(no subject)
I am in the library, forthwith to be researching a bibliography of Feminist Film Theory from the 1970s, but first I am compelled to babble some about the pain and joy of writing, and vaguely poke at that "porn vs. erotica" thing...sort of.
Randomly: At breakfast this morning (or perhaps in the car), I observed to eyesofmyeyes that all of my friends who have abandoned the path of academia have become instead either librarians, strippers or in one case, work at a feminist sex store.
My own life is, I realize, predominantly focused on writing and reading (and also viewing, though heh, I spend considerably more time reading/writing about TV and movies in some form than I do watching them), with a seeming split between my academic work (the writing aspect of which, of late, frustrates me immeasurably) and my often erotically tinged fanfic. Sadly, I have not been writing "porn" lately, but I have been thinking about it, because although I *can* sometimes force myself to write what I am "supposed to," I have far less control over what I am thinking about.
Incidentally, I am giving the paper of Meandering Badness over to eyesofmyeyes to see if she can discern something worth saying within it. Which brings me to the most painful aspect of producing "bad" or cloudy at best writing--the knowledge that I am, at times, capable of writing things that are "good." Of course, I am fully aware that in order to improve as a writer one must write a lot of crap. With my fic I definitely feel to a degree that the existence of my better stories has been earned by the time and labor put into bad or mediocre work. All the same, putting down words without saying anything or else expressing ideas without clarity *hurts* me, at times. This is, however, equivalent in intensity to the pleasure in moments when things flow. It's harder though, to maintain this kind of attitude about my academic work, because it is my "livelihood," perhaps.
But now...porn. Many times I have witnessed or been party to the seemingly inexhaustible "porn vs. erotica" debate. Very often it seem to me that the issue for those who prefer the term--or their definition of--erotica is one of preference; what they like is "erotica," what they don't is "merely" porn. That said, I appreciate fandom's use (appropriation?) of the word "porn." Because we are claiming our joy in zee dirtiness. Woo! Plus, it is fun--it puts the sex into sex writing. But of course, there is also for me a felt difference between different kinds of erotic writing. I like sex writing that has "people" in it (not just body parts)--detail, desire.
I've been reading Roland Barthes' book Camera Lucida and a certain passage stuck out to me as striking a chord with all of this. He's talking about photography but what he says has relevance to me regarding written expression as well.
"Nothing more homogeneous than a pornographic photograph. It is always a naive photograph, with intention and without calculation. Like a shop window which shows only one illuminated piece of jewelry, it is completely constituted by the presentation of only one thing: sex: no secondary, untimely object ever manages to half conceal, delay, or distract...A proof a contratrio: Mapplethorpe shifts his close-ups of genitalia from the pornographic to the erotic by photographing the fabric of the underwear at very close range: the photograph is no longer unary, since I am interested in the texture of the material...In this habitually unary space, occasionally (but alas all too rarely) a 'detail' attracts me, I feel that its mere presence changes my reading, that I am looking at a new photograph, marked in my eyes with a higher value. This 'detail' is the punctum." [pg. 41-42]
("Punctum" is the word he uses to describe the aspects in a photograph that make him personally interested in it--that make him "love" it. That, in effect, personalize the image and his relationship to it.)
"The erotic photograph, on the contrary (and this is its very condition), does not make the sexual organs into a central object; it may very well not show them at all; it takes the spectator outside its frame, and it is there that I animate this photograph and that it animates ne. The punctum, then, is a kind of subtle beyond--as if the image launched desire beyond what it permits us to see: not only toward 'the rest' of the nakedness, not only toward the fantasy of a praxis, but toward the absolute excellence of a being, body and soul together." [pg. 59]
Now clearly, he's reading "porn" as a bad or unnuanced thing, and I am hesitant to follow him there, but it sometimes seems in this debate that it's all a matter of where you place the "line." But! It's this detail thing I'm stuck on: "I am interested in the texture of the material."
Oh yes. But see, for me this preference is not a rejection of sex--it is an acknowlegement that sex is never just about bodies. Which, of course, our very interest in porn/erotica/whatever is itself proof. It is also, I think, why I prefer sex scenes in movies to most "porn" porn that I've seen. And is probably also related to why I'm drawn more to fanfic porn than other kinds as well, because it presupposes identifiable characters. It is not, however, about "romance" or love necessarily. I don't need the people to be "in love"--just three dimensional. At least for the time and space in which we encounter them.
Sadly (or fortunately) for me, my "snobbery" about porn is not simply an affect--I am genuinely Not Turned On by porn that is not evocative of more than impersonal interlocking/intertwining body parts. (Hmmmm, though I think this does not exclude anonymity--I think that can be detailed and personalized in the moment.)
