Unresolved

It sounds counterintuitive - and maybe this makes me a bad artist (although let's be honest, I'll never be great) - but my resolution for this year is to take fewer pictures. It's kind of gotten out of hand, and I need to reel myself in (I'd like to say that I'll focus on quality over quantity, but frequently in my work process, quality has proven itself to be the byproduct of quantity) - and also spend time managing my backlog. I'm spending too much time barrelling forward, and I think that it's actually holding me back.

Maybe I'm wrong, and I have completely the wrong idea about this. I know that doing something a lot is what makes you get better at it. But I need time to manage, too. Not just create. I have years of good stuff I haven't even shared yet, and I need to curate my library of photos, fashion something of a portfolio, and figure out how to present my work to potential new audiences that are missing out. I want to get better at doing those things, too. And I don't want to wait forever to do it. Life is short. Not everybody is as young as I am, and I'm not even as young as I'd like to be. And there'll be nobody invested enough to manage my estate when I'm gone.

This year, I want to think further ahead than just this year.

Backfire

Nothing engenders within me less outrage than hearing about another celebrity sex scandal. I find it galling that we have the nerve to condemn people for sexual misbehavior in a culture where we throw ourselves to the wolves in terms of navigating our fundamental sexual programming. It is only after we have provided an avenue for everyone to attain sexual satisfaction through ethical means, without restricting access to comprehensive education and the latest advances in medical technology - and without weaponizing crippling shame! - I say, it is only after we have done this that we can then talk about the "moral failure" of those wayward souls who resort to seeking orgasms outside of socially-approved channels. But not a moment sooner. Honestly, when somebody has a sex scandal, it makes me want to empathize with them more. Because who among us hasn't been hamstrung by our puritan culture in the pursuit of pleasure? And why? Because we're supposed to feel bad about wanting to feel good? We deserve a more nuanced conversation than that.

The Naughty List

Happy Holidays! I hope you get something exciting for Christmas. -_^

Gymnaesthetics

I'm coining a new term - gymnaesthetics. It combines the Greek word for nudity, "gymnos", with "aesthetics", the branch of philosophy that concerns itself with the nature of beauty. In a nutshell, gymnaesthetics is the study or appreciation of naked beauty. As a corollary, and taking cue from aestheticism - an art movement focused on aesthetics, or "art for art's sake" above and beyond any pragmatic function - the term gymnaestheticism may be used to refer to the artistic discipline of producing art that is focused on the perceived beauty of the unclothed human form.

In thousands of years of human civilization, and half a millennium removed from the Renaissance, I'm surprised I have to be the one to come along and invent this concept. Now, I know I'm not the first person in the history of mankind to appreciate the sight of a naked body. The subjective experience of human beauty is a nearly universal phenomenon. But in civilized society, there exists a stringent taboo on nudity. And are you really fully appreciating the human body if you're covering part of it up? Yet the clothes don't come off unless it's about sex. Why isn't there a community dedicated to naked beauty, as distinguished from porn?

Nudism comes close, but misses the mark with their politically correct rhetoric prioritizing self-acceptance. "Every body is beautiful" is a self-contradiction, because beauty is inherently selective. Any kind of emphasis on the visual aspect of seeing people naked (and the pleasure it can bring) is criticized by nudists as voyeurism. You're not permitted to openly acknowledge the positive impact of fitness, diet, grooming, etc on a person's appearance. Nudist beauty pageants have become more than passé - they're an outright taboo!

Of course, there are lots of people who appreciate naked bodies in a superficial manner, but it's always myopically centered around sexual recreation. I've never been one to deny the erotic element of naked beauty, but so much gets lost when sex is the primary focus. Sight is treated as merely an appetizer to the main course of touch. Appearance is only a means to the end of getting off. It's like going to the theater to catch the trailers, and then having to sit through a movie you didn't want to watch. Little care is given to the craft and artistry of presentation. People are paired off (or grouped), instead of sharing their delight publicly. It's interactive, when sometimes you want a more passive form of entertainment. And you have to strictly limit your audience, which also restricts your reach.

