Not to confuse artist with subject, but there is no question here as to whether it is Emin – even in the works where her face is scrawled out the artist is there, inviting us (quite literally) into the most intimate crevices of her life. Her bed and the life-affirming activities that happened therein are the subject of 11 monotypes created in 2022, and the revelatory titles of I Know You Loved Me – I Know Because I Loved You Too and Because I’m So Fucking Sexy. I Was Born Sexy and I Will Die Sexy read like diary entries.
I Lay Here for You is almost the sequel to A Journey to Death currently on display in Margate where Emin displayed her first selection of work created since her illness. Where the first exhibition teetered on the precipice of life, this new show in Scotland is a step into the future, one bathed in pleasure rather than pain. In nearly every monotype, two figures intertwine, almost indistinguishable from one another, smudges appear beneath their bodies to indicate repetitive movement. Apparently, the series is based on memories of someone who helped Emin during her recovery.
Each monotype starts with the same lithographic background of Emin’s bed and the individual bedroom scenes are added by the artist using Indian ink. Choosing the exact same backdrop from which to add an enraptured couple, a bedside table, a rug, a lamp, or some medical equipment documents the continuous ebb and flow of human connection. Anyone who has invited a fellow human being into their bed will recognise the crushing solitude of staring into the night while they sleep, the frenetic energy of early lovemaking, the security of curling into an embrace and the perfect stillness that descends when alone but loved.
In ancient Rome, a group of young women known as the Vestal Virgins maintained the everlasting flame that burned in the Forum’s Temple of Vesta—a potent symbol of their civilization’s legitimacy and political power. If they finished their 30-year term with virginity intact, they went on to live a relatively independent life. But if they broke their vow, they were buried alive in a chamber with a small amount of food and water. After all, the blood of these divine women could not fall.
Though ancient cultures elevated some women, they vilified others. ”Feminine Power: the divine to the demonic,” at the British Museum in London through September 25, endeavors to show both sides of female power in ancient and modern cultures around the world, examining female deities who were exalted in some way—even when they were represented as evil.
Visitors will meet Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire and volcanoes, Kali, the Hindu goddess whose very name translates to “She Who Is Death,” Guanyin, the Buddhist’s gender-shifting ideal of compassion, and Sekhmet, an Egyptian goddess of war who could both bring disease and heal.
The exhibition spans six continents and 5,000 years, according to its website, which calls it a “cross-cultural look at the profound influence of female spiritual beings within global religion and faith.”
The ancient and modern artworks and devotional objects in the exhibition “shine a light on the diversity of ways in which female authority and femininity have been celebrated, feared and understood, throughout history,” write curators Belinda Crerar and Lucy Dahlsen in a museum blog.
When women were rendered as divine, they often existed to illustrate certain concepts central to the societies that worshiped them. The Mesopotamian goddess Ishtar, for example, both represented “war and sexual love,” according to Encyclopedia Britannica—perhaps two sides of the same coin. In a clay relief from the 19th to 18th centuries B.C.E. in south Iraq, the goddess is shown on the back of a lion with arms in the air.
https://www.npr.org/2022/05/12/1097084546/women-painting-women-museum-modern-art-fort-worth
For decades, women artists have been fighting to get their work on museum gallery walls. Recently, the battle is being won: Various exhibitions across the country feature female’s work. Once visitors notice the change, they see that art can be different when women wield the paintbrushes. Sometimes. And sometimes not.
Nothing much different there, except all the blue, and the beauty of the model and the painting. It’s called Queen Jane Approximately — like the Bob Dylan song.
Gangloff doesn’t seem to be painting blue-as-in-sad. This blue is meditative, relaxed, reflective. The woman, former model and fashion designer Jane Mayle, is a friend — as are all of Gangloff’s models, says Andrea Karnes, curator of the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth exhibition Women Painting Women.
The acrobatic Iraqi women below may be friends (although how long would you shoulder responsibility for a friend this way?). To me, they look more like relatives, maybe sisters, with their beautiful black hair, brows and red, red lips.
Kahraman paints this woman often. Contorted and multiplied as she is here, I see incredible strength. Those powerful legs, the steady gaze and humor — I laughed at first glimpse. But curator Karnes says it’s a salute to “countless displaced women, past and present.” Women who have suffered “disfigurement, violence, sexual abuse,” standing on the shoulders of their predecessors.
So, how do women paint women? It’s less about seeing them differently from men, than showing them different. For centuries, artists’ male gaze saw women as objects of desire, idealized and voluptuous, with luscious white skin and dimpled knees. Women artists in this exhibition, like Alice Neel and Emma Amos and others, show women as differently beautiful: pregnant, overweight, sometimes despondent. As we are, wrapped in our truths.
https://www.timeout.com/london/art/feminine-power-the-divine-to-the-demonic
Lust, destruction, anger and filth: female power in human history is vicious stuff, and this exhibition of ancient sculpture, sacred artifacts and contemporary depictions of goddesses, witches and demons absolutely revels in it.
