Sex and the Studio

Yes, I have had sex in my studios. But so has every other artist who also lived in their commercial/industrial warehouse spaces. Due to inadequate dry wall partitions, privacy was an issue– and that’s an understatement. However, this article isn’t so much about trysts and assignations that have resulted from, or occurred around the work– sorry! Where these affairs (no pun intended) are concerned, I have the dull reputation of minding my own business. Ironically, the outstanding memory of any such intimacies happened when I lived briefly in a rather scary warehouse on Berkeley Street. The building was dilapidated; some  floors– like mine, darkened because the ceilings were too high for anyone to replace burnt-out light bulbs in the hallway. I was also one of the very few women who lived there alone, in the first studio near the elevator and landing stairs. It was a strange, melancholy feeling when other tenants left for the day and I stayed; a creeping silence taking over as units shut down and emptied. On several weekends, youth gangs arrived for mischief and places to trash. How they knew about our warehouse remains a mystery. I had one disturbing incident when someone kicked at my door while I was inside. I yelled, “Cut it out! ” and heard laughter, then a male voice sneering to his friend: “Ahhhh, let’s go; someone’s freakin’ out.” Afterwards, I found the footprint of a sneaker dirt-stomped on my door. A few days later, the artist next to me, who did not live in his studio, allowed a couple to stay in his space while he went out of town. Quite a number of artists used their lofts to accommodate guests or friends this way. Lovemaking was audible one night. Without thinking, I turned in bed and huddled against the wall. It wasn’t out of prurience; I was still spooked by my gang encounter. The sounds of sex were more about comfort than titillation. I felt less frightened and vulnerable hearing signs of human life close by.
No– what I really want to explore is how much creative and sexual energy are facets of each other, manifestations of the same power, the same force. A colleague once told me the story of her first life drawing sessions in art school. She came from Mindemoya, a small Ontario town, and had never drawn from the nude. To her shock and horror, a male model appeared during the first week of classes. He was also a dancer, able to strike expressive, dynamic poses and gestures. She was so uncomfortable with his nakedness that she began with the head and drew very, very slowly. By the time he moved onto the next pose– too late; she only got as far as the arms and didn’t have to address anything further south. Art overcame modesty though; eventually, she did manage to complete an entire, fully intact rendering of a male nude. No matter how many opportunities artists have to develop their talent and potential, a significant learning experience involves growing beyond a certain comfort level. To that extent, it’s often a sobering moment when a practitioner realizes that their work is limited because it has been primarily created from the neck up. Smart, intellectual, cleverly conceived art, when done well, contains merits that invite, coax a viewer to think and review their perceptions. Yet the process behind such efforts frequently engages all of an artist’s faculties: mind, body and soul. The finished results may favour the intellect or imagination, evoke a visceral, organic, spiritual or otherworldly response. But whether it achieves harmony or discord, the power and energy used to create art, to undertake a spiritual practice, and to engage in erotic, sexual activity comes from the same source. You could say it’s the same energy translated into different languages. Some artists even notice an increase in sexual energy when they are engrossed in their work. And why  not? If paint weren’t so toxic, I’d lick it like pudding or cream. That luscious, shining ooze squeezed out of a tube, those whipped meringue peaks– our materials alone are seductive. Who wouldn’t shiver from the cool, silky trail of a sable brush drawn across the skin, sigh over the fragrance of sap released from carved wood? Sensuous delight often spills into the work itself. This allows many artists who would not otherwise consider themselves at all erotic in their approach to be so in ways they themselves could not have imagined and sometimes continue to be innocent of, especially when shapes and images appear in their work that suggest intimate parts of the body and bodily functions. It can’t be helped; when we are immersed in the creative process, it has the power to tantalize, madden, yet satisfy as deeply as any good lover. During difficult times, it provides room for solace and a place where we can be honest and genuine. In this respect, it moves past the initial thrill of erotic pleasure and passion, towards the realm of love. In fact, sexual energy stimulated by efforts in the studio offers the occasion to evolve naturally into love– love of the work, the process, what it gives back and ultimately how it inspires many of us to give the best of ourselves.