From photography to painting to filmmaking, erotic art closes the gap between sex and pop culture.
What Makes Art Controversial?
Art is subjective. It can be transgressive and can spark controversies. And that's completely okay. Art is not to please everyone.
Let's Talk About Nudity: Art or Vulgarity?
Born we are, naked. With time though — now in a historical “human” context — we started covering ourselves for warmth, for status, for everyday life. This state of always being dressed rendered the naked body the most vulnerable and “essential” state for us, but much like clothing, the naked body imprisons and reveals meanings. Especially in the arts.
Lady Godiva - The Nude Who Rode a Horse
Let me cut the chase - I'm talking about the prominent British painter and writer John Collier. When I explored his oeuvre, I noticed a pattern where he gave a provocative yet sophisticated outlook to mythical women. His works alter the original setting and give an unconventional perspective to folklore and fairy tales.
6 Simple Steps That Helped Me Have My Best Orgasm Ever
I had one of my strongest and longest orgasms yet a few nights ago. My partner made me feel exceptionally cherished and close, which simply added to the pleasure.
Can Sex Be Captured?
What do you think about when you think about sex in art? While many would argue that PornHub is art itself, my mind goes to two things: the movie The Handmaiden and the oeuvre of Egon Schiele.
Exploring Nudity, Nymphs and Feet Fetish
Dante and Virgil became one of his most famous paintings and it personally attracted me to research Bouguereau's craft. Isn't this painting frighteningly beautiful?
Steve Azzara The G.O.A.T. Of Photography
It was December 11th, 2021 when I learned his birthday was June 25th, 1951. As I stood at the door of the funeral home looking hesitant upon entering, I immediately thought of the countless moments asking “When is your birthday?” and your response would follow “I’m not telling you because I know you’ll buy me something!” I chuckle now at the banter but it was true; I wanted to buy you stuff. I like to buy my friends things. I like to make people feel good or happy. Since you wouldn’t allow birthday gifts or Christmas gifts; I resorted to foods even though I always guessed wrong. You’d tell me “When you’re rich and famous then I’ll let you do whatever you want”; I don’t think I have ever wished so hard that I was until now.
Acting for the Best
I HAVE no patience with people who talk that kind of nonsense about marrying for love and the like. For my part I don't know what they mean, and I don't believe they know it themselves. It's only a sort of fashion of talking. I never could see what there was to like in one young man more than another, only, of course, you might favour some more than others if they was better to do. My cousin Mattie was different. She must set up to be in love, and walk home from church with Jack Halibut Sunday after Sunday, the long way round, if you please, through the meadows; and he used to buy her scent and ribbons at the fair, and send her a big valentine of lacepaper, and satin ribbons and things, though Lord knows where he got the money from--honest, I hope--for he hadn't a penny to bless himself with. When my uncle found out all this nonsense, being a man of proper spirit, he put his foot down, and says he-- 'Mattie, my girl, I would be the last to say anything against any young man you fancied, especially a decent chap like young Halibut, if his prospects was anything like as good as could be expected, but you can't pretend poor Jack's are, him being but a blacksmith's man, and not in regular work even. Now, let's have no waterworks,' he went on, for Mattie had got the corner of her apron up and her mouth screwed down at the corners. 'I've known what poverty is, my girl, and you shan't never have a taste of it with my consent.' 'I don't care how poor I be, father,' said Mattie, 'it's Jack I care about.' 'There's a girl all over,' says uncle, for he was a sensible man in those days. 'The bit I've put by for you, lass, it's enough for one, but it's not enough for two. And when young Halibut can show as much, you shall be cried in church the very next Sunday. But, meantime, there must be no kisses, no more letters, and no more walking home from churches. Now, you give me your word--and keep it I know you will--like an honest girl.' So Mattie she gave him her word, though much against her will; and as for Jack, I suppose, man-like, he didn't care much about staying in the village after there was a stop put to his philandering and kissing and scent and so on. So what does he do, but he ups and offs to America (assisted emigration) 'to make his fortune,' says he. And never word nor sign did we hear of him for three blessed years. Mattie was getting quite an old maid, nigh on two-and-twenty, and I was past nineteen, when one morning there come a letter from Jack. My father and mother were dead this long time, so I lived with uncle and Mattie at the farm. What offers I had had is neither here nor there. At any rate, whatever they were, they weren't good enough. But Mattie might have been married twice over if she had liked, and to folks that would have been quite a catch to a girl like her getting on in years. She might have had young Bath for one, the strawberry grower; and what if he did drink a bit of a Saturday? He was taking his hundreds of pounds to the Bank every week in canvas bags, as all the world knew. But no, she must needs hanker after Jack, and that's why I say it's such nonsense. Well, when the letter come, I was up to my elbows in the jam-making-- raspberry and currant it was,--and Mattie, she was down in the garden getting the last berries off the canes. My hands were stained up above the wrist with the currant juice, so I took the letter up by the corner of my apron and I went down the garden with it. 