Is it so hard to let people interpret art however they want, while still letting the images stand for themselves? It's enough that the human body is considered "indecent" and inappropriate for public viewing - with artistic exceptions inconsistent, as well as few and far between. But you can't even comfortably honor gymnaesthetics in private, without carefully vetting potential observers, lest the wrong person get an eyeful, complain to peers and authorities, and then you face the prospect of social reprobation even if there isn't enough of an offense to support legal repercussions...

Cabin Fever

I'm beginning to suspect - and in retrospect, it's not at all surprising - that every year around Thanksgiving, I begin to suffer from a nudist version of cabin fever. It's been over a month now since I've been out naked in the fresh air and sunshine with any regularity, and my body is suffocating! When I don't get that release, those feelings bottle up inside, and my thoughts turn desperate. Completely unrealistic fantasies of being naked in public start to seem more and more appealing.

I'm not suggesting that I would do anything impulsive. But it's a struggle, and I wish I knew a way to vent that frustration. I could find a nudist meetup to join, but I'd have to travel really far, and in this season, hanging around with a bunch of mostly strangers indoors (doing karaoke? playing video games?) doesn't strike my fancy. (Especially if it's centered around drinking and socializing). That would be true with or without clothes. I definitely prefer activities with more... well, activity.

I'd love to hang out with other artists, and do some creative collaborations. But you know how that turned out last time. Why is it so hard to find community as a nude/erotic artist? All the art groups out there are allergic to nudity and eroticism, and if you search through "adult" channels, you just end up with people looking for hookups. Am I really that unique in this universe? (You don't have to answer that question, I already know the answer is yes). It's a funny feeling being alone on an overpopulated planet.

Some time last year, I came across an image on DeviantArt* that caught my attention. The subject of the image was public nudity - which, needless to say, I found intriguing. The image depicted a fully naked woman in the foreground, hiding in front of (from the camera's perspective) a tree, behind which were three other people, fully clothed, with their backs to the camera, standing on the shore of a lake. The middle figure was looking back over her shoulder toward the camera, adding a little bit of dramatic tension to the image. Does she see the naked person just at the top of the hill? (Spoiler: yes, she does).

But the wildest thing about the image was that, although it was surely taken nowhere near any place I've ever been (not even on the same continent, I'd wager), I instantly thought of a place I'd been to with similar geography - with a tree on a hill leading down to the rocky shore of the rightward bend of a lake. Naturally, I had to try recreating the image using my clone technique.

The hardest part of the shoot was bringing three different outfits (complete with shoes!) to the lake, when I'm used to bringing one outfit and not even wearing it. No, wait. That's a lie. The hardest part was actually putting on those clothes, when it was so hot I was already sweating in just my birthday suit! I tell you, I don't understand how these textiles do it.

*A cursory search reveals that, unsurprisingly, the source image was stolen from a porn site. To be more specific, the model's name is Sylva N., and the image appears on nude-in-public.com (as part of a set). I wish somebody would pay me to walk around naked in public, while they take pictures. Sounds like my dream job! Except that it's always "young girls", isn't it? Which I am not opposed to (obviously), but even if I were a girl, I'm not exactly young anymore.

But suppose I were a girl. Even then, at around age 19 or so, I wouldn't have been in the right headspace to do this sort of thing. Which is not to say that "that's too young". I just wish I lived in a culture where I could have found my calling earlier (before it was too late). A culture that didn't cause me to feel like I had to hide my shameful dalliances, taking my clothes off in secret during adolescence. A culture that would have let me explore opportunities to be naked outdoors and in social situations, outside of a strictly sexual relationship. A culture that didn't judge and ridicule the artistry of eroticism, and discriminate against anyone who dares to pursue a career in that field.