The closest thing I have to a "bullet proof kink" is dirty talk, and not just ritualized dirty talk but any kind of spoken expression or translation of desire (in words)...which is always incomplete because the "uh uh" physicality of sex and the emotional-intellectual apsects as well are always, I think, somewhat illusory.
Perhaps this is what I like best--sex writing that contradictorily strives after bottling this elusive "more" and yet also acknowledges the impossibility of ever achieving the goal and therefore looks slightly to the side at the details--the "punctum"--that make things seem both REAL and fleeting.
And yet--I prefer blunt words like pussy and cunt and cock for genitals. I like the juxtaposition of their solid physicality with the transience of other minutiae.
So is it really "erotica" that I prefer? I haven't watched enough visual porn to be able to really speak to that. (Perhaps I should, and see if I can find a similar split in my preferences. Because I don't think that I'm a prude. Or always a romantic about sex either. I might just...really like words though.)
For some reason, the term makes me feel squidgey. Is it perhaps because it seems pretentious? Because it pretends to be uninvested in the blood-swollen, wet, skin-tingling embodiedness of sex?
Because dude, hell yeah. Only thing is, it seems you gotta get to my head first in order for my pussy to take notice.
So I guess I still don't know the difference between erotica and porn; I just know what I like. Sigh.
Holy shit, this ended up tl;dr and probably said nothing new whatsoever!
ETA: I think what I find most confusing about the apparent distinction between the two terms is that if "pornography" is supposed to make you actually hot--the truth is for me that I need that "other stuff" in order for that to happen. I also find the idea that there is an inherent split between things with "artistic merit" and things that are meant to cause sexual arousal lame and offensive.
*****
Things I'm grateful for today:
1. The sun!
2. My friends. Specifically the fact that I have somehow managed to maintain a significant amount of relationships across space and time. Not all, of course--I accept the many friendships I've had that mattered but which are no longer "active" in my life.
But I realized today with the impending visit of one friend, the day-to-day interaction with others, and a random phone call last night from another that in just the last week, I've been in contact with people I love who originated from basically every epoch of my life.
Okay, now I'm going to do some research, then pick up my poor kitty who's at the vet right now having his balls removed, and then later there will be wine, girls and possibly the movie with Seth Cohen smoking cigarettes and kissing girls. That is if the wee Beastie is leave-alone-able and/or my cat Mommy instincts allow me to go out.
Randomly: At breakfast this morning (or perhaps in the car), I observed to eyesofmyeyes that all of my friends who have abandoned the path of academia have become instead either librarians, strippers or in one case, work at a feminist sex store.
My own life is, I realize, predominantly focused on writing and reading (and also viewing, though heh, I spend considerably more time reading/writing about TV and movies in some form than I do watching them), with a seeming split between my academic work (the writing aspect of which, of late, frustrates me immeasurably) and my often erotically tinged fanfic. Sadly, I have not been writing "porn" lately, but I have been thinking about it, because although I *can* sometimes force myself to write what I am "supposed to," I have far less control over what I am thinking about.
Incidentally, I am giving the paper of Meandering Badness over to eyesofmyeyes to see if she can discern something worth saying within it. Which brings me to the most painful aspect of producing "bad" or cloudy at best writing--the knowledge that I am, at times, capable of writing things that are "good." Of course, I am fully aware that in order to improve as a writer one must write a lot of crap. With my fic I definitely feel to a degree that the existence of my better stories has been earned by the time and labor put into bad or mediocre work. All the same, putting down words without saying anything or else expressing ideas without clarity *hurts* me, at times. This is, however, equivalent in intensity to the pleasure in moments when things flow. It's harder though, to maintain this kind of attitude about my academic work, because it is my "livelihood," perhaps.
But now...porn. Many times I have witnessed or been party to the seemingly inexhaustible "porn vs. erotica" debate. Very often it seem to me that the issue for those who prefer the term--or their definition of--erotica is one of preference; what they like is "erotica," what they don't is "merely" porn. That said, I appreciate fandom's use (appropriation?) of the word "porn." Because we are claiming our joy in zee dirtiness. Woo! Plus, it is fun--it puts the sex into sex writing. But of course, there is also for me a felt difference between different kinds of erotic writing. I like sex writing that has "people" in it (not just body parts)--detail, desire.
I've been reading Roland Barthes' book Camera Lucida and a certain passage stuck out to me as striking a chord with all of this. He's talking about photography but what he says has relevance to me regarding written expression as well.