'Mattie,' I calls out, 'here's a letter from that good-for-nothing fellow of yours.' She couldn't see me, and she thought I was chaffing her about him, which I often did, to keep things pleasant. 'Don't tease me, Jane,' she says, 'for I do feel this morning as if I could hardly bear myself as it is.' And as she said it I came out through the canes close to her with the letter in my hand. But when she see the letter she dropped the basket with the raspberries in it (they rolled all about on the ground right under the peony bush, for that was a silly, old-fashioned garden, with the flowers and fruit about it anyhow), and I had a nice business picking them up, and she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me, and cried like the silly little thing she was, and thanked me for bringing the letter, just as if I had anything to do with it, or any wish or will one way or another; and then she opened the letter, and seemed to forget all about me while she read it. I remember the sun was so bright on the white paper that I could scarce see to read it over her shoulder, she not noticing me, nor anything else, any more. It was like this-- 'DEAR MATTIE,--This comes hoping to find you well, as it leaves me at present. 'I don't bear no malice over what your father said and done, but I'm not coming to his house. 'Now Mattie, if you have forgot me, or think more of some other chap, don't let anything stand in the way of your letting me know it straight and plain. But if you do remember how we used to walk from church, and the valentine, and the piece of poetry about Cupid's dart that I copied for you out of the poetry-book, you will come and meet me in the little ash copse, you know where. I may be prevented coming, for I've a lot of things to see to, and I am going to Liverpool on Thursday, and if we are to be married you will have to come to me there, for my business won't bear being left, and I must get back to it. But if so I will put a note in your prayer-book in the church. So you had best look in there on your way up on Wednesday evening. 'I am taking this way of seeing you because I don't want there to be any unpleasantness for you if you are tired of me or like some other chap better. 'I mean to take a wife back with me, Mattie, for I have done well, and can afford to keep one in better style than ever your father kept his. Will you be her, dear? So no more at present from your affectionate friend and lover, JACK HALIBUT.' I am quicker at reading writing than Mattie, and I had finished the letter and was picking up the raspberries before she come to the end, where his name was signed with all the little crosses round it. 'Well?' says I, as she folded it up and unbuttoned two buttons of her dress to push it inside. 'Well,' says I, 'what's the best news?' 'He's come home again,' she says. And I give you my word she did look like a rose as she said it. 'He's come home again, Jane, and it's all right, and he likes me just as much as ever he did, God bless him.' Not a word, you see, about his having made his fortune, which I might never have known if I hadn't read the letter which I did, acting for the best. Not that I think it was deceitfulness in the girl, but a sort of fondness that always kept her from noticing really important things. 'And does he ask you to have him?' says I. 'Of course he does,' she says; 'I never thought any different. I never thought but what he would come back for me, just as he said he would-- just as he has.' By that I knew well enough that she had often had her doubts. 'Oh, well!' says I, 'all's well that ends well. I hope he's made enough to satisfy uncle--that's all.' 'Oh yes, I think so,' says Mattie, hardly understanding what I was saying. 'I didn't notice particular. But I suppose that's all right.' She didn't notice particular! Now, I put it to you, Was that the sort of girl to be the wife of a man who had got on like Jack had? I for one didn't think so. If she didn't care for money why should she have it, when there was plenty that did? And if love in a cottage was what she wanted, and kisses and foolishness out of poetry-books, I suppose one man's pretty much as good as another for that sort of thing. So I said, 'Come along in, dear, and we will get along with the jammaking, and talk it all over nicely. I'm so glad he's come back. I always say he would, if you remember.'
The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being considered a kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the parson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among them in the churchyard, between services on Sundays; gathering grapes for them from the wild vines that overran the surrounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent millpond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.__ From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house, so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's "History of New England Witchcraft," in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spell-bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover bordering the little brook that whimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination,--the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fireflies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road. Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds inthe air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!
Who's that Girl?
If you surf the internet long enough, then chances are you'll come across a meme. According to Google the definition of a meme is an image, video, piece of text which is typically humorous in nature. It is often copied and spread rapidly by internet users, often with slight variations.
5 Erotic Paintings That Scandalized the Art World
In 2017, my husband and I visited Bhutan. A beautiful landlocked country in Eastern Himalayas. Can you take a wild guess at what bewildered us?
Hello… Hell is lo Good be everything You have knocked at my door How can I be of service? I want to give you more