The Naked Portrait

After the myriad of nudes at the art fair yesterday, I see there is a large article in the press by a well known feminist about a major exhibition of the nude in art presently showing in an exquisite pile in the countryside. This is where the friend of the artist was going when I bumped into her before my rigorous hike the other day through woods and fields outside the capital. In fact the more I think about it, the more I believe the artist should have been in this show. She would certainly have earned her place. The card from her last solo exhibition in the capital for example bore a colour reproduction of a nude. It was a large self-portrait by the artist of the artist standing in her former studio by an empty white wall. Well, empty apart from the residue of lines left from some peeled masking tape. By her feet were splinter-ready floorboards. Above them were honest sock lines. I seem to remember dirt on the skirting boards, too. Another very important element you should know: she was about five or six months pregnant at the time. This, you could argue, was conceptual art at its purest. Unfortunately the young but successful gallery at the time failed to run through the proofs for the cards with the artist and as a result she always felt the image on the card - as opposed to the original - was too large, suggesting a kind of clumsiness to the image which simply did not and does not exist. I must say, it is a strange sensation watching other people look at your wife naked, which would happen almost every day during the run-up to the show, as I innocently handed out invitations. I suppose the fact she was pregnant did kind of desexualise it, but there was little left to the imagination. I admired this piece greatly: I still do. Even though everything except this piece sold in the show, it was for me the most important piece, as it showed the beginnings - or at least outline - of what has since developed into a full blown project, namely her subsequent works done of her children. This desire on the part of female artists to take their clothes off is not exactly new; nor does it ever quite go away I realise now. The last time we were in the foothills for example, the artist wanted to take her clothes off in order to gather some preliminary images by photograph. It was for another self portrait. I don't know why - I hope it wasn't me - but she decided against it in the end. A close shave, I was going to say. But that wouldn't be quite right either. Anyway, I swear by that piece. It is covered in bubble wrap right now and leaning against the awaiting new work.