There’s Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes, who erupts and obliterates, but paves the way for new life in the process. There’s Tlazolteolt, the Huaxtec goddess of purification, who inspires sexual desire and eats filth to cleanse transgression. There’s China Supay, the demonic Bolivian embodiment of lust. There’s Athena, Venus, Lilith, Hekate and Eve, and they’re all here as sculptures and paintings and masks.
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Throughout history, the female spirit has been tempting, lustful, strong, noble, just and compassionate. It is countless things to countless cultures, and the objects here celebrate that dizzying diversity. The China Supay mask is wild and obscene, the statue of Kali with her necklace of severed men’s heads is dark and gory, the images of the Virgin Mary are soft and caring. The female spirit is countless things to countless cultures.But the exhibition is, ironically, a bit of a patronising mess. It opens with screens of word clouds: ‘patient’, ‘unapologetic’, ‘dangerous’. It feels like being stuck in a meeting with a bunch of male ad execs trying to figure out how to flog tampons. The show is also plastered with interpretation and giant quotes by academics and comedians that say stomach-turningly cringe things like ‘it’s time to embrace our lioness instincts’ and ‘it’s almost as if women aren’t allowed emotions, big, complicated, messy emotions’. It’s vacuous and reductive, and totally undermines the rest of the show. Maybe if they really had embraced their lioness instincts, they’d have gone in for the kill and this deep dive into the complex, intense, multi-faceted history of femininity would have felt a little more fierce.Written by Eddy FrankelWednesday 25 May 2022
https://4w.pub/nancy-azara-the-shaman-is-a-feminist-artist/
Nancy Azara: The Shaman is a Feminist Artist
“To be a woman artist even today takes a lot of courage.”
Ihave been living with the most magnificent sculpture by the great feminist artist, Nancy Azara, for more than fourteen years now. It is a living, breathing work of wall art, it’s vibrant colors enhance every other color in my living room. In this piece, Azara incorporated our handprints, both mine and my partner’s, into a work of gilded gold, magenta/maroon/ruby, red/orange, green, and silver. Its predecessor was an inspired work she did for a hospital hallway in which she incorporated the healing hands of the doctors: “Hand Garden/Doctor’s Wall” (2004).
Azara’s deep magentas are the color of blood, of sacrifice, of death, and of re-birth. It pulses and flows and vibrates in her work. She constructs totems, altars, amulets.
Azara’s sculpture shares my living room with work by other great feminist artists: Helene Aylon, Darla Bjork, Judy Chicago, Mary Beth Edelson, and Kate Millett—and with some controversial political art by the Scandinavian artist, Lars Vilks, and a small and endearing piece by Peter Max. Can you imagine the energy, the memories, in this room alone which is also filled with graceful palm fronds and plants?
“(Her work) signifies the collective voice of the feminine reemerging after years of censorship, oppression and violence”
Azara has a new show up at the Carter Burden gallery in New York City for which she prepared a monograph to accompany the exhibition. Unsurprisingly, perfectly, it is titled “Votives.” Indeed, her art is a reverential Ode to the Great Mother, the feminine Divine. In the monograph, the curator and appraiser, Patricia Watts, describes Azara’s use of “richly colored tempera paints made with egg yolk, natural pigments, and handsome gesso combined with her use of 22-carat gold and aluminum leaf to…fuse light with form and color…During the Renaissance, gold leaf adorned altarpieces and represented the spiritual, rather than the physical presence of material wealth.”
In an interview published in the “Votives” monograph, Azara tells art critic, Kay Turner:
“I attended a class in the New York theatre district, costume design…I still light my sculptures in this theatrical manner. I also think that I’ve been influenced by the shapes and tones of light in Roman Catholic church settings.”
Although Azara was raised Catholic, it is as a Second Wave feminist that she has expanded our understanding of the Divine Mother and granted us access to that sacred energy. Azara says: “I wait for the shape to come to me. I communicate with the wood.”
I always thought that Azara should have been hired to create the sets for the opera “Norma,” Bellini’s bel canto work about a Druid High-Priestess whose signature aria is “Casta Diva,” which is a very Catholic-pagan prayer to the Moon Goddess.
Azara also told Turner:
“As a child, I first began to notice wood in furniture and began to understand that they had been trees…the most astounding memory for me, which continues all through my life, is the idea of the trees and the darkness of trees in the rain, the darkness of the trees as the sun goes down , the brightness of the trees as the sun comes out…the way trees move during storms frightens me a lot…They make a sound, a crackling sound, which is really quite amazing.”
