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In their zeal to be seen as upholders of moral standards and best parental practice, our critics have failed to remember what they were taught at school and university, that they need evidence to back up their claims, not to mention any politeness of avoiding an attack ad hominem. But never mind such subtleties of civility and etiquette! The zeal over this matter caused one commentator to come perilously close to fabricating evidence against us. Andrew Bolt asked me a question in The Herald-Sun: In a letter on Bolts blog at breakfast time on the same day as his column appeared 11 June , I pointed out that this question implicitly described a picture which Bolt had never seen.

Well, this is not a Pacifier image. Bolt, not normally a shy man, did not answer the question with a simple yes, so I think the implication is clear. Bolt cannot tell us that he has seen the work, yet wreaked opprobrium upon it and its creator. Such zeal to denounce us as filth-mongers deeply, deeply disturbing as Bolt said , even if it means risking a kind of journalistic fraud, is deplorable. In order to frame Polixeni and me as pornographers, the scrupulosity that honours the truth like evidence and logic can be sacrificed.

During the Papapetrou controversy, I was repeatedly asked why we had used or abused our daughter in order to make a political point, first in creating a nude picture and allowing it to be published and second in encouraging her to speak on our behalf. For many commentators, this was proof of child exploitation. It was never credited as Olympia speaking on her own behalf.

Unlike Henson, the argument went, the decision to publish the image was not made innocently, unaware of the sensitivities and inflammatory consequences of a naked child being seen in an image at this time. It was a shameless exercise to gain attention, a stunt, for which we exploited our daughter. It is difficult to explain the problems of being asked to provide an image in a magazine.

Polixeni and I felt that the magazine was quite within its rights to provide an artistic forum to debrief over Henson and also to contemplate earlier cases of censorship in which Polixeni was involved. In all events, the bona fides of the Art Monthly approach to Polixeni was borne out by the content of the magazine, one article in which by Adam Geczy was in fact quite critical of the Hensonesque approach.

In a way, though all of this is true, I was surprised that the media seemed to need these defences. The work was made in and earlier, when there was no talk of provocation. As a work of art, it has been produced in good faith to entertain the higher powers of the mind, with the conviction of the artist that it is wholesome and worth seeing. In the artists estimation, either the image is worth seeing or not; and this was an image in which the artist had excellent faith.

It had already received huge endorsement locally and interstate; it was published in broadsheets; cards for Citibank reproduced it; and, in all of this, the picture had caused no controversy locally or internationally. The idea that the magazine was motivated by a political purpose and therefore Olympias contribution constituted a form of exploitation to make a political point makes no sense. The only reason that you would make an artwork is to have it seen. If it was worth seeing in , then it is worth seeing now as well.

We are not about to concede that the times have temporarily made it inappropriate. There was never going to be a time in the future in which the work would be more or less acceptable according to child protection pressure groups. If anything, their influence is rising, owing to the support that they get from the Commonwealth and the media. There is no prospect of a more diplomatic moment. An editor wanted to publish it in a serious context. As there is nothing wrong with the image, there was also no reason to refuse publication.

All the talk about exploitation to make a political point is a red herring. It all presupposes that there is something wrong with the image. But if you begin with the premise that there is nothing wrong with the image, then there is no exploitation in displaying the work at any time. Commentators of course charged us with the likelihood that one day Olympia would disavow her participation in the picture and reproach her mother either for making the picture or both parents and herself for consenting to have it displayed on Art Monthly.

And I had to agree with these interrogators on one point. Her willingness at age five and enthusiasm at age eleven are no guarantee of her support in years to come. Certainly, she may foreswear the whole exercise and recriminate both of us for leading her into an embarrassment. This is a possibility. It is entirely up to Olympia. But there is also a much likelier possibility based on what we know of other enlightened children of art that she will remain delighted with the image, that it will be an object of great pride which logically accompanies her personal courage in defending it against the scorn of the Prime Minister.

