Art

"Isms", Art

Whore’s Glory

I’m a documentary freak. I’ll watch anything.

Food and health documentaries, economic documentaries, crossword competition documentaries, they’re all gravy. Still, I feel a bit of unease at watching any film that is based around sex work, from prostitution to stripping to pornography. Most of these docs veer too far into the realm of manipulation for me.

Whore’s Glory

Netflix’s algorithm suggested that “I might enjoy” Whore’s Glory a week or so ago, and hey, the damn thing was right! Since last week, I’ve been preaching about the movie to nearly everyone I know. This film is a must watch. It’s haunting, it’s depressing, it’s an empathy explosion. Simply put, it covers the daily routines of three sets of prostitutes:

FishtankWomen who work in an upscale club in Thailand, called the “Fishbowl”

 

IndiaWomen and young girls who have been born into/sold into the brothel “The City of Joy” in Bangledesh

 

mexico

Crack addicted women who work a strip called “The Zone” in Mexico

 

The filmmaker is Austrian documentarian Michael Glawogger, and he’s as restrained as you’d imagine an Austrian filmmaker to be. Beyond the spooky and violent soundtrack (heavy on the CocoRosie), there is no narrative or voiceover to the footage. He allows the women and their customers to speak for themselves.  That’s really what makes the movie so powerful to me. There are moments of happiness and despair, but the rhythm of the movie gets you to realize that this is just these women’s lives, day in and day out. That was where the real shock and sadness crept in for me.

The movie is fairly even handed, but becomes devastating by the end. A full sex scene is included, which I thought was inappropriate, unnecessary and unfair to the Mexican prostitutes.

Anyways, enough of my blabbing.WATCH IT. Seriously!

Art

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

-from “Ulysses” by Tennyson

Art

Diversions

The Sketchbook Project

1. A friend from work told me about the very wonderful Sketchbook Project. Basically it’s a traveling exhibition of artbooks, full of sketches or whatever you like, as long as the book isn’t “sticky or abrasive”! The books have a permanent home at the Brooklyn Art Library.

It’s $25 to participate, and an extra $30 to have your work digitized for the site. If you’re interested, signups end on Halloween. You can use this code for $2 off: ADDAFRIEND.

About my book…

The library asks you to self-categorize your book. There are lots of options, from Dwellings to Dinosaurs, but for me the obvious choice was “Chronicles.” I just got my book yesterday, and the due date is January 15, 2013. This last year has been an interesting time for sure, and I know that the next few months will be continue to bring personal challenges worthy of sharing. Holidays are stressful! For that reason, I’ve decided that it would be really awesome to just use the book as an intensely personal diary, and then come the new year I’ll cast it off into the world for exhibition. Scary? Yes! Terrifying!

Anyways, I’ll try to draw in it every now and then, and to not be too hard on myself. The last time I tried to force myself to draw everyday it was well intentioned, but didn’t work for a variety of reasons (I was travelling away from my computer and materials, I was feeling private, etc.). Honestly the rules I set were too strict and it became a negative spiral when I let myself down. So, no rules this time, no personal judgement.

Papergirl San Francisco

2. Speaking of failed art projects… The due date for PaperGirl SF came and went, and I never finished my block print of a worm roasting a marshmallow over a fire (not my idea). I donated a few old prints that I had lying around, but I’m definitely disappointed in myself. Where does the time go? I’ll still be happy to drop by the big art show and maybe I’ll ride my bike around and pass out tubes of art to strangers, but I feel like an imposter. Onwards, right?