Sex is, of course, an endlessly fascinating subject.
Araki’s obsessive quest for the mysteries of erotic desire, not only expressed
in his photographs of nudes, but also in lubricious close-ups of flowers and
fruits, could be seen as a lust for life and defiance of death. Some of these
pictures are beautifully composed and printed, and some are rough and
scattershot. One wall is covered in Polaroid photos, rather like Andy Warhol’s
pictures of his friends and models, except that Araki’s show a compulsive
interest in female anatomy.
Genitalia, as the source of life, are literally
objects of worship in many Japanese Shinto shrines. But there is something
melancholy about a number of Araki’s nudes; something frozen, almost
corpse-like about the women trussed up in ropes staring at the camera with
expressionless faces. The waxen face of his wife Yoko in her casket comes to
mind. Then there are those odd plastic models of lizards and dinosaurs that
Araki likes to place on the naked bodies of women in his pictures, adding
another touch of morbidity.
But to
criticize Araki’s photos — naked women pissing into umbrellas at a live sex
show, women with flowers stuck into their vaginas, women in schoolgirl uniforms
suspended in bondage, and so on — for being pornographic, vulgar, or obscene,
is rather to miss the point. When the filmmaker Nagisa Oshima was prosecuted in
the 1970s for obscenity after stills from his erotic masterpiece, In the Realm
of the Senses, were published, his defense was: “So, what’s wrong with
obscenity?”
The point of
Oshima’s movie, and of Araki’s pictures, is a refusal to be constrained by
rules of social respectability or good taste when it comes to sexual passion.
Oshima’s aim was to see whether he could make an art film out of hardcore porn.
Araki doesn’t make such high-flown claims for his work. To him, the photos are
an extension of his life. Since much of life is about seeking erotic
satisfaction, his pictures reflect that.
Displayed
alongside Araki’s photographs at the Museum of Sex are a few examples of
Shunga, the erotic woodcuts popular in Edo Period Japan (1603–1868), pictures
of courtesans and their clients having sex in various ways, usually displaying
huge penises penetrating capacious vulvas. These, too, have something to do
with the fertility cults of Shinto, but they were also an expression of
artistic rebellion. Political protest against the highly authoritarian Shoguns
was far too dangerous. The alternative was to challenge social taboos.
Occasionally, government officials would demonstrate their authority by
cracking down on erotica. They still do. Araki has been prosecuted for
obscenity at least once.
One response
to Araki’s work, especially in the West, and especially in our time, is to
accuse him of “objectifying” women. In the strict sense that women, often in a
state of undress, striking sexual poses, are the focus of his, and our, gaze,
this is true. (Lest one assume that the gaze is always male, I was interested
to note that most of the viewers at the Museum of Sex during my visit were
young women.) But Araki maintains that his photographs are a collaborative
project. As in any consensual sado-masochistic game, this requires a great deal
of trust.
Some years
ago, I saw an Araki show in Tokyo. Susan Sontag, who was also there, expressed
her shock that young women would agree to being “degraded” in Araki’s pictures.
Whereupon the photographer Annie Leibovitz, who was there too, said that women
were probably lining up to be photographed by him. Interviews with Araki’s
models, some of which are on view at the Museum of Sex, suggest that this is
true. Several women talk about feeling liberated, even loved, by the experience
of sitting for Araki. One spoke of his intensity as a divine gift. It is
certainly true that when Araki advertised for ordinary housewives to be
photographed in his usual fashion, there was no shortage of volunteers. Several
books came from these sessions.
But not all
his muses have turned out to be so contented, at least in retrospect.
Earlier this
year, Kaori wrote in a blog post that she felt exploited by him over the years
(separately, in 2017 a model accused Araki of inappropriate contact during a
shoot that took place in 1990). Araki exhibited Kaori’s photos without telling
her or giving her any credit. On one occasion, she was told to pose naked while
he photographed her in front of foreign visitors. When she complained at the
time, he told her, probably accurately, that the visitors had not come to see
her, but to see him taking pictures. (The Museum of Sex has announced that Kaori’s
statement will be incorporated into the exhibition’s wall text.)
These stories
ring true. It is the way things frequently are in Japan, not only in relations
between artists and models. Contracts are often shunned. Borderlines between
personal favors and professional work are blurred. It is entirely possible that
Araki behaved badly toward Kaori, and maybe to others, too. Artists often use
their muses to excite their imaginations, and treat them shabbily once the
erotic rush wears off.
One might wish
that Araki had not been the self-absorbed obsessive he probably is. Very often
in art and literature, it is best to separate the private person from the work.
Even egotistical bastards, after all, can show tenderness in their art. But in
Araki’s case, the distinction is harder to maintain—this is an artist who
insists on his life being inseparable from his pictures. The life has dark
sides, and his lechery might in contemporary terms be deemed inappropriate, but
that is precisely what makes his art so interesting. Araki’s erotomania is what
drives him: aside from the posing and self-promotion, it is the one thing that
can be called absolutely authentic.
Ian
Buruma on “The Incomplete Araki: Sex,
Life, and Death in the Works of Nobuyoshi Araki” at the Museum of Sex, New York.
‘He’s not easy;
he’s much more complex than the cuddly persona he projects,’ says New York’s
Museum of Sex artistic and creative director Serge Becker, who first
encountered Araki’s work in the 1990s. ‘Beyond the hype and controversies,
there’s actually a real artist and thinker of substance. He’s on the level of
Andy Warhol in regards to his prescience about art and culture.’
‘He ventures in
his work and private life into areas that many of us are uncomfortable with,’
Becker suggests. ‘Some of the discomfort is not necessarily because we disagree
with him, but because he touches us and shows us aspects of ourselves we tend
to cover up. He’s brutally honest, but he gets to do it, because he shows us
love and beauty too.’
‘We live in
many ways in a world he helped shape, and we have adopted his language. The
creation of the personal brand, the ceaseless documentation of one’s lives, the
lack of privacy and sharing of personal moments, the high and the low of it
all,’ Becker reflects.
From : The complicated and ‘incomplete’
legacy of Nobuyoshi Araki by Charlotte Jansen
More here : Tracing
the roots of Araki’s obsession with the erotic image, Joseph Delaney.
