Visual Culture Blog

Paint bomb attack on Larry Clark photograph at C/O Berlin

The photography gallery C/O Berlin has recently experienced a paint bomb attack on a publicity image which depicts a woman’s genital area and which is poignantly displayed in full view of the public above the entrance of the gallery. In the photograph by the American photographer Larry Clark, just above the subject’s pubic hair is a small tattoo which reads ‘Larry’. The tattoo fulfils an important function in the photograph as it reads as a type of artist signature. Yet rather than signifying the authenticity of the photograph, here, ‘Larry’ didn’t make his mark on a work of art, but rather, he made his mark on a body, a female body.

Paint bomb attack on Larry Clark photograph at C/O Berlin

The tattoo literally re-inscribes the old orthodoxy of female subject ‘captured’ by the male photographer. ℅ Berlin quite consciously selected this image for their main publicity as it immediately introduces the viewer to Clark’s contentious and highly voyeuristic body of work. Placing the work above the entrance of the gallery is an obvious provocation to the public, as if to suggest that entering the gallery is metaphorically entering the body of Clark’s subject. The image seeks to forebode the experience of viewing Clark’s work: a highly intimate and personal encounter with those he photographs. Similar to the visual aesthetics of pornography however, here the body is entirely fragmented, cropped, even displaced from any social or political context with the exception of the word ‘Larry’.

Anti-obscenity law caricature, Ferdinand von Reznicek, 1899 (“Ach Quatsch! Religion und Sittlichkeit sind nur fürs Volk. Ich muss das wissen, mein Schatz ist vortragender Rat im Kultusministerium.”)

The paint bomb attack raises a number of interesting questions. In the first instance, what and/or who was attacked? The photograph? The anonymous subject? The photographer as the person responsible for the representation? Or the gallery, as the institution responsible for displaying the work to the public? And who was the potential attacker? A group or an individual opposed to the representation of the naked body in public places? In the context of Berlin’s complex history, this attack is particularly relevant. In 1900, following a crackdown on urban vice emanating most notably from Berlin’s illustrious nightlife, the parliament of Imperial Germany under Kaiser Wilhelm II put in place an ‘Obscenity Law’, also referred to as Lex Heinze, which stated the following: “Imprisonment of up to one year and a fine of up to one-thousand Mark, or one of those punishments, will be enforced on those who … are in the possession of, sell or distribute obscene [unzüchtige] writings, images or representations in places that are accessible to the public, including their exhibition …” This law, written in the archaic language of a crumbling empire, illustrates that Berlin, before Paris, London or New York, has historically been at the forefront of navigating the question of what constitutes obscenity. Art, may it be photography, painting, theatre, cabaret, consistently pushed against these definitions to the extent that Berlin remained a hot bed for subculture and radical art until the 1930s. In other words, Berlin has a history of seeking a definition of obscenity in view of the public.

Paint bomb attack on Larry Clark photograph at C/O Berlin

With regard to Larry Clark’s photograph, rather than looking at the paint destroying the image, it might be useful to consider what the paint actually contributes to it. In this context, the red colour of the paint bomb signifies a woman’s menstrual cycle, or, metaphorically speaking, the blood signifies the lived condition of the female body. Visitors to the gallery will be vividly confronted with this metaphorical blood as it drips from the image on to the steps of the gallery. This new version of Larry Clark’s photograph bears similarities with the work of feminist artist such Carolee Schneemann or, more recently, Yurie Nagashima.

Yurie Nagashima, This Time, undated

The intention of the attackers – if they even be called that – might never be known. They might have been a group of radical interventionist, seeking to highlight the pornofication of the female body. A cynic might even say that the gallery is ultimately profiting from the extra publicity produced by the German media (and of course this blog) which results in more awareness of the Larry Clark exhibition. The answers to who threw the paint bomb for what reasons will likely remain unanswered. Yet what can be deduced from the attack is that the image clearly had an affect on an individual or a group, to the extend that they went through the trouble of throwing the paint bomb. In other words, the image caused a reaction which outweighed the financial, physical, psychological and legal ramifications of being caught. The paint bomb not only functions as an homage to the vulnerability of the body, but it also functions as a reminder that a definition of obscenity – particularly in Berlin – is a constantly shifting, unpredictable and sometimes contradictory discourse.

