“Pissing Figures - 1280–2014”

“Pissing Figures, 1280–2014,” by Jean-Claude Lebensztejn, a French critic (published by David Zwirner Books & translated by Jeff Nagy)

First - As LinkedIn is notorious for not allowing adult discussions which "take up too much space" the following is a response to a post entitled : A Secret History of the Pissing Figure in Art - (written by Dan Piepenbring September 20, 2017 & published in the New Yorker Magazine.)

So why not write a book entitled “Pissing Figures, 1280–2014,”? As much as it will arouse (no pun intended) tut-tutting throughout the land, the author will make a killing - at least more money than he would on a full fledged research on the topic of “virgin” in the title Virgin Mary.

More to the point. It was once normal to urinate wherever it was possible and needed. Today “we hold it in” until we find a toilet - which in our times is a prim and proper thing to do. But when we discover someone “openly” urinating (pissing, to the more crude) we titter or groan or point or stare - or all of these. Such is the lot of the populist ignorant. So titillated and frightened by what we are and what we do, we can only react through infantilized giggling and nervous twitching rather than render a casual “Yeah! So?”

As for the high interest in putti and urinating, this has more to do with a contemporary obsession with sexual overtones - real or imagined - than on the fact that in times gone by boys were allowed much greater freedom than were allowed little and not so little girls. Boys with too much freedom could also be (and were) undisciplined brats who taunted and annoyed the populace with their brazen “freedoms” - including pissing on where, on what and on whom they damned well pleased - and this, at any time they saw fit. Left to their own devices that freedom often included a more innocent activity : swimming naked in local rivers and streams - with no one really paying much attention since families as a whole, at times, also bathed in those self same streams and rivers - and this without the benefit of Nike, Speedo or Lululemon. Basically, the body and its everyday functions have only, since the past 2 centuries, become naughty-naughty.

Nudity was not of particular concern in the mores section of a medieval and even later life. Based on established historical knowledge, it is possible to assume that the body unclothed was not of general interest or shame as it is today. The body revealed in those far off days often symbolically and religiously celebrated the greatness that humanity could be along with recording its evolving state of being - whether good or bad, young or old.

And so, the idea of writing a book about a specific activity through the microscope of a much more evolved (?) - or should I say more restrictive time is always intriguing if not proof that such a visual essay can be questioned from the start as to the veracity of its “observations” made & the reportage researched.

Today, there is less balance in our perceptions and assumptions. We impose views and feelings rather than logically and objectively debate in order to reassure our anxieties. Today we seem to fear and even loath, whilst being attracted to, “that revealed body” - ours and anyone else’s. We tend to be rendered “senseless” by the touching of it, the being touched, the seeing of it and most especially the good or bad perceived in it. . . cause. . . let’s face it. . . It is sinful. . . .

But what we hate the most about our bodies is what they do : they defecate and “pee”! (How dare they (we) be so crass as to do such things). We find such “obligatory” (rather than necessary) things so disgusting - so much so - a whole area of products is marketed to make it all “fun”, “easy” and “enjoyable” for us poor souls. That being said, it is rather odd that the illusions, titillation and fears of the 21st century have the gall to promote themselves as enlightened revisionist considerations in regards to the pre and 19th century times.

Artists have always played a major role in the elucidation of "what is". Why? Through their creative output, life and how we live it (the details of "it") are often presented (to make things clear) in the most vivid of terms. And yet, whatever it is that artists tell us about ourselves, about our lives, there are always those  who come along in later centuries to distort, to criticize (rather than critique) based on their "more enlightened times" wonderings. But undeniably, and despite the narcissisms of later times, great painters and sculptors were and continue to be extraordinary observers of “what was and is”.

As fantasmagorical as some artistic works are considered to be many of the greatest, most poignant subjects and themes portrayed, have been nothing more than the ordinary everyday activities of the everyday lives of ordinary peoples. In essence, artists have always wanted to portray what makes men, women, children and oldsters tick - even if that means scrutinizing the "hidden features" and essence of our physical as well as psychological existence.

So observant were artists of the past, they rarely needed or wished to sacharinize their subjects - i.e. : make them superficial and virtual rather than real. Instead, they chose truth - they elevated the who and what of the individuals they studied - seeking to discover the universal from the unique - rendering that which was generic symbolic of humanity. In those recordings they integrated what made humans human - accentuating, at times, both their and their subjects’ sense of humour which, in turn, gave both gravitas and thigh slapping power to an existence which was trying (still tries) at the best of times to be worthy of us all.

Artists have always seen wondrousness in the struggles and accomplishments of those who “lived until they died”. To this day, they observe and sketch the onerous weights people carry on their shoulders - those self-same weights which temper the innate asceticism of their existence. Basically, artists were and are here to see and feel the extraordinariness of the ordinary in what and who we really are - i.e.: frightened children of a parental universe, and this since the beginning of time. For that is the job of painters and sculptors - to record all of this for posterity - no matter how erroneously later generations revise what was in the past.

And though we more often than not sneer rather than try to understand, the artist’s job will always remain the same - to record a time, to present us with both “the holiest we can be” and the banal and at times brutal ordinary that we are”. In essence the arts have always been a link - one which connects the wondrous and the absurd of one time with the wondrousness and absurdity of a so-called more modern time staring at the past and, sadly, judging it.

But today, our self-righteouness and political correctness trips us up. These pretend to protect us from ourselves for fear that we will be seen to be odd and inconsequential and. . . the fools that we are in the grand scheme of things. But they fail. Our foibles and habits and necessities - whether seen to be normal or weird are never hidden from tomorrow’s scrutiny.

Our times have uncluttered the closets of our minds only to reveal that, often, there is nothing there when there is nothing there. And because there is nothing there in our revisionist views of the past, we tend look back on history and our ancestors and gloat. Being so much more enlightened and greater at thinking and being than our shallower predecessors, we look down and criticize.

Basically, if there is anything risible about a book on pissing in the 21st century, it is “us”. What else is there to do in a time which can’t make up its mind (over the latest latté concoction) about whether we should accept world destruction as a detractor from our smart phones and ear plugs or simply say “whatever”?