outer banks of the aesthetic perimeter
It's rarely mentioned that many of the artists who get naked for their work have great bodies ... Women aren't the only ones. It's hard to imagine Chris Burden's early work without envisioning his sweet, baby-seal-like body, or Matthew Barney's art without enjoying his good looks. Even the once spongy Jeff Koons got buff for his close-up with Cicciolina. There are exceptions, though, mainly on the male side. In addition to the multiple love handles of Paul McCarthy and the geezerliness of John Coplans, there are the pigeon toes, knock-knees, and chunky thighs of that Keith Richards-Johnny Cash-Quasimodo of the art world, our own Man in Black, Vito Acconci.
In [Seedbed,] Acconci lay beneath a ramp built in the Sonnabend Gallery. Over the course of three weeks, he masturbated eight hours a day while murmuring things like, "You're pushing your cunt down on my mouth" or "You're ramming your cock down into my ass." Not only does the architectural intervention presage much of his subsequent work, but all of Acconci's fixations converge in this, the spiritual sphincter of his art. In Seedbed Acconci is the producer and the receiver of the work's pleasure. He is simultaneously public and private, making marks yet leaving little behind, and demonstrating ultra-awareness of his viewer while being in a semi-trance state. This extraordinary artistic marker, left 32 years ago this January, is still on the outer banks of the aesthetic perimeter.
- Jerry Saltz, "Body Heat," village voice April 23, 2004
posted May 04, 2004 in art, print, sex