She has had a rare artistic and educational opportunity and has been able to grow with the experiences. It is likelier that she will look fondly on the family culture that provided this privilege than despise it. But of course time will tell and we will take responsibility for it. One possible ground for Olympia reproaching us would be along the lines of what Guy Rundle has stated, Arena Magazine , But then we have to ask: To be sure, in Olympia as Beatrice Hatch , anyone can see that Olympia has thighs and the contour of a rump.

I would expect that when she is a lot older, Olympia will be able to reason as she does now that every child has these features and none should be ashamed of them. But a child at five is innocent. When children grow up, their bodies change greatly and maybe we then have something to be ashamed of or maybe not. But a picture of anyone as a weenie in no way compromises the privacy that the same person enjoys in later life. That has always been the reason we allow kids to promenade naked on the beach: Privacy is not an issue precisely because children are innocent. The protection of privacy makes little sense unless there is a demonstrable link to a loss of innocence.

This is why artists need to make images of naked children. The mother-artists cited above, who been vilified for their work, have in many ways created the best record of child innocence that history can lay claim to. I find it sad that Rundle forecloses on their warm artistic inquiry, which has never done any harm to anyone. The innocence of children deserves to be recognized, celebrated and understood. It is a fundamental part of child identity and human experience; and it crucially involves nudity.

If we ban its representation, our community plunges headlong into repression, all at the expense of curiosity and insight, and all without evidence or good grounds to impugn it. If there was a political point in making and disseminating the image, it was only the political point that all serious art makes in its every manifestation: But even this is not the reason the work was made nor the reason it was published.

It was made and published because it is beautiful, evocative, resonant and totally harmless. From beginning to end, the Papapetrou controversy was very unlike the Henson affair.

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The materials that the Police considered offensive were the photographs themselves, an invitation in the mail plus the publication of the photographs on the internet. The allegation was that the material is child pornography; and the main defence given was that the artist has a formidable reputation.

The artist said nothing and a large body of arts figures supported Henson with arguments of dubious substance. Nevertheless, the case fizzled out once the Classification Board gave the pictures a G rating. Throughout the debate, the taciturn Henson remained the same charismatic Dark Lord of the Camera as he was called in The Age in The magazine was accused of provocation in the wake of the Henson affair and was referred to the Classification Board. As noted, the debate swung around more clearly to the theme of child exploitation and precipitated a world response.

The terms of the Henson debate were to do with the freedom of art. The terms of the Papapetrou debate are more to do with the freedom of parents and children. At no stage did any of us in the Nelson-Papapetrou family justify what we did because art is a higher priority than the rights of children.

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We have never seen art as quarantining anyone from civil codes or insulating them from parental responsibilities. Art is not a screen and we have never invoked its protection for that purpose. The main reason that my family has been vociferous against the accusations during the Papapetrou controversy is that our feelings are not just about art but parental culture in general and civil rights in particular. This is the first test-case where a robust family has been threatened with the withdrawal of their freedom to act as any family might, not just an artistic family.

The freedom at issue is to photograph a child naked and to let other people see the image. In my mind, at least, this attack upon civil liberties is also an attack upon the innocence of children, because it cruels our chances as parents of recognizing and celebrating the innocence of children within families and beyond. Its not a case of a couple of rotten eggs spoiling it for everyone else. Its a problem of massive impercipience, brought on by the industrialization of anxiety.

My fear that people are losing a natural relationship to children has been graphically demonstrated through the opinion on numerous antagonistic blogs in response to the Papapetrou controversy. In many vituperative comments, Olympia has been incorrectly described as wearing make-up in the now famous Olympia as Beatrice Hatch by White Cliffs of Bloggers have repeated this erroneous claim again and again, which was also discussed on radio.

In fact, Olympia was wearing no make-up and wig. This is the natural colour of a five year old girl. Not only is there no make-up but there is no Photoshop either. There is no digital manipulation between the model, the negative and the print. When the public decides that Olympia is wearing make-up, it has jumped to a conclusion that assumes, I guess, that children are as grey as we adults are.

