Friday, March 6, 2009

Embodied


Embodied, Victorian Literature and the Senses, William A. Cohen

From the University of Minnesota Press Website:

What does it mean to be human? British writers in the Victorian period found a surprising answer to this question. What is human, they discovered, is nothing more or less than the human body itself. In literature of the period, as well as in scientific writing and journalism, the notion of an interior human essence came to be identified with the material existence of the body. The organs of sensory perception were understood as crucial routes of exchange between the interior and the external worlds.

Anatomizing Victorian ideas of the human, William A. Cohen considers the meaning of sensory encounters in works by writers including Charles Dickens, Charlotte Brontë, Anthony Trollope, Thomas Hardy, and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Rather than regarding the bodily exterior as the primary location in which identity categories—such as gender, sexuality, race, and disability—are expressed, he focuses on the interior experience of sensation, whereby these politics come to be felt.

In these elegant engagements with literary works, cultural history, and critical theory, Cohen advances a phenomenological approach to embodiment, proposing that we encounter the world not through our minds or souls but through our senses.

William A. Cohen is professor of English at the University of Maryland. He is the author of Sex Scandal: The Private Parts of Victorian Fiction and coeditor of Filth: Dirt, Disgust, and Modern Life (Minnesota, 2005).

Noir


Gareth Pugh, 2009 Ready-To-Wear 

Bruno Pieters, 2009 Ready-To-Wear


Rick Owens, 2009 Ready-To-Wear 

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Mother Cell

If the mother cell does not  find her "hero" she languishes and dies within a few hours. She is carried down the Fallopian tube to the uterus, where everything is in readiness to receive a living guest-not a dead mother cell.

excerpt and illustrations from The Rhythm, Leo J. Latz, M.D., 1934



Tuesday, March 3, 2009

an agitation of hands

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
                                           
Mirror, Sylvia Plath


Providence, Rhode Island 1975-78


House 4, Providence Rhode Island, 1975-76


Space 2, Providence Rhode Island, 1975-76


Francesca Woodman's haunting images speak of desire, death, and longing through bodily possession. She performs the female body as a sensual surface, a site which can mark and be marked by the immediate environment. She hovers over doorways or disappears into walls like a living ghost; she is a luminous apparition made of flesh. Woodman's corporality imprints time and leaves behind a silent silver trace.

During her short career from 1972 until her death in 1981, Francesa Woodman produced nearly 800 photographs (only about 120 have been exhibited). This spring, Espacio AV will present Francesca Woodman.retrospective which includes previously unseen photographs and videos by the artist.

Francesca Woodman. Retrospective, Espacio AV, Murcia, Spain February 27-May 11, 2009 

Wasp Tumor

 Handmade fashions from the current collection of Swedish artist Sandra Backlund.





Monday, March 2, 2009

School Physiology




From A New School Physiology and Hygiene  by Richard Dunglison, 
copyright Porter & Coates, 1880.