My friend R.S. likes to paint while fucking. Well, okay – technically I guess it’s masturbating. But with a sex machine. So it’s fucking and masturbating – just in a very techno, geeky, objectophilic kind of way.
R.S. built her machine – she calls it her muse – one long weekend while suffering from a seemingly endless dry spell (from both fucking + painting). When I asked her about it, she carelessly told me she’d found a DIY video online while contemplating using one of her larger brushes as a dildo.
Needless to say, I watched the “fukbox” video immediately. It’s only about 40 seconds long and all the speaking – somehow predictably – is in French. Kinda. Of course, you probably don’t want anyone to actually SEE you if you watch it at work – there is a real (non art tool) dildo at the end. Be warned.
R.S. doesn’t tell her patrons about her proclivity for mixing sex and art – she innocently called her most recent series of works “Action Paintings,” in somewhat ironic homage the misogynistic, womanizing art fuck, Willem de Kooning.
I remember an art history professor telling me that the abstract expressionists were all a bunch of testosterone-driven, drug-of-your-choice taking, mostly drunken macho men – de Kooning included. Romanticized versions, all – starving artist-geniuses toiling away in paint (cum) splattered studios, giant brushes (penises) ejaculating all over canvases (women) stretched wide, unwitting and unspoiled.
I ask R.S. about this – she obviously feels some sort of affinity for these paragons of the white male canon. No matter how ironic, by naming her work after them she’s granted them some sort of status. At the very least, she’s implied their process.
“It’s like tracing the contour of a nipple,” R.S. tells me over a glass of wine. “I touch the canvas as delicately as I can, for as long as I can. I try never to lift the brush, to let the brush become a part of me. Of my trembling.”
It’s a beautiful, totally feminine thing to say. When she says it, she looks straight at me, her green eyes unblinking, unashamed. I imagine her bent forward at the waist, the fukbox behind her, a small brush poised ever so lightly between thumb and forefinger.
I want to see her paint. I realize that somehow I don’t care about the paintings. I simply want to see her paint them…
Image: Woman with a Green and Beige Background, 1966. Artist: Willem de Kooning.