I'd be really curious to find out what goes on behind the scenes of these "nude in public" photoshoots. Isn't it funny how they always take place in other countries (at least since we lost San Francisco), despite the United States (undeserved) reputation for freedom? I know it's part of the fantasy that a gorgeous chick can walk around town naked without repercussion (and they kind of can - even a gorgeous dude would have issues with people feeling intimidated and reading it as sexual aggression). But I want to know.

Were there any arrests involved in the making of these photo sets? Fines that had to be paid? Awkward chats with law enforcement? How many of the strangers encountered genuinely reacted either positively or nonchalantly, and how many were upset or confrontational? How many people were approached and asked for their consent to be depicted in these images (those that are recognizable), and how many declined?

Where was the shoot conducted? I understand the importance of privacy, but was this a city or a country that's generally permissive of this sort of thing? Did the participants choose a place they know well, or one that's completely unfamiliar to them, so that there would be less of a chance of interacting with the locals ever again?

You never get any information about the women in these shoots, either. As a fellow internet model, I understand and respect the need for anonymity. But even in general terms, I'd love to get to know them a little bit more. Do they do a lot of porn shoots? Or was this a crazy, once-in-a-lifetime stunt? What kind of attitude do they have about being seen naked by strangers? Do they have any experience with nudism (whether social or solitary), or are they legitimate exhibitionists?

Again, in general terms, what walks of life do these women come from? Are they all starving university students? Budding artists? Raging perverts? The desperately poor? How did they come across this opportunity? And how much does a gig like this pay? I feel like I've put in the work as an artist to deserve to know more about the back end of these endeavors, because I'd love to be involved in producing them. It sounds weird to say this, but I feel like this is just the kind of thing I was put on this Earth to do.

But I have no community. I'm an isolated node in a detached society. There's no realistic way to get in touch with these people. And I'm not in any rush to hop on a plane, for the purpose of committing public indecency in a remote village in the Siberian wilderness, anyway. No matter how much fun that sounds like it would be. I'm a fruit just waiting to be plucked. And I'm not getting any riper by the day.

Confessions of a Gymnophiliac

I was traveling the other night by interstate. Alone. At night. And I stopped at a rest stop. The place was empty. Like, completely empty. And the restroom had a gigantic mirror just inside the entrance. I was the only one in there. (Are you sensing where this is going?) I felt compelled to take off all my clothes, and snap some pictures. Don't get me wrong, it's not as though I had to do it. But I wanted to. I found the idea positively thrilling. Not strictly in a sexual sense - as you can observe for yourself. I just think there is a primal beauty and a forbidden sensuality to being unclothed, that can be enhanced, whether by proximity to the natural world, or, alternatively, by juxtaposition with the trappings of modern society. And I like to capture the electricity of that tension in my photography. Is there an erotic component to this beauty? Yes, there can be. I don't deny it. But that doesn't change the fact that this wasn't about sex.

If there had been any indication of a single other person present in the building - inside or outside that restroom - I wouldn't have done it. I chose that time and place because I knew I could do it without anybody ever finding out. At least, outside of the audience those pictures would have, who I could reasonably assume would appreciate (and not condemn) the boldness I exhibited. It was a closed location, with only one entrance. I could hear if somebody was coming, with what I judged would be enough time to dip into a private stall (where I had hung my clothes), so that nobody would suspect a thing. And, being a restroom, I knew (at least, I hoped) there were no security cameras in there.

Hypothetically, I would have been thrilled to have left the restroom while still naked, and wandered the rest stop. Taken some pictures standing beside the vending machines. Browsing the stacks of brochures. Sitting on a bench. Exiting to the outside through the automatic doors. But the danger of being spotted increases exponentially as soon as you cross the threshold of that restroom. There would have been no time to set up a camera. A high likelihood of being seen by staff or other visitors, long before I had a chance to hide. And near certainty that I would be caught on a security camera, with recorded proof of my mischief. (Not a heinous crime, mind you - just... mischief).

