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On Pornography

An Imperfect Past II

I have never quite understood visual pornography.

Images, moving or otherwise, of the coupling and diverse sexual activity of complete strangers has no power to excite me. Explicit photographic captures of unknown naked women do not arouse me.

Perhaps it is because I have no interest in the bodies of people who I do not know.  Without context, without character, without motivation, without history, without true desire, without an understanding of the intelligence and sensitivity and emotions of another, what value is there in an artlessly over-exposed exterior? What pleasure is there in another’s random fuck?

It could be argued that at times I have created my own very private pornography, capturing the image of submissive lovers on film and video.  Or having them create such images for me.  But the erotic power is in the whole, in the person, in the circumstances, in the relationship, in the passion, in the intimacy, and in the romance.  It is because of who they are and what they mean to me that inspires and thrills me. It is what we both felt before, during and after. Their body, their soul, and the moment are one.

It is a far cry from that which, for me, stimulates no more than a yawn and a mild sense of perplexity.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

 
39 Comments

Posted by on January 20, 2013 in Still Life

 

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Curves

curves_by_SydkneeBean

In life, as in art, the beautiful moves in curves

Edward Bulwer-Lytton

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Photo stolen from SydkneeBean

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2013 in Quotes

 

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Sunbeams

The sun was still captured in her golden curls.

She was facing him in the grand-georgian-dining-room-made-recently-modern.  Her eyes were bluer than the washed skies and yet as grey as Welsh slate.  Her smile was as warm and easy as the soft early evening.

They raised glasses to whatever point in their long history the day represented.

She, the least materialistic woman he has ever known, fell in love with a limited edition photograph hanging on a nearby wall.  It was a stark black-and-white capture of a place of almost-pilgrimage they both knew well.

He sought out the restaurant manager and negotiated a price.

She shook her head with delight as they carried it to the car.

Sunbeams danced from out of her hair and lit up the coming night.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I found this lovely art on the web. I cannot locate the painter. If it is yours, I apologise for the theft and will happily credit you or take it down

 
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Posted by on July 28, 2012 in Still Life, Wears my ring

 

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Every man

He forgets how lovely she is.

Their lives only touch at the edges.  He has not seen her for days.  She only visited him in his imagination.  He could not fully recreate her perfection in his fantasies.

So when they meet inevitably yet unexpectedly, he is knocked sideways by the collision.   He is stunned by the lithe and elegant sensuality of her body.  His breath is stolen by her brown-eyed beauty.

He is blown away by her smile.

He cannot understand why every man does not ache for her.

As he does.

(The photograph is a great favourite of mine – ‘American Girl in Italy’, taken by Ruth Orkin in 1951.  I love the way she has captured the impact of the girl’s innocent beauty on her testosterone-rich admirers).

 
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Posted by on July 2, 2012 in Art

 

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