A “votive,” (as in a votive candle), is an act of devotion, an expression of gratitude, perhaps also a prayer. Azara does not cut down trees—she seeks out fallen trees, logs, discarded pieces of lumber, and rescues them to release their still living inner being.
“My advice to feminist artists, lesbian artists, feminists, is to follow your vision”
In “Votives,” Azara writes: “Because I love trees, I started as a woodcarver. As a child I felt that they spoke to me and comforted me…..I began to appreciate that looking at and making art has magical properties and healing qualities inherent in it.”
Azara has created beautiful and powerful works such as “Spirit House of the Mother,” (1994) a golden house, a sanctuary or a refuge of sorts, one that a woman can enter and be enclosed in a Goddess‘s embrace, the kind of embrace that so many of us longed for and could not and did not receive in patriarchal families. As artist, scribe and “spiritual gangsta” Katie Cercone writes:
“Azara’s artwork can be quite flashy….her large scale structures reveal towering enclosures and elevated altars to uncompromising female divinity. (Her work) signifies the collective voice of the feminine reemerging after years of censorship, oppression and violence…(upon reading Kay Turner’s work on Women’s Altars) it completely reframed my personal sense of my grandmother’s worship of the Catholic Virgin Mary to view it as an act of self-preservation, resistance, and centering of female divinity amidst the oppressive mind-control of mid-century American Catholicism.”
Azara has sculpted works for her mother (“Leaf Altar for Nunzia. 1913-2004”); and for her granddaughter (“Maxi’s Wall”). I happen to love her “Great Coat” (1997) and her “Jacket from the Silk Road.” (2012). Azara says that this work “has a centerpiece which is a pattern from a thousand years ago. The people in the graves were buried wearing this same jacket which is still popular today.”
I’d wear one while I was still very much alive.
In the 1970s, Azara’s psychic, intuitive, and feminine work was transgressive. Like other Second Wavers, she not only did her own work—she reached out to other artists and art students. In 1979, Azara co-founded the New York Feminist Art Institute (NYFAI) which held workshops, consciousness-raising groups, classes in painting, drawing, and filmmaking, and which honored women artists such as Louise Nevelson, Lenore Tawney, Louise Bourgeois, Faith Ringgold, Elaine de Kooning, as well as feminist art historian, Arlene Raven. NYFAI also offered poetry classes and held readings with poets Jewelle Gomez and Ntozake Shange. This undertaking was foundational, a breakthrough. Nothing quite like it could be found anywhere else.
Azara kept on, she kept soldiering on, she kept keeping on, despite the extraordinary obstacles women artists faced—and still do. Azara’s vision is unique, uncompromising, classical.
“When I was young, there were no feminist artists—only ‘lady painters’ and sculptresses and women art students”
Azara’s use of the goddess is, as she told Kay Turner, “a metaphor for women’s self-esteem…nowadays, women are painting themselves as the Virgin of Guadalupe and the Buddha. This is a sea change. Women in the feminist spirituality art movement took great liberties with these sacrosanct figures and made them our own.”
In 2007, Nancy began a series of intergenerational dialogues about feminist art. Three generations of artists are still meeting.
In a recent interview, Nancy told me:
“I have been an artist in service to an aesthetic spiritual and political calling….I was mostly slowed down by my own voices that were too critical, held back permission, caused fear. In my generation, I was taught to be silent and pleasant and not to question. When I was young, there were no feminist artists—only “lady painters” and sculptresses and women art students who were expected to make good supportive wives to their husbands. To be a woman artist even today takes a lot of courage.”
“When I was younger, I was influenced by African art, and Native American art, especially the spiritual references in it. And art from India has been a major love of mine, probably for the same reason. Folk Art, for its sincerity is a major love too.”
Azara has been influenced by the painter, Edwin Dickinson, and she loves the work of “Meret Oppenheim, Lenore Tawney, and the German Expressionist sculptors. (She) also thinks that “Louise Bourgeois is an amazing artist, as is Eva Hesse and Louise Nevelson.
Azara still holds annual workshops, teaches, and mentors other artists. She is also the author of “Spirit Taking Form: Making a Spiritual Practice of Making Art.” It is available through Red Wheel/Weiser. Her work may be found in Collections at the Brooklyn Museum, Los Angeles County Museum, Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Modern Museum of Art, National Gallery of Women in the Arts, Philadelphia Museum of Art, and the Provincetown Art Association and Museum.
When I asked Nancy who has helped her in terms of her work, she answered:
“I have been helped by many persons along the way, some artists, some not. My advice to feminist artists, lesbian artists, feminists, is to follow your vision.”
See more of Nancy’s Art:
https://www.nancyazara.com/large-scale-installations
https://www.nancyazara.com/feminist-structures-and-altar-works