classical music generally turn their noses up at urban hip-hop and rap?  What gives here? Do the conventional norms feel threatened? Obviously. 

Social norms tend to want to dictate what is acceptable. First of all, we should ask: what and who are these agents of social norms? They are our religious institutions, family structures, and governmental agencies; they are also our educational institutions, corporate structures, and our media sources. You might be able to think of some others. They are all the things which envelop and bind us to what we deem is acceptable and proper to a relationship with others. These social norms are a kind of contract for living harmoniously within a larger social group. And of course, these social norms differ between groups--witness the difference in what is considered polite in your own family and that of another's; the expectations for decorum may differ quite a bit. Those works of art that come along to rock the boat with unconventional forms and content may initially take a beating but they can stand the test of time if they speak the underlying truth about our conventions.

The agents of social norms have quite a bit at stake maintaining the status quo. After all, the agencies themselves (churches, governmental bodies, corporations, etc.) place actual people in positions of great power to head up these organizations. Think and compare how much moral and social power the Catholic pope has when he talks about birth control, and think of how much clout somebody like Steve Jobs has when talking about charter schools and dismantling public education...   Promoters of certain forms of music, literature, art, all have their own status quo to maintain, and they tend to rigorously guard these hierarchies for their own existence and access to power. Are any of these less culpable? Do they use methods any less ideological? There is always a carrot and a stick: sometimes it's heaven in an afterlife or economic boom in this life, we pay attention to these ideologies when their view of the world is in alignment to ours in some way. 

But what if they aren't? What if we don't agree? What if a worldview is completely antithetical to ours? What if the ideas of another culture, another generation, another religion, another political system is so damaging to our way of life that we are marginalized?   This is a depressing situation to find oneself, particularly if that paradigm is one in which we currently live, one that dictates our station in life, our economic status, our social worth, class, or our actual ability to life and thrive? What do we do? Think of the activist in Palestine, or the student in Tiananmen Square, or the folks at Stonewall. Do we riot, throw rocks, stand in the way, set up tents in a park near Wall Street? Yes, and perhaps Gandhi's methods work just as well for provoking social change. 

But what else can we do?

To be continued...