Creeps
Perhaps you’ve felt attraction, or attracted others in return—but have you ever felt like a creep? Don’t turn away. Allow Tony Tulathimutte to lead you on a descent into the underbelly of romantic pursuit.
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Lily Ruby on the tangled embrace of transgressive pleasure in modern and contemporary art.
A writhing mass of intertwined limbs, torsos entangled, blurred bodies melding into one another; the depiction of group sex has consistently emerged in various art forms, with artists striving to capture the ecstasy of collective pleasure, the allure and challenge that shared erotic experience poses to societal norms. Orgiastic artwork can invite us to embrace the messy, dirty, and chaotic aspects of our existence, transcending traditional boundaries. It confronts us with the raw realities of our desires and the limitations we impose on ourselves. Through abstraction and the transformation of the human body into a collective symbol, orgiastic art encourages us to contemplate the universal aspects of pleasure, desire, and connection.
When you hear the words "art" and "orgy” together, the mind may wander to the bacchanalian orgies of the classical period; joyously debauched scenes where wine flows and bodies indulge in a carnal feast. However, the realm of the orgiastic extends far beyond these conventional portrayals, particularly in the realm of modern and contemporary art, where darker, more transgressive explorations of the orgy can be found.
Erotic art throughout history has not only mirrored our evolving attitudes towards human sexuality. It’s also provided a window into the technological advancements of different eras. From discreetly circulated printed erotica during the industrial age to the use of stereoscopy for "three-dimensional" erotic images in the 19th century, erotica evolves in tandem with each era’s ideas of scientific progress. In the past two decades—a time of rapid technological development—digital media has transformed our sexual experiences, from the proliferation of internet pornography to apps that revolutionized how we encounter one another. Images are everywhere, more prevalent than at any other time. As we see in the following paintings, erotic art has dynamically adapted to these changes, reflecting the increasingly pervasive presence of sexualimagery in our daily lives.
In Monica Majoli’s Untitled (Bathtub orgy) painting from 1990, the viewer becomes a voyeur to a scene playing out in a dark room. In the center of the image is a bathtub, its luminous white porcelain in striking contrast to the enveloping darkness of the room. In the tub, a solitary figure reclines. Encircling the tub, a ring of people has gathered. Some are in gimp masks and all are naked while they simultaneously urinate on the figure in the tub. The figure lies back in a posture of surrender, their head tilted, eyes closed, lips parted: a familiar expression of otherworldly ecstasy commonly seen in religious iconography. The painting speaks to the allure of surrendering to taboo desires: anonymous encounters, watersports, sexual degradation, while also alluding, in its composition, to the theatrical staging of ceremonial rituals.
Another orgiastic scene defines Cecily Brown’s 1997 painting The Pyjama Game. A person on all fours, their round posterior thrust up into the air, locks eyes with the viewer, their gaze unrelenting. Behind them, mask-like faces emerge amidst the chaotic huddle of naked, writhing bodies, their grinning visages evoking a disconcertingly carnivalesque scene. The more you look, the more you see the erotic details: a tuft of pubic hair, an outstretched arm seizing a phallus, the crevice of thighs squeezed tightly together. With the red tones of the painting evoking chunks of raw bloody meat, Brown’s exploration of sex brazenly embraces chaos, filth, and the abject. Imbued with a dark humour, the painting is a fearless challenge to the supposed conventions of woman artists.
This challenge to conventional codes of femininity is also present in Sarah Slappey’s Blue Gingham (2021). Again we see a tangle of body parts, though not in explicit reference to group sex in this case. Here, toes curled in pleasure are entwined with elongated fingers; a hand tenderly grips an ankle. The composition unravels at the center, where a hand holds a shiny red bow over a backdrop of blue gingham, framed by plaited braids of golden blonde hair. A pearl necklace, that perfect sexual innuendo, hangs across. Together, these elements create a saccharine scene, evoking the technicolour sweetness of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, yet venturing into the surreal, the uncanny, and the disquieting. The gingham is stained and dirty; the plaits are interwoven with red rope. Superficial saccharinity is disrupted by undercurrents of eroticism and violence: the limbs are pierced by tiny pins; traces of blood trickle down the flesh. Slappey takes the glossy feminine dream and renders it strange, hinting at the hidden desires beneath the exterior we present.
Notably, contemporary artists are exploring group sex through a lens that includes and acknowledges our digital lives. Ambera Wellmann’s "2022" (2022) stands out as a prominent example. In the foreground of the painting, fragmented bodies are sprawled across rumpled bed sheets. The bodies are abstracted, indistinct in their boundaries—it is unclear where limbs and bodies begin and end, but we can make out a central figure, a torso with legs spread. Framed by the four posts of a bed, in the background a colossal face peers in on the entanglement of bodies. Bathed in an ethereal blue hue, reminiscent of the solitary glow of laptop screens illuminating dimly lit bedrooms, the painting evokes the voyeuristic experience of watching online pornography. As the bodies meld into a collective entity, devoid of distinct identities, you cannot help but draw parallels with the aesthetic qualities inherent in AI-generated imagery.
In George Rouy’s 2022 painting, “Tearing of the Savage Breast”, the human form undergoes a primal transformation. Here we see bodies entwined and, at the same time, pulling apart from each other. Rouy’s brushwork blurs the boundaries of flesh, evoking not a hazy soft-focus, but a whirlwind of frenetic movement—bodies in dizzying motion. A sudden flash of the white of an eyeball pierces through the chaos, while a menacing line of teeth, sharp and feral, infuses the painting with a bestial sensuality that speaks to the untamed, animalistic wildness at the heart of collective sexual encounters.
In today’s hypersexualised and image-rich society, you might assume erotic imagery no longer holds the power to provoke. Not so. These paintings demonstrate the enduring force of erotic art, a deeper and more lasting exploration of transgression and desire in comparison to the superficial titillation of the online and the everyday. They also break from the past. Unlike traditional, historical depictions of orgies—which often conveyed rigid moral lessons against hedonistic excess—these artworks encourage subjective interpretation, leaving space for viewers to project their own desires. They don't just elicit a passive response; they invite us in.
By looking, we actively engage, becoming participants in the open-ended narratives depicted, rather than mere voyeurs. We blend our own erotic experiences and imaginations with the scenes, shaping the meanings we derive from the art. In this unguarded and ambiguous space, we can explore the depths of our desires without fear of judgement or shame, liberated from the constraints of societal expectations.
Orgiastic art holds significance as a sanctuary for free expression. As society grapples with issues of desire, autonomy, and power, erotic art inspires invaluable critical reflection and candid exchange. It can also challenge wider encroachment against sexuality and its representation. Through exploring the depths of unrestrained passion, such art invites us to contemplate an alternate future—a future that celebrates the free exploration of our desires as an essential aspect of the human experience.
Perhaps you’ve felt attraction, or attracted others in return—but have you ever felt like a creep? Don’t turn away. Allow Tony Tulathimutte to lead you on a descent into the underbelly of romantic pursuit.
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