Art Lies, Volume 65, Spring 2010 Page: 79

                                
L. Samantha Magowan, The Top 10 Artists I Would Most Like to Fuck, 2008;
C-print; 181/ x 14 inches
R. The Top 10 Artists I Would Least Like to Fuck, 2008; C-print; 181 x 14 inches

LOS ANGELES
Lube
JAUS Gallery

Lube is a provocative exhibition by three women, Samantha Magowan, Kiki
Seror and Tameka Norris, brought together by curator Martin Durazo for
the purpose of exploring the perennial question of the objectified/sexual-
ized female body in art. The artists address this concern with disparate
media but speak with one voice, declaring that no one is going to tell them
what the female body should or shouldn't do.
Magowan's You're Only Young Once, a totemic mass of gray, white and
platinum blonde wigs embedded with childhood objects like dolls heads
and My Little Ponies, projects a feeling of something haunting from the
past. While cobbled together, found-object work can come off as non-
chalant or even half-assed, Magowan pulls it off by remaining earnest,
evoking thoughts of decadent beauty, loss, decay-a sort of Fall of the
House of Usher aesthetic. In another series, she presents The Top 10 Artists I
Would Most Like to Fuck and The Top 10 Artists I Would Least Like to Fuck, two
photos of a half naked lady, her back inscribed with the names of notable
artists. I question if these works go further than conjuring a chuckle based
in art-insider smugness. However, seeing Mike Kelley's name crossed out
in favor of Paul McCarthy in the Least Like photo is hilarious, and perhaps
worthy of contemplation.
Seror's video work uses the process of erasure to reinterpret the
visual pleasures of pornography. In Phantom Fuck a grid of fifteen penises
rhythmically pound away into nothingness, their intended receptive
orifices erased by the artist. Complete with a heroic soundtrack, the
work is mesmerizing and comical, rendering each cock a pathetic yet
determined actor in a marathon of copulation. In Seror's Paradise Lost a
woman appears orgasmically interacting with a pulsating, chromatically

smeared spectrum of light. Like Andre Kertdsz' surrealist photos of nude
women with absurdly elongated or truncated limbs, the piece explores
uncanny notions of a body without limits, in Seror's case, a body reduced
to pure light, pure spectacle. This is by far the most intriguing work in the
show, allowing the viewer to ruminate on the intersections of visual and
sexual pleasure.
Norris' installation, consisting of a wallpaper of enlarged American
currency cascading to the floor, acts as a backdrop, inviting viewers to
pose in front of it. The scene is framed on both sides by monitors playing
a music video where Norris, rapping to her own lyrics, enacts recognizable
vignettes from hip-hop videos while bumping and grinding-like a dancer
in a Lil Wayne video-on multi-million-dollar artworks in UCLA's sculpture
garden. The lyrics put an art-world twist on rap braggadocio: "I'm that
black Cindy Sherman and that little Kara Walker. Basquiat resurrected
from the dead motherfucka." Given the influence of art schools like
UCLA's in churning out art stars, like the music industry produces one-hit
wonders, Norris' critique, while somewhat one-dimensional, is cutting and
appropriate.
Perhaps there really is no "shocking" depiction of human sexuality
anymore-at least not in the exceptionally liberal art world. Jesse Helms'
ghost does, however, still haunt popular notions of feminist art. If Lube
makes one point clear, it's that the new millennium finds the female body
in fine art unrestrained by any and all puritanical iconoclasm. How this will
contribute to a new feminist discourse has yet to be determined.
Tucker Neel is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles.

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