Posted in Opinion by Adele Todd on September 4, 2007

I can recall two occasions when I was moved by the suggestion of sex in art.

Irene Shaw’s unforgiving self portraits where she chronicled every fold, roll and wrinkle we startling in their honesty. Some might even say too honest and wish that she had hidden her child bearing body and picked a different subject. As a woman, I applauded what I saw as her self confident view. The very ripeness of her figure embodying Caribbean woman with lush hips, breasts, thighs, softness so unlike the stick figures venerated in fashion magazines. The curve of a cheek, full lips, eyes, it made you stop and look. Irene Shaw’s pieces made you more forgiving, even appreciative of the sensuality of your own form. It was not some woman spreading out for a man to paint, it was woman glorifying in herself as goddess.

The other of course is Peter, not as you might expect as the Sacred and the Profane though that in itself is ground-breaking. It was Peter as Callaloo Dancing Tic Tac Toe Down the River, gold body suit covering him head to toe, shimmering as he danced. And boy did he have a dance. I think every woman might have wanted to firetruck him as he glorified in his maleness. -Natasha


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