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Kyla Macfarlane
IV
Ian Breakwell's 1983 video work
The Sermon is particularly illustrative of the
twist enacted by the Möbius. A sardonic
commentary on the effects of the law as stated
by the institutional voice, it takes the format
of a television sermon in a book-lined study
reminiscent of the set of Stars on Sunday. The
speaker, a seated priest, begins by calmly reminding
the viewer that we have erred and offended against
"the laws&" and that clarificationis needed
regarding areas of guidance. As the monologue
progresses, however, his avid pleasure in addressing
the perverse and sinful becomesapparent, with
the tone of the address moving from sage, fatherly
advice to a frenzied tirade against the lusts
of the flesh and original sin.
The Sermon is subject to a kind of leakage,
as a perverse desire meets with the rigidity
of the institutional voice; speaker of a vaguely
defined, but highly potent law. Breakwell's
spoken text is littered with references to bodily
fissures and seepages, such as "the rupturing
of membranes&" during birth, or the leaking
of sperm from a condom perforated with holes
so that the marriage act can still be performed
within the guidelines of the faith whilst collecting
semen for laboratory tests. Or, finally, the
gutting of the stomach of the depraved. Absurd
and viscous, The Sermon ironically describes
the impress of the body and its filthy excesses
on the intellectual rigour of the law. In attempting
to contain and restrain, the law itself becomes
perverse and obsessive. By the video's end,
desire and the law become blurred to the point
of misrecognition.
Desire and interiority also plays
a role in Breakwell's audio-visual work Deep
Faith (2001). A slide projection featuring an
x-ray of the throat of a woman who swallowed
a small crucifix, the work's imagery is sexualised
by the gradual and repeated dissolving of a
second slide featuring thewords "deep faith&",
a reference to the pornographic film Deep Throat,
[10] into the
first image. This reference plays on devotional
allusions, toying with the notion of complete
acceptance of Christian doctrine, whilst aligning
this with a sexual act. The image also has a
violent subtext, with the figure becoming an
intrusive lodgement in the throat. This association
of the figure of Christ with the interior of
the body also echoes Serrano's submersion of
a similar figure in his own urine in Piss Christ.
In both works, the body of Christ is strongly
associated with the functioning of the human
body, at the beginning and end of the digestive
process. In the former, the figure is taken
into the throat and remains uncomfortably lodged
there, whilst in the latter, it is associated
with expulsion of waste.
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V
In his new work created for Votive,
Christopher Braddock presents photographs of
male and female subjects tattooed with emblems
developed in Braddock's sculptural works such
as Votive Mutations (1999). This is the body
itself as relic, as both emblem and symbol,
but with a twist.
In marking a subject's flesh with his mutated
forms, he plays out a certain irony, taking
on the role of cultural inscriber in order to
critique other ways the body might be marked
by the codes of religion.
Braddock is keenly aware of the significance
of wounded flesh in religious representations
of martyred saints and the body of Christ but,
like Serrano and Kovats, his engagement with
the sacred crosses into the profane. The crosses
and hearts of his designs make reference to
the catalogue of motifs seen on tattoo-parlour
walls, but they also recall imagery associated
with Catholic ritual and votive offerings. Braddock's
conflation of these two apparently disparate
cultural conventions highlights the similarities
between religious and secular ritual in which
devotional imagery plays a central role. The
body itself remains a key element here, emphasised
by the placement of the emblems close to nipples,
above buttocks, and below the navel-referencing
and fetishising the body parts and openings
represented by the tattoos themselves. This
temporarily wounded flesh underlines the intersection
between the secular and the religious, a liminal
space where desire-the inside-somehow meets
the inscribed surface. This is furthered by
the accompanying Slaver (2001). Here, Braddock's
metal relics hang from black ribbons on supports
reminiscent of large butcher's hooks that trail
onto the floor. Like Serrano's Piss Christ,
it connects hung flesh and spilled body fluids.
The metal of Slaver also has a gleaming surface
sheen, not unlike the glow of Piss Christ, against
which the photographed skin of the tattooed
subjects appears all the more fleshy and variously
marked by pores and moles. The contrast highlights
the gap between fetish and flesh, suggesting
that the body as relic is only ever a superficial
copy of the lived body. As such it might be
read as a questioning of the devotional faith
that puts its trust in such votive offerings.
Braddock's titling of his
photographic works continues his playful reckoning
with qualities of excess and limitation in relation
to Christian strictures.
The names of his tattooed subjects refer to
biblical characters known for their relationship
with "the law". Aaron, brother of Moses, is
the first high priest and receiver and transmitter
of God's commands. Jezebel is portrayed as a
notorious and depraved woman, maligned for her
worship of her own native gods, wanton behaviour,
liberal use of make up and abuse of the law,
which led her to her own gruesome death. Mary
(Magdalene) stands between these two figures
as both outsider and insider. A repentant sinner,
she stands in contrast to Jezebel's defiance,
abandoning her life of sin in a display of penitence
that included anointing Christ's feet. She is
duly rewarded by being first to witness his
resurrection. [11]
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VI
Cathy de Monchaux's
sculpture operates in conversation with Braddock's
work, focusing on the emblematisation and fetishisation
of the body in a religious context. Like his,
her emblems are excessive and perverse, toying
with the simultaneous exposure and repression
shown by the church towards the body, flesh
and sexuality. Works such as Suck Violets (1996)
and Worried About the Weather? (1996) toy with
these themes by connecting flesh with the symbolism
of the cross. In the latter, a fleshy element
reminiscent of female genitalia mutates its
central axis.
In Votive, feminine sexuality is also at the
core of Red (1999), suggested here by the folds
of velvet that are tiered around the interior
of the sculpture, culminating in an eruption
of folds at the centre of the work. The velvet
is set against and secured by materials of discipline
and restraint -leather straps elaborately fastened
by sharp brass clasps. The subtext here is vestments
and high ceremony, whilst the interior speaks
of something usually hidden from view. It is
a dark meeting of patriarchal worship and female
sexuality in which each is tangled up with the
other, resulting in a subversive collapsing
of boundaries not unlike those played out by
both Breakwell and Braddock. Despite such similarities,
however, the muteness, repression and compression
alluded to in Red also provide a sharp contrast
to the shrill, excessive patriarchal voice in
Breakwell's Sermon. The excesses of Red remain
in its material richness, with the repeated
folds of its interior enacting their own silent
seduction on the viewer, who might be tempted
to peer more closely at the work's red centre.
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Cathy de
Monchaux
Suck Violets, 1996
Brass, leather, copper and chalk
600 X 400 X 130mm
Courtesy of Sean Kelly Gallery, New York
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