But in fact they often have a wonderful colour that we lack entirely and subsequently fudge in mature years through artificial means. To see this wonderful chromatic richness and luminosity, however, you actually have to look, rather as Polixeni looks with her Hasselblad.

And here is the problem. Its as if no one any longer looks at children. If you get caught looking at a child, you might be considered a paedophile. So people are wary of looking at children by extension to the ban on touching them. Males, especially, are scared to make jokes with them, to develop any intimacy with them and make wriggly giggly gags that cause children to become excited and in which men, in the past, have shown winsome talent.

Playing with kids always used to be one of the few behavioural options that humanized men and let them relax their rigid masculinity. And as we now know from the Papapetrou controversy, women can also be suspected of various degrees of child abuse. They too have to be guarded in their gaze to avoid suspicion as having an unhealthy or exploitative interest in children. We are as a community losing the innocence of children, because we have already lost an assumption that our fondness for children is untainted. The incrementally regulatory environment is killing childhood innocence, not the artist who seeks to celebrate childhood innocence.

The moral panic over protecting the innocence of children against artists is a symptom of something larger, more insidious and more sinister in our culture. It is the anxiety revolution, in which a vast array of goods and services is promoted by stimulating anxiety.

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Anxiety is commercialized from health insurance to the marketing of private schools to schemes for monitoring adolescents in a panorama of drug and sex hazards. Check out Michael Carr-Greggs website for voyeuristic evidence. In our culture, only one emotional stimulant for boosting sales is as powerful as sex and that is fear.

It began with fundamentalist religion and reactionary politicians and it has spread virally throughout the fabric of institutional life. It is the most common commercial strategy, because once you have inseminated fear, you can sell security. Business was never simpler: Who would be without a marketing plan that does not propagate fear?

The h4est purveyors of fear are the media. TV could not live a day in its competitive environment without promoting fear in the community. It thrives on predators, on cases of people not being sufficiently guarded and falling prey to villains or bad luck. There is always a coda implying that superior levels of security should have been provided. It is a mad spiral, a constantly worsening manipulation of public perception toward insecurity by the most influential channels. So where does the irresponsibility lie?

The cultivation of anxiety for commercial purposes is extremely damaging and one of the victims now is childhood innocence. It has caused childhood nudity to be criminalized. Put this together with the equally massive projection of teen sexuality upon children and you have a lot of very confused parents. Parents sense that they are out of control in this media-environment, when each weekend they can watch their tiny daughters emulating all the erotic moves on television that their pumping teenage role-models promiscuously exhibit to loud thumping music.

Actually, parents often feel that they have to go along with this emulation and admire their daughters for such precocity. The sexualization of children is endemic throughout our culture with absolutely nothing to do with art and remains powerfully promoted by the commercial interests that shape popular culture and seduce the very young especially girls to gaze, act and dance with a sexual body language.

Parents are struggling to achieve a sense of control in all of this and look for the likeliest scapegoat in the vicinity. Again, the politicians and media will gladly spring to their assistance. An artist with an unpronounceable name, an outspoken daughter and a husband in a bright shirt and bowtie will certainly do. These must be the people who are wrecking child innocence. We need a law against their visual profanities. They are terrible snobbish people who thumb their nose at the law. They give, as Brendan Nelson said, the two finger salute to the nation.

They are arrogant and slippery, enjoying indulgences that should now finally stop. And this brings me to the final sadness. The Australian community has long been suspicious of artists; but now the caricature of the irresponsible artist has acquired a new dimension, arousing not just suspicion but resentment.

The new persona of the artist is someone who can use art as a loophole to break the law and obtain a dear privilege denied to everyone else. Parents in the general community no longer enjoy the privilege of photographing their kids in the nude. How come artists get to do this? What puts them above the law? Though this is a terrible insult to artists, I actually have some sympathy for the reaction.

