Dear friends, greetings to all who confuse Art and entertainment with the Church. For too long, I've bowed under the male-centric discourse about the sanctity of the immaculate body (oh dear, cover up, because you give me sinful thoughts and that makes you dirty). It's the 21st century, yet the sacred/profane, clean/unclean dichotomies are as strong as ever.
I'm fascinated by the notion that pictures and films are supposed to extend the real, breathing body. Well, no, we women don't care if someone masturbates to our photos as long as they don't inform us about it in unwanted ways. The boundary between public and private is really manageable, even for those below average IQ levels.
I'll spare you a lecture on unwanted compliments (it gets complicated here too, with those expressed intelligently and those that are crude), reducing it to the minimum: visual creation can truly stem from the joy of working with the body. We, women, don't reduce our image solely to the desire for attention.
So, a message to all those who insightfully called me or other girls "w****s," quoting the poet: "Kiss my ass, all of you" (virtually, of course, and yes, yes, I know, it's pretty)