I know this isn't normal. Most people don't have these inclinations. Such thoughts don't run through their heads. And even if something were to cause them to contemplate such a bizarre scenario (as wandering naked through an interstate rest stop - or a grocery store, or a laundromat, or a hotel lobby, or any public place), it would be met with confusion, if not outright horror. Is there something wrong with me? Not just that I have these feelings, but that I am somehow able to justify them in my mind as being less than the antisocial compulsions of a lunatic? Is it not relevant that their purpose seems to be something other than simple sexual gratification? That I'm conscious of the need and the value of making an effort to avoid being a public nuisance (whether or not that's just a self-defense mechanism)?

The problem is, there's no context in our society for these kinds of behaviors. It makes me feel alone. But more than that, it leaves me in confusion, to wonder what's wrong with me. (Because there has to be something wrong, right? I couldn't simply be expressing a wonderful if rare example of human diversity, could I?). It seems related to nudism - the interest in living life, and engaging in normal activities, without clothes. Yet I have enough experience with how nudist communities respond to expressions of these kinds of fantasies - with criticism, revulsion, and ostracism - to know no kinship will be found there.* People like myself are readily labeled exhibitionists, and while that may not be completely untrue, neither is that a community with which I find fraternity. The lack of sexual motive. The effort to which I want to avoid being exposed. Not to mention the unfair (and unfairly cruel) stereotypes which are used to classify exhibitionists as subhuman, not worthy of understanding, much less sympathy.

*(I mean, if anyone should be sympathetic to a person who holds a fascination for nudity, it should be the nudist community. But they're so preoccupied with courting normalcy and presenting a good face to the world, that they spurn you and make you feel even more isolated and unwanted. I understand the importance of socio-political strategizing, but it goes beyond that. You'd think a minority would be more understanding of what other minorities go through, but instead, they swallow the mainstream kool-aid and belch it back even louder in your face because they're so insecure about fitting in themselves.)

Where, then, does that leave me? I'm okay with being labeled eccentric. An outlier. But human society demands categorization. I want to be understood. Not treated as something I'm not, just because most people can't distinguish the difference. Above all, I want to be convinced that I'm not a monster. It's not enough that I don't believe I am. I could be delusional. I have to explain my case in the hope that others can see me, and come to the same conclusion. To know that I'm not insane. But how can you rest your sense of self-worth on the judgment of others who can't possibly know your experiences and motives as well as you do, and may not even have the interest or the capacity to care? It's a cruel fate. But therein I lay trapped.

How do you extend a hand in compromise, toward a society that would simply prefer you didn't exist? To reach out for help, from someone who wants to stamp you out? And what's the alternative? Crawling around in the shadows, wallowing in loathing and self-pity? What kind of a way is that to live? Or should I prove their worst nightmares true, for lack of a better outlet? Become the monster they've fated me to be. And why do I keep torturing myself by expecting reason, let alone compassion, from the human race? There's no order. There's no justice. There's no meaning. I want certainty. I want protection. I want peace of mind. And it's not forthcoming. I just can't seem to come to grips with the fundamental chaos of living. And I can't even say these things to the people that need to hear them, for fear of what it would do to my reputation...

I have to acknowledge the possibility that I could be somebody's worst nightmare - imagine, walking into a public restroom and what you find is a naked person holding a camera (although this should be dreadfully obvious from context, I feel compelled to say it because people are idiots - the camera's not there to take pictures of you, it's there to take pictures of me). Especially - and I am loath to say this, but - if they have the "wrong" anatomy (because a penis is really just a type of horn, that proves men's fundamentally demonic nature). I mean, if that's your worst nightmare, I envy your charmed life, but that's beside the point. What's also beside the point is the fact that if I encountered such a person - a person just like me, who is as conscientious of others, as well as committed to the artistry of beauty (and not simply looking to get a kick out of breaking a sexual taboo, all other concerns aside), it would be a dream come true! I can only imagine what could come from a collaboration between two such bodies and minds in sync. Maybe that's reason enough, from the perspective of the masses, to never let such a thing happen.