It proves to me that parents have been diddled of something owing to them. They would dearly love to be able to photograph their children in the nude and not fear prosecution. So I completely understand their resentment over the privilege of artists, that its all right for some but not for us. An inalienable right has been taken away from ordinary parents. The mums and dads who work an honest living and have the fondest relationship with their kids are denied a record of enormous value to their family and their children when they grow up.

Unless their parents were artists, the future men and women who are now kids will never see what they looked like lounging around in the nude as only children can if they are still allowed. The memory of a key part of their innocence is deleted. We are in a most unfortunate predicament where everyone is a loser. The artist earns the resentment of the general community for retaining this privilege. The child protection spokesperson is on the losing legal side and resorts to insulting a child.

The politicians are caught talking about things that they know nothing about. Senior lawyers risk getting caught defaming an artistic family. The righteous journalist is caught fabricating a picture that lets him indulge his sexual fantasy and bring false witness to his adversary.

Opinion writers are caught speaking with neither evidence nor science nor decorum. No one gains in this dire moral downward spiral. It has brutalized so many commentators and few have escaped with their honour intact. It wrecks the credibility of everyone who goes near it. It makes fools of the police who are ordered to prosecute and then have to return the confiscated artworks. It bludgeons the gallerists and artists who will never hear an apology over the way they are mishandled. The issues are beyond the Classification Board, whose criteria have nothing to do with the current preoccupations.

The moral downward spiral sucks the Australia Council into becoming a super-parent, forced to take over relations between artist, child and parent. The Australia Council has to come up with a world-first in paternalism, imposing a kind of toddler harness on the nations artists, where the people who think profoundly about the issues are constrained by politicians who scarcely think about them at all.

In short, there was never a cultural mess like it since the epoch of iconoclasm in Byzantium. But while artists may suffer from a new alienation in the general community, the real victims are children, children who can no longer be gazed upon without occasioning fears of paedophilia among their onlookers. In , I wrote a Freudian essay recognizing the sensuality of children which has been held up as an example of a disturbing paedophilic tendency. Amazingly, I got into trouble and had to explain myself on radio for having said, back then, that the sensuality of children is integral to parental fondness.

Just what did you mean by that?

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I was asked, as if cuddling your own child is suspect and expressing it breaches a taboo. When the essay described the oral pleasure of infantile dummy sucking, various commentators thought that they had proof of my depravity. Wherever artistic and academic interest is suppressed, you can be sure that the general public suffers a yet more serious eradication of consciousness. As the community is harrowed of its visible affection for children, children grow up with emotionally stunted relations with their adult families. Children are being quarantined from the recognition of their sensual pleasures; and so they, too, are denied much: We are witnessing an unprecedented alienation of childhood where it is considered shameful to wonder what makes a kid giggle, in which parental curiosity is being eliminated for fear of being condemned as paedophilic.

I remember when I was a boy how I used to smile at everyone in the street. People used to smile back and I felt that I could generate this warmth between me and others. My friendliness had my parents approval; they used to admire my toothy grin. That sense of being an emotional agent in the world is progressively being denied to children and for no good reason. Nowadays, hardly any male dares look at a child much less smile at one, for fear of the friendliness being misconstrued. The relationship is increasingly suspect, with an intervention emanating from state control.

What we demand of the state is that it protect children from psychological and physical violation. The state has no moral right to make this incursion into family life. It never had a mandate to interfere in this way. It is a new bureaucratic barbarism, in which some ambitious brave hearts and vulgarizing politicians have persuaded the world to abandon reason, art and science. Oui, dans le sens que je ne peux dire le contraire. Quel livre aimez-vous relire?

