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little_tippler · 05-28-2008, 04:54 AM

I went and read up about this a little, and saw the photos. I think it is art, but it would be naive to not understand where peoples' fears are stemming from.

That being said, I read this article which I thought clarified things well for me, at least with regards to the background on the works and the artist, which I think is relevant:

Quote:

WE live in a society that revels in spectacles, and no spectacle is more animating than a drama hinging on the issue of the protection of children. Reading about the Bill Henson case from overseas, it has been impossible not to notice an element of kitsch as people - politicians, in particular - congratulate themselves on the vehemence of their response. After all, they seem to tell themselves, no one could be accused of being too vehement when it comes to the protection of children.

Of course, vehemence is detectable in the art world, too, where many have reached for a patronising and high-handed tone. Behind all that they say is the assumption that merely categorising something as art is enough to exempt it from the need to defend itself, which is nothing if not naive.

I know Henson - I see him in Melbourne regularly - and have admired his photographs since I was a teenager (it's an observable phenomenon that teenagers are among his work's biggest fans). I do not know the girl who modelled for his recent photographs, but I feel deeply for her at the moment: it can't be fun to have the Prime Minister describe images of you as "absolutely revolting".

The unctuous Kevin Rudd might have taken a moment to think of the effect of his comments on her before he spoke, but that would be asking too much. Of course, many believe the harm was done earlier, and that the photographs should never have been taken. I respect their opinion. There is, of course, a long history of images of naked children and teenagers in art, but there are many reasons why the taboo around such images has become so strong in recent decades. The main one is simple: sexual abuse of children has become rampant.

The evidence is undeniable and the damage inflicted by those in positions of trust and responsibility is very real. We know that abusers of children often peddle in photographic imagery, and the thought, naturally, disgusts us. We want to stop the circulation of such imagery and to stop the abuse.

The situation is perfectly comprehensible and it needs to be acknowledged by Henson's defenders. The issue is not as simple as an old-fashioned clash between philistines and cultured libertarians. There is more at stake: more feeling, more legitimate grievance and more fear.

But we are being extremely short-sighted if we respond to our fears by insisting that any image of a naked 12 or 13-year-old - no matter what the context - must, ipso facto, be sordid and depraved, or have been made in sordid and depraved circumstances.

I saw the images that were removed by the police from Henson's gallery in his studio several months ago. I found them powerful. I was surprised by them - they seemed like something of a departure for Henson - but I was moved. Everyone reacts differently to different imagery. But despite the girl's nakedness, I did not find them sexualised in the least. Undoubtedly I was influenced by my familiarity with Henson's previous work, but I found them respectful, poignant, moving.

The girl was not "made available"; quite the opposite. I felt instead a combination of intimacy (how could such an image not be intimate?) and something else to do with an awareness of what cannot be known, touched, recovered. Henson has used the word inviolate. To me it seems apt.

Certainly, when I saw these images (along with similarly sized still lifes and landscapes shrouded in shadow, each intended to be shown with the others, to amplify and deepen them), it did not occur to me that they would be grabbed by police from the walls of Australia's most prestigious commercial gallery as if they were smut.

Perhaps the real lesson of the past few days is that the language that usually surrounds art - the language of emotions, psychology, historical inheritance, beauty - is ill-equipped to answer accusations levelled at art in the moral and political sphere.

There is just nothing one can say in defence that does not, in a climate coarsened by fear (many of these fears legitimate, as I have said), sound like sophistry or, worse, naivety.

And yet Henson's art is worth defending, because he is a great artist and his themes - solitude; intimacy; transitional, incommunicable states; desecration; what the critic Dennis Cooper called "moments of intense self-mourning", and so on - are addressed with profound sensitivity and understanding. They have found expression over the years not only in images of the faces and bodies of teenagers and young adults, but in a whole array of other imagery, including landscapes, still lifes and urban crowds. Of course, there is a kind of artist (one sees more and more of them these days) who finds a taboo and breaks it, hoping thereby to create a sensation. Henson is not that kind of artist. He is well aware that his work has the potential to stir up controversy. (He has sensible and sensitive things to say about this, but he is acutely aware that one cannot ultimately control the reception of one's images.) But his vision is authentic and original. And it is highly sensitive to emotional ambiguity, as great art should be (and politics never is).

We live in a society that has less and less time for ambiguity. It is a society of maximum visibility. And yet the values of brightness and transparency that are so emphasised in the media are often little more than a veneer for various kinds of bullying. Just look at the way advertising - always so nerve-rackingly upbeat - incessantly cajoles and manipulates children into an awareness of sexuality that is always attached to emotional blackmail and commercial gain.

As an art critic, every month I see imagery that is revolting, cynical and exploitative in a way that puts Henson's work into perspective. I have been subjected to video footage from a probe inserted into the artist's anus (Mona Hatoum), I have seen mannequins of children with penises and vaginas attached to their face (the brothers Jake and Dinos Chapman) and, yes, I have seen images of naked pubescent and prepubescent children by the likes of Jock Sturges and Larry Clark that I find, for the most part, unredeemed by artistic merit.

Henson, who was first given a show at the National Gallery of Victoria when he was 19 and was later chosen to represent Australia at the Venice Biennale, has earned the right, I believe, to have his images seen in a context of dignity and contemplation. Or, I should say, the images themselves have earned that right.

Besides, how strange it would be if there were no context at all in which to contemplate imagery of what is perhaps the most poignant and moving phase of human life without it being seen as sordid or depraved.

"You can't control the way in which individuals respond to the work," Henson has said. And he is right, of course. But, as it turns out, it's not so much individuals he has to worry about; it is groups, and individuals claiming to represent groups: people, in other words, who have given themselves the task of speaking on behalf of others.

We need such people, I suppose, but they are always the ones to watch. Such people have no time for private experience, unless it is the kind of private experience they deem dirty.

Sebastian Smee is the former national art critic for The Australian. He now writes for The Boston Globe.

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