But why should some of my greatest fantasies of happiness be things I'm not even allowed to want? Is two beautiful people running around naked in public really so horrible a thing? I don't know why this concept intrigues me so. I wonder how much different my life would be if I had normal, un-controversial passions. I'm sorry I wasn't born conventional, like you. I wish I had been. My life would be a lot easier. But I wasn't. Does that mean I don't deserve to live? And if I do, does it mean I don't deserve to be happy? If the world is constructed in such a way that naked beauty cannot appear without being an obstruction to the normal functioning of society, then I want to live in a different world. A world where that kind of thing can happen. And does happen. And I can be a part of it. What's the point of a life lived in misery because you can't have the things you want most? Tell me, how is this thing that I want a threat to the well-being of others? Nothing about my desires depends on the suffering of others. The existence of nudism proves that it is not a foregone conclusion. Our culture is just pre-disposed to interpret what I find beautiful as threatening. Yet it won't recognize that in indulging its neuroses, it is torturing me. Why is their peace of mind more valuable than mine, and my agony less of a concern?

The only resolution to this conflict of interests is either to strip the part of me that enjoys nudity from the core of my being, or to change society to view the human body in a more positive light. (Would that be so odious an adjustment to make?). But as monolithic an endeavor as the latter would assuredly be, it still seems more possible to me than accomplishing the former. Alas, there shall be no resolution. And if I must suffer continuously through all the days of my life, what's it to anyone if, every once in a while, somebody has to suffer in some very small part because I took too daring a risk one too many times? The shit I see humans doing - and getting away with, without remorse, or even reflection - and I have to sit here with this wretched conscience telling me I'm scum because I can't be happy without doing something that might upset someone somewhere sometime. It really is true that evil prevails because good must follow the rules. I wish I could take a pill to stop caring. To shut off my conscience. Why can't I just be content to be human, with all its incumbent flaws, without having to beat myself up because I'm not a perfect angel?

Beauty is Truth

It's an almost universal feeling among at least half of the population. It's our natural, biological programming. AND it's necessary to the continued survival of the species. It's literally our prime directive, and yet, somehow, we've drilled this idea into the core of our concept of civilization, that it's a sin for a man to look at a woman with lust in his heart.

Now, don't get me wrong, I fully support treating women with respect. There is a misogynistic culture in which men seem to revel in abusing - verbally, and worse - any woman that arouses his libidinal desires, accompanied by an undeserved sense of entitlement to their bodies. I think that if your compass causes you to feel pleasure in the fact of another's existence, then that alone, without promise of anything more, justifies the responsibility to treat her well. And, after all, isn't that a better strategy for befriending her, in the hope of being able to spend more time in her presence?

But treating women with respect also includes not shaming them for courting attention of a particular variety. Especially (but not exclusively) when they're not doing it consciously! Because this is how our species propagates, and it's interwoven into the very fabric of our society. The way women dress. The fundamental nature of dance. Things that they learn even from a young age, before they understand the underlying purpose of it. It's not some evil plan. It's just a fact of life.

And then we make men feel bad for feeling good when their biological instincts respond as they've been programmed to. Even when they exercise restraint, and practice good manners. An implication is posed, that there is some sinister intent at the heart of it all - at the heart of physical attraction, which drives flirtation and courtship behaviors. Civilization has taught us that these things exist to bond pairs together. But evolution knows the real truth: that all those precious babies are being made because men are designed to salivate over women's bodies. We should be grateful for it - not resentful of it. Because, without it, we wouldn't even be.

But we live in a culture where protecting the planet that cradles us, and shelters us from the lifeless void of space, is an unpopular stance. So I guess that's way too logical an expectation for our species. Life is already hard. Why do we make ourselves suffer more than is necessary? For the inscrutable glory of some imaginary character? Intelligence is a myth. We're just dumb, hairless apes. How did we ever make it this far? Oh, that's right - because desire is more powerful than shame. More powerful than any civilizing influence. And if the day ever comes when that is no longer true, then that will be the day that we go extinct. The forces of chastity would do well to take that lesson to heart.