Et celle de Woody Allen: Mais quelle est la question? La Tate Gallery cache ses images. Eric Albert Londres, correspondance. Ont-elles perdu leur valeur artistique? Disons les choses clairement: You are on the defensive too much to be effusive. Gauguin was both a syphilitic paedophile and an artist more important than Van Gogh. Foul man, fine artist. Some say our knowledge of the former should change our opinion on the latter. Others, myself among them, think otherwise. Indeed, much of the power of his most famous works — the Polynesian-babe paintings — derives from our uncomfortable knowledge of the context they were created in.

Feminists have justifiably given the Parisian a good hammering down the years. After dumping his wife and five kids, Gauguin upped sticks to Martinique, Brittany, Arles where he spent nine notorious weeks with van Gogh in , and finally the South Pacific islands of Tahiti and Hiva Oa. He took three native brides — aged 13, 14 and 14, for those keeping score — infecting them and countless other local girls with syphilis.

In short, posterity has Gauguin down as a sinner, and his posthumous punishment is a lack of exposure. Avidly we looked for the story behind the art, for a glimpse into the mind of a genius, almost disregarding the very reason we proclaimed genius to begin with: Yes, it was unique, and brilliant in its day, but those boots, sunflowers and cypress trees have become rather old hat.

Gauguin, by contrast, was too much of a cad in life to ever reach such heights of commodification in death. Besides which, his outrageous range of colours is poorly served by reproduction. They have to be seen to be believed — which makes the Tate show all the more exciting. But who cares about that when his colouring is so sumptuous? Inspired by the flat fields of unmodulated colour in Japanese prints, Gauguin cast realism aside in a quest for more profound meaning.

With his patches of strong, undiluted colour, it was but a small step to Matisse — and the rest, as they say, is art history. Many peers distrusted an ex-stockbroker who had turned to art only in his late twenties. As its title, Gauguin: Maker of Myth, suggests, the Tate show will tackle this charge head-on. The case for the prosecution is strong — take Noa Noa, his journal about life on Tahiti. Gauguin had never been a stranger to mythologising, of course. And Gauguin was a fine self-mythologiser, too.

So, was he a fraud?

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The romantic in me likes to think not. If he was deceiving anyone with his idyllic island pictures, it was most probably himself. In some paintings, one senses another dark truth surfacing, too: Consider The Ancestors of Tehamana a portrait of his wife, wearing a high-necked missionary dress. Tehamana sits in front of a frieze that depicts the alien combination of a Buddhist idol, indecipherable glyphs and two evil spirits. She smiles at us, sort of, with all the enigma of a Polynesian Mona Lisa.

Beneath the Westernised clothing, and in all but the sexual sense, it seems Gauguin found her impenetrable. His pioneering work with colour and form make the Tate retrospective long overdue. He was a graceless survivor, and everyone prefers a heroic victim. David Bowie died on January 10, , two days after his 69th birthday and the release of Blackstar , his 25th album. Lady Gaga paid extended, exhaustive tribute to him at the Grammys on Monday night; in the week following his death, there was a second line for him in New Orleans, a shrine outside his apartment in Tribeca, a series of farewells from his musical echelon, a million Instagrams , a segment on SNL.

Bowie was that rare thing, a revolutionary who was also near-universally beloved. He gave off an uncanny combination of generosity and brilliance, in which he seemed to give everything to and ask nothing of the people who idolized him—except for, I guess, the bodies of the young teenage girls he fucked. Word choice is hard here. Does it matter at all if the year-old, now much older, describes their encounter as one of the best nights of her life?

As the piece recirculated, people emailed us, saying that it was our political obligation to write that David Bowie had been a rapist, even a pedophile, too. The facts are not debatable. On the day of his death, we considered posting his first reply to a fan letter:. Written in , the letter was sweet and generous and easy, closing with: Yours sincerely, David Bowie. Lori Maddox, according to her as-told-to Thrillist piece, was also 14 when she met Bowie. I was still a virgin and terrified. He had hair the color of carrots, no eyebrows, and the whitest skin imaginable.

