Kanye West claims that he’s got the power to make lives so exciting. This past week when he joined twitter, hundreds of thousands were treated to the luxuries of his life as he twitpiced after twitpiced the expanses of his luxurious existence. Like vermin succumbing to the bait, fans flocked to his page, and comment after comment they aided in the boosting of his already expanded ego. The average were treated to figments of his expense that they didn’t even know were possible; the most antique crowns, gold plated chairs that Greek and Roman gods and goddesses were made envious of, goblets so heavily encrusted with jewels that a workout was required for just one sip.
Between all the gold and glimmer, a gem shone through: Vanessa Beecroft. Most followers of Kanye West saw the naked chocolate and vanilla girls shaped into the Luis Vuitton emblem and immediately hailed it a work of art. I however, find that praise to be superficial, for if they saw the expanse of Vanessa Beecroft’s work, they would hail it a work of the gods with a sprinkle of insanity.
“VB 66” has tits everywhere. Mounds, curves, the plumpest of asses and the most beautiful of flesh. White full figured women standing with their groomed vaginas for the world to see. Sounds like the opening scenes of your favorite porno, but instead this is the very essence of Vanessa. A factory of naked humans. Photographs of her work look like infantries of a Natzi army, flesh everywhere, and upon being called racist she has obliged in adding in splashes of ethnic color. It can’t be sexist because she herself is a female. However, the fact that her performances simply have nude models standing in place for no rhyme or reason, excites and angers bra burners from all corners of the globe. She is a living controversy. She attempted to buy children for the purpose of art. The documentary which followed her during one of her art projects, “The Art Star and Sudanese Twins” prompted an uproar when her obsession with the idea of adopting Sudanese twins to showcase them in her work was shown at the SunDance film festival. In a darkened alley, cameras roll as she shoo’s orphanage sisters away, and attempts to strip the motherless, bastard orphans naked to photograph them.
But amongst all the nudity, there are symbols. The stripping away of labels, and mere-less ‘artifacts’ that we accessorize ourselves with; Vanessa’s art is about getting to the essence of female and human identity. Take for example her 2005 exhibit, where she has African immigrants dressed in high end suits devouring meat with no knives or forks. A black last supper, or perhaps a symbolic representation of the prejudices that were once held towards Africans, where they were thought to be primitive and ill developed.
Is it sexist, is it stupid, hell is it a living massacre? Vanessa Beecroft makes me feel some type of way. It isn’t as strong as the time that I denounced Terry Richardson as a million dollar porn photographer, no it’s quite the opposite, it’s a more endearing connection/affection.
-Rose M. Bellefleur
