Ah... two things that seem to be bound in my mind... they live in a world thats both sexy, fascinating and revolting. Its like a scab, you want to leave it alone, but its working some irresistible pull on your subconscious...
I’m talking about the photographic work of Chas Ray Krider and the book “The story of the eye” by Georges Bataille. Treading the line where erotica meets art, beauty takes second place.
The Story of the Eye:
I read an excerpt from this book many years ago in “Another Magazine” in 2005. For a start it was a strange thing to put in a magazine, its quite an explicit pornographic work, its morals are muddy to say the least. I’d love to tell you that the erotic scenes are not alluring in the slightest way, yet that would be a lie... They are not politically correct, filled with debasement, torture, filth, and madness... The part where they wrench the mind is that place where the body and the mind of the reader act apart, separated, do you dare to admit the turn on? I will concede that that happens less and less as the story goes on, but its a trap, an appeal to your animal instincts, an unwrapping or your modern mind to the basest of human emotion? Yes, it does that...
"Now in the corner of the hallway there was a saucer of milk for the cat. "Milk is for pussy, isnt it?" Said Simone. "Do you dare me to sit in the saucer?"
"I dare you" I answered, almost brethless."
...and thats the cleanest quote I could find!
It also goes on and on about Eyes and Eggs and Testicals. It uses my name in vain.
But let’s be honest, there is something weird about eggs. Do you remember that scene in Angel Heart, where Robert De Niro’s character eats the eggs? Not to mention that people lose their eyes and get suffocated by their own genitalia in that movie...
Chas Ray Krider:
Ok, next to all that Mr Krider is a pussy cat! I adore his work, adore it, with reverence. A very important part of his work is that point where I think “I dont really like that” its some part of the scene that’s just vaguely disturbing... I did read a blog comment somewhere that went something along the lines of “what is it about sex in motels thats 30% erotic and 70% depressing?”. I like that comment, I empathise.
I recently found his second book “Do not Disturb” in a second hand bookshop in Sydney. I’m glad he still has the same effect on me, I felt slightly dirty about purchasing it, its like buying condoms, just ever so slightly ergh!
Of course I love the vintage lingerie he uses, and the retro styled surrounds, but so many people do those things. What’s so special here?
Its the waiting, the stillness, the blank faces, is that boredom in her eyes?
Flesh available, mind abstracted.
Has money been transacted?
Links to little pieces of my own history that I’m not going to tell you about. Girl has her secrets.
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