As a librarian, I must admit that it’s difficult to be
unbiased about a book that (1) thanks multiple librarians in its
acknowledgements and (2) in its introduction, highlights the importance of
converting private knowledge into public information (via artist interviews).
But here goes…
In Renegotiating the Body: Feminist Art in 1970s London (I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd, 2013), Kathy Battista
strives to redress the dearth of feminist art scholarship in Britain by younger
academics.
As Linda Nochlin urged in her well-known article, “Why Have
There Been No Great Women Artists?” (1971), Battista doesn’t just cite examples
of talented artists like Mary Kelly. She looks at the conditions that
discouraged or encouraged their professional success.
Battista is clear that her account is not meant to be
encyclopedic. Her introductions of artists are fairly extensive, and once
the reader is familiar with each artist’s oeuvre, she weaves them in and out of
the book, bringing them back into the discussion just when you assume that is
the last you will read of them. Since it would be unnatural to suggest that
each artist only relates to one of the myriad themes she explores, it allows
the reader to appreciate the web of connections as the artists resurface.
As for the title, Renegotiating the Body, Battista notes that prior to the second wave of
feminism, “[t]he only female presence within the public space of the museum was
the female model, often nude” (p. 18). Women artists in Britain needed to work around the existing system. They found alternative spaces to public museums to show their work
(Bobby Baker, for instance, used a mobile home). With painting having reached
something of an impasse with Jackson Pollock, female artists used
unconventional materials in their work. The most available to them was their
own bodies. The body was not so much a theme as a vehicle to address more
complex ideas in performances. Some artists chose to keep their clothes on
(Rose Finn-Kelcey recalls the unstated question about when she would take her clothes off) while others
addressed the female-as-muse trope head on (Carolee Schneeman dressed and
undressed repeatedly while giving an art history lecture).
The issues in London’s 1970s feminist art scene mirror those
elsewhere. For instance, one artist says that wearing makeup was considered
a cardinal sin. I recall that it was also a bone of contention among America’s
feminist artists (Hannah Wilke was pro; Judy Chicago was con). Through archival
research and personal interviews, Battista uncovers many examples of relatively
unknown works that reveal an international web of influence. For instance,
there was a British reinterpretation of Womanhouse (a Californian student installation spearheaded by
Judy Chicago) organized by Kate Walker with such memorable images as a woman in
bridal attire half submerged in a heap of garbage.
Given Battista’s position as Director of Contemporary Art at
Sotheby’s Institute of Art in New York, it’s unsurprising that she demonstrates
how recent British art was influenced by the 1970s, whether consciously or
unconsciously. For example, Jemima Stehli undressed and redressed in front of
male members of the art world and displayed photographs of them photographing
her, which relates to Carolee Schneeman’s aforementioned art history lecture.
Another example is Tracey Emin’s My Bed,
which harks back to Judy Clark’s display of tissues from 28 days of sex with
her partner in Semen in Boxes.
My, how times have changed: Clark was delighted to be offered a solo exhibition
the night she unveiled this work yet Emin’s piece sold to Charles Saatchi for £150,000. One of the factors Battista attributes
to more women being in the limelight now is increased male support, like megastar
Damien Hirst promoting Sarah Lucas. Gentlemen readers, please take note.
The book contains a bibliography, notes, and an index.
Images are in black and white, but it would be helpful to see them in colour,
especially with works featuring blood, fecal matter, etc. since their shock
value is lessened in this state. Also consider the loss of impact in Jemima
Stehli’s Strip Series. When one of her
male subjects wrote about the shoot in The Guardian*, he noted the bright red
wall and the professional black suit he wore. Here, we lose access to those details.
*Adrian Searle, “Why Do I Feel Naked?”, The Guardian, July
15, 2000, http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2000/jul/15/books.guardianreview4