So we all just hung out and talked. Next time Bowie was in town, though, maybe five months later, I got a call at home from his bodyguard, a huge black guy named Stuey. Maddox had implicitly declined the encounter at age 14, and notes no pushback in her account. At age 15, she was less afraid.

I was incredibly turned on. Bowie excused himself and left us in this big living room with white shag carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows. Stuey brought out Champagne and hash. We were getting stoned when, all of a sudden, the bedroom door opens and there is Bowie in this fucking beautiful red and orange and yellow kimono. He walked me through his bedroom and into the bathroom, where he dropped his kimono. He got into the tub, already filled with water, and asked me to wash him. Of course I did.

Then he escorted me into the bedroom, gently took off my clothes, and de-virginized me. Two hours later, I went to check on Sable. For Bowie, the same idea has started to foment—that this encounter with Maddox and the others it implies should be, as with Cosby, his major legacy. There are two underlying assumptions here that I question: Erin Keane makes this point at Salon:. Things were different then. But they were not, really, no matter how many times we all collectively wish that to be true.

What changes is this, only — which girls, which men, how and where it is allowed. It is important, not incidental, that Bowie was part of the norm. The perpetually wise Rebecca Solnit wrote in. It was completely normalized. Like child marriage in some times and places. Solnit has written about this time and place before. For San Francisco in particular and for California generally, was a notably terrible year, the year in which the fiddler had to be paid for all the tunes to which the counterculture had danced. The sexual revolution had deteriorated into a sort of free-market free-trade ideology in which all should have access to sex and none should deny access.

I grew up north of San Francisco in an atmosphere where once you were twelve or so hippie dudes in their thirties wanted to give you drugs and neck rubs that were clearly only the beginning, and it was immensely hard to say no to them. There were no grounds. Afterward, he delivered the dazed, glassy-eyed child to her home, he upbraided her big sister for being unkind to the family dog.

Some defended him on the grounds that the girl looked Reading Solnit on this, you can understand how Lori Maddox could have possibly developed not just a sincere desire to fuck adult men but the channels to do it basically in public; why an entire scene encouraged her, photographed her, gave her drugs that made all of it feel better, loved her for it, celebrated her for it, for years. You can understand that the way she consented to the loss of her virginity could have been the way women have consented throughout history—under implicit duress and formative coercion, and yet as wholeheartedly as we could understand.

There are no precise enough words or satisfying enough conclusions to fully account for her story, or any like it. It is easy to denounce the part Bowie played in this, even with any number of purportedly mitigating factors: It is less easy to turn over what Maddox evinces in this narrative, from the late s to her account of it now—which is that women have developed the vastly unfair, nonetheless remarkable, and still essential ability to find pleasure and freedom in a system that oppresses them.

It is possible for me to read all the rape stories in my inbox and still know with certainty that something enormous is different—and, that acknowledging that is the only way to credit the second-wave women who forced that change with rhetorical fervor that girls now would find insane. It is Maddox who interests me, in the end, not Bowie. Groupie lifts the lid on the excesses of the Beatles and Rolling Stones A groupie who was granted access to the inner sanctums of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones has lifted the lid on their hedonistic lifestyles in a new memoir.

Anita Singh The Telegraph 30 Oct She landed a job as an office assistant at Apple Records, at the height of Beatlemania. So we just chanted our way to the earth, basically, until we landed. Of her fling with Jagger, she said: Two years later she was hired as a tour manager for Dylan and began an affair with him.

Starr is godfather to their son. They hung out on Sunset Boulevard, L. They were, in news that will destroy your idols, very young: Starr was 14 years old when she started hanging out on the Strip, with a 13 year old Lori Lightning real name Mattix joining the now established gang soon afterwards. The scene was documented by the controversial, short-lived publication Star , a tome that took teenage magazine tropes to their extreme: Thanks to dedicated archive digger Ryan Richardson you can gape at every single issue online — including an interview with Starr and Queenie, in the final issue, that records for posterity the startling, angsty conviction of these ultimate mean girls.

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