"Nothing more homogeneous than a pornographic photograph. It is always a naive photograph, with intention and without calculation. Like a shop window which shows only one illuminated piece of jewelry, it is completely constituted by the presentation of only one thing: sex: no secondary, untimely object ever manages to half conceal, delay, or distract...A proof a contratrio: Mapplethorpe shifts his close-ups of genitalia from the pornographic to the erotic by photographing the fabric of the underwear at very close range: the photograph is no longer unary, since I am interested in the texture of the material...In this habitually unary space, occasionally (but alas all too rarely) a 'detail' attracts me, I feel that its mere presence changes my reading, that I am looking at a new photograph, marked in my eyes with a higher value. This 'detail' is the punctum." [pg. 41-42]
("Punctum" is the word he uses to describe the aspects in a photograph that make him personally interested in it--that make him "love" it. That, in effect, personalize the image and his relationship to it.)
"The erotic photograph, on the contrary (and this is its very condition), does not make the sexual organs into a central object; it may very well not show them at all; it takes the spectator outside its frame, and it is there that I animate this photograph and that it animates ne. The punctum, then, is a kind of subtle beyond--as if the image launched desire beyond what it permits us to see: not only toward 'the rest' of the nakedness, not only toward the fantasy of a praxis, but toward the absolute excellence of a being, body and soul together." [pg. 59]
Now clearly, he's reading "porn" as a bad or unnuanced thing, and I am hesitant to follow him there, but it sometimes seems in this debate that it's all a matter of where you place the "line." But! It's this detail thing I'm stuck on: "I am interested in the texture of the material."
Oh yes. But see, for me this preference is not a rejection of sex--it is an acknowlegement that sex is never just about bodies. Which, of course, our very interest in porn/erotica/whatever is itself proof. It is also, I think, why I prefer sex scenes in movies to most "porn" porn that I've seen. And is probably also related to why I'm drawn more to fanfic porn than other kinds as well, because it presupposes identifiable characters. It is not, however, about "romance" or love necessarily. I don't need the people to be "in love"--just three dimensional. At least for the time and space in which we encounter them.
Sadly (or fortunately) for me, my "snobbery" about porn is not simply an affect--I am genuinely Not Turned On by porn that is not evocative of more than impersonal interlocking/intertwining body parts. (Hmmmm, though I think this does not exclude anonymity--I think that can be detailed and personalized in the moment.)
The closest thing I have to a "bullet proof kink" is dirty talk, and not just ritualized dirty talk but any kind of spoken expression or translation of desire (in words)...which is always incomplete because the "uh uh" physicality of sex and the emotional-intellectual apsects as well are always, I think, somewhat illusory.
Perhaps this is what I like best--sex writing that contradictorily strives after bottling this elusive "more" and yet also acknowledges the impossibility of ever achieving the goal and therefore looks slightly to the side at the details--the "punctum"--that make things seem both REAL and fleeting.
And yet--I prefer blunt words like pussy and cunt and cock for genitals. I like the juxtaposition of their solid physicality with the transience of other minutiae.
So is it really "erotica" that I prefer? I haven't watched enough visual porn to be able to really speak to that. (Perhaps I should, and see if I can find a similar split in my preferences. Because I don't think that I'm a prude. Or always a romantic about sex either. I might just...really like words though.)
For some reason, the term makes me feel squidgey. Is it perhaps because it seems pretentious? Because it pretends to be uninvested in the blood-swollen, wet, skin-tingling embodiedness of sex?
Because dude, hell yeah. Only thing is, it seems you gotta get to my head first in order for my pussy to take notice.
So I guess I still don't know the difference between erotica and porn; I just know what I like. Sigh.
Holy shit, this ended up tl;dr and probably said nothing new whatsoever!
ETA: I think what I find most confusing about the apparent distinction between the two terms is that if "pornography" is supposed to make you actually hot--the truth is for me that I need that "other stuff" in order for that to happen. I also find the idea that there is an inherent split between things with "artistic merit" and things that are meant to cause sexual arousal lame and offensive.
*****
Things I'm grateful for today:
1. The sun!
2. My friends. Specifically the fact that I have somehow managed to maintain a significant amount of relationships across space and time. Not all, of course--I accept the many friendships I've had that mattered but which are no longer "active" in my life.
But I realized today with the impending visit of one friend, the day-to-day interaction with others, and a random phone call last night from another that in just the last week, I've been in contact with people I love who originated from basically every epoch of my life.
Okay, now I'm going to do some research, then pick up my poor kitty who's at the vet right now having his balls removed, and then later there will be wine, girls and possibly the movie with Seth Cohen smoking cigarettes and kissing girls. That is if the wee Beastie is leave-alone-able and/or my cat Mommy instincts allow me to go out.