Spirited Flesh: Shame, Desire, and Everything in Between
The Gospel of Matthew tells us that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but for Josh Rabineau the soul can be peered through windows located on the nipples, navel, and shoulder blades. Rabineau’s Untitled (Dollhouse No. 3) takes the form of a faceless human torso in which the skin has been replaced with bone-white roofing and lap siding. Slick blond braids cascade over the sides of Untitled, which rests atop a grassy green pedestal that evokes the front lawn of the average nondescript suburban home. This lack of uniquely identifiable outward features prompts the viewer to peek into the windows, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of anything that would indicate a certain personality trait or temperament, but all we see inside is miniature furniture bathed in warm and inviting golden light. The door to this dollhouse remains firmly shut, thus withholding any further information besides what has already been tentatively offered to us.
The push and pull of meeting someone, of choosing to reveal versus conceal certain aspects of ourselves, is a complex dance that many people have wearily become accustomed to in the age of dating apps and social media. The burning desire to forge a deeper relationship with somebody else clashes with the instinct to protect oneself at all costs. One could easily miss out on a lifelong connection due to a sense of emotional unavailability, compulsive self-surveillance, or even deep-seated fears of their own desires. In Flesh is the Reason, curators Shirley Lai and Noah Trapolino explore the horrors of the flesh as a metaphor for the horrors of seeking intimacy and connection.
Amputated silicone feet are scattered throughout the gallery space, some elevated on a small platform, others seemingly discarded by the corner, and one even jutting out directly from the wall. Lily Hyon’s Come Clean, Damage and Repair, and Hole II act as both portrait and fetish object: wrapped in sheer fabrics or adorned with tattoos and rosary anklets, with varying degrees of dirt and filth encrusted on the skin, each foot functions as a vignette of an individual woman. However, the amputation divorces these feet from their full identity, thus degrading these body parts into interchangeable fetish objects.
Similarly, Broken Penis and Crucifixion by Ben Cowan playfully reference the Catholic Church’s infamous censorship of classical nude statues. Although these artworks were originally made to honor the human body as a representation of honor and virtue, over time nudity became associated with sin and immorality, resulting in the Church censoring sculptural depictions of male genitalia either through the addition of fig leaves or completely removing the penis altogether. Ironically, the fact that somebody took the time and effort to perform this act of censorship draws more attention to the perceived provocation and danger that they were trying to erase. The physical absence of the organ only serves to fortify the conspicuous presence of shame associated with normal human desires and impulses.
Bodily revulsion is further explored in Ophelia Arc’s manipulation of materials such as yarn and thread, which carry connotations of softness and healing, into artworks that viscerally evoke the unpredictability of human organs. Suspended from the ceiling is Metamorph with Blockage, another mass of flesh-colored yarn stitched together to loosely take the form of a grotesquely oversized human heart barely kept afloat by a corroded metal chain. Wo(und)mb study consists of yarn hand-dyed to resemble the color of human skin, punctured by a gaping crevice pulsing with a bloodred crust, which could be interpreted as either a wound or a womb. Both interpretations similarly elicit some kind of pain, yet carry such different connotations — a wound inflicts pain on you with nothing to gain from it, whereas a womb carries the promise of a new life after braving through the agony of birth.
The shame associated with being found naked can be traced back to the story of Adam and Eve, who are considered the progenitors of mankind according to the Abrahamic doctrine. After eating the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve fall from a state of innocent obedience to God into a state of guilty disobedience, which is marked by their sudden self-consciousness regarding their naked state. It is worth noting that in the Bible, the word “naked” is a translation of the Hebrew “erom,” which carries no sexual connotation, but instead describes a state of vulnerability. When Adam confesses to God, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid,” perhaps his and Eve’s sudden instinct to hide their bodies from view came not from prudishness or guilt over disobedience, but instead from the terrifying realization that they exist as fragile and insignificant mortals who are doomed to live and die by the compulsions of their flesh.
Words by Colleen Dalusong