For more on the relationship between art, the female body and obscenity, please read Linda Nead’s classic book The Female Nude: Art, Obscenity and Sexuality. Other recommendations can be found in our online bookshop.

The front cover of the newest issue of Time Magazine shows a mother breastfeeding a boy who appears old enough to make himself a sandwich. The caption on the bottom right hand corner of the photograph seeks to clarify the boy’s age as it reads “Jamie Lynne Grumet, 26, and her 3-year-old son”. The assumption that the boy is too old to be breastfed is the taboo that the magazine is addressing head on with this photograph by Martin Schoeller. The Washington Post writes, rather cunningly, ‘Time cover milks shocking image’.

The Time cover is of course not the first product of visual culture that seeks to provoke the viewer in such fashion: the Australian hit TV show ‘The Slap’ similarly portrayed a young mother feeding her 4-year-old boy. The boy’s constant nagging for his mother’s breast milk creates an intriguing subplot in which the husband feels increasingly ostracised and alienated from his wife. The alcoholic father seeks to overcome his jealousy with a different type of oral fixation by continuously drinking beer throughout the entire eight part series. Crucially, in a brilliant portrayal of the deeply psychoanalytical (and Freudian) conditions unfolding in the show, the father is drinking beer straight from the bottle, not too unlike a child drinking milk from a bottle.

Rosie, played by Melissa George, breastfeeding her child in ‘The Slap’, 2011

In contrast to the quasi-documentary style of ‘The Slap’ however, the Time cover is more ‘shocking’. But how? Firstly, the photograph seeks to confuse the viewer with regards to the boy’s age with one crucial detail: the boy is standing on a chair. The boy thus appears taller, and by extension, he appears older than he actually is. To illustrate that point I would suggest that the knowledge of the boy’s age is far less provocative than the photograph. In addition to that, rather than having his eyes closed or looking at his mother, the boy, rather creepily, looks towards the camera. This gaze back to the viewer implies an awareness of the camera, an awareness of a person looking at himself, and ultimately, an awareness of a person looking at himself sucking his mother’s breast. The boy’s gaze implies so many layers of looking that it could easily be confused with the gaze of an adult. This is the visual trickery in this image, that even though the boy is only 3-years-old, his height and his knowing gaze make him appear much older. His army style trousers and grey top, clothing perhaps associated with a teenager, further confuse a perception of his age.

I would suggest that the ‘shock’ lies less in the boy sucking his mother’s breast than it lies in the mother. The clue for this can be found in the headline of a blog on the Slate website: ‘Why Is This Attractive Woman Breast-Feeding This Giant Child?’ The headline implies that if the the woman was ‘unattractive’ then perhaps we wouldn’t be wondering why she is breastfeeding her child. The way the photograph was taken ultimately feeds into the perception that this woman is not simply a woman, but she is an attractive woman: her clothes accentuate her slim body, she hold her right hand on her hips much like a model in a fashion shoot, and, like her son, she looks knowingly straight into the camera.

Visual references of mother and child, at the cover shoot.

Three behind the scenes photographs from the shoot supplied by Time’s Lightbox blog indicate that the magazine and the photographer studied classical representations of breast feeding. In spite of the visual references taped on the wall of the photo studio, the photograph that was eventually chosen for the cover has few similarities with any previous form of representation: the mother does not look lovingly at her child, she does not hold her child, nor does the child hold her mother. Standing tall, the mother does not adopt a bodily position associated with nursing a child. Ignoring all these signifiers of motherhood, in the photograph, the mother does not look like a mother. This is perhaps the real ‘shock’ in the photograph: it lacks a history of representation, a history of visual references or precedents. The photograph is, in the true sense of the word, iconoclastic: it metaphorically breaks the classical and idealistic image of mother and child.

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