Pretty Ugly

"Les Folles" (1970) by Bernard Buffet

Mr. Williams found this image in The New York Times under the headline "Pretty Ugly," a review of an NYC gallery show of the same name. The show features 75 artists across two galleries, and is summed up by Times writer Holland Cotter as merely weird for weirdness's sake, and therefore a waste of time.

The painting remains of interest because it should be erotic, but it is not. A painting of a group of nearly naked red-haired women, one of whom lies over the lap of another, ought to be a favorite of mine, but the description hardly fits the tableau. I am instead reminded of John Lanchester's fictional memoir-cum-cookbook The Debt to Pleasure, in which the narrator explains the "erotics of dislike:"

"To like something is to want to ingest it, and in that sense is to submit to the world. To like something is to succumb, in a small but contentful way, to death. But dislike hardens the perimeter between the self and the world, and brings a clarity to the object isolated in its light. Any dislike is in some measure a triumph of definition, distinction, and discrimination--a triumph of life." (Lanchester, The Debt to Pleasure, pp. 6-7)

I dislike this image, especially the girl turned over another's knee. The dislike truly is a physical reaction, a knot tightened in my belly, an active response. It's not that I simply do not like the painting, I actively dislike it.

The core of my dislike is my perception of the image as mirror. In this case, art imitates life. The women portrayed are withered whores, weary of their wantonness. They extend their tongues, not in lasciviousness, but as if they are dogs gasping for breath. Their wrinkles deeply set; this world, the world of the beautiful unclothed woman, the dancehall, the cabaret, is no longer theirs.In their blank eyes I see myself, or the woman I was about to become. In disliking their image, I separate myself from them, I defy commiseration. By defining myself as other, my own life triumphs.

I don't think anyone will be surprised when I note that I am closing down the Naughty Abby website. It was an utter joy while it lasted, and I can honestly say I am more myself for having that experience. It could return, in another form. To those who contributed to its modest success, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and from the bottom of my bottom. You have a piece of me that I am happy to have shared. The moment I began to feel that filming was required of me and that my heart was no longer in it, we stopped filming. There are no Naughty Abby videos extant that are anything but honest and joyfully experienced.

The day I looked in the mirror and saw one of those withered women was the day it ended for me. That day came early in the summer, when I was worn out with work, with writing, with the demands of being anyone other than a woman curled up with a glass of wine and a good book. Knowing that I could not allow myself to be a painted shell of a voluptuous and sensuous creature, I began instead to explore the parts of me I had ignored. My quest for my individual spirituality and sense of bodily self returned. I also began to explore new perspectives on my fetish, although the explorations so far have been more theoretical than physical. My day to day life has changed as well - I began a new job, albeit within the same company, two weeks ago, and while I finally have my own office, I am completely out of my element. There are even changes within our family structure. I'm not pregnant, but a course of events has occurred that finds me in a distant but distinct motherly position, and I am not ready to be both porn star and parent.

I am, however, ready to continue writing. I am keeping this blog, for when inspiration - ahem - strikes, but I also started a new blog today. It's called (link defunct), and my intention is to write about the rest of my internal and daily life (i.e. those aspects that have nothing to do with my own naked arse). I'm keeping my pseudonym. Much as I don't want to be Abby the fetish film star right now, I do want to continue on with this course of writing and adventure that I began in that naughty Puritan's name.

Abigail Williams: Writer. Spankophile. Seeker. Philosopher. Woman.