A Human Thing

January 26th, 2010

In my past life in the visual arts world I noted – along with thousands of others – that any overtly female artwork, not feminist, but dealing with the business of being of the female gender, was neatly sidelined as ‘women’s art’. Some female students scrambled valiantly to get away from this label because it was the kiss of marginalisation and obscurity. But some embraced it with an enthusiasm and passion usually reserved for the beheading of aristocrats in revolutions.

Sculpture departments in art schools are full of traditional masculine technologies such as woodworking, metalwork, steel, clay and so on. During my time as a student in a sculpture department all the permanent staff were in their men in their forties, (the part timers were female). At the end of each term students would display whatever it was they were working on and the staff, and other students, would gather around for what was termed a critique.

When a female student exhibited a ‘female’ piece of work the tension became unbearable, because criticising these artworks was impossible. The male teaching staff - poor bastards - were being asked to walk through a minefield. Bristling female students held their breath as they anticipated a bloody explosion, but the male students wandered off – it didn’t concern them, it was a chick thing. And anyway, it was ‘women’s art’ – made them a bit squeamish, a bit guilty and a lot bored.

So what’s the point of this little story, I hear you ask. The point is, despite being fifty one per cent of the world’s population, representation of women and their lives is still considered a minority interest, and of lower status than the dominant masculinised culture. New York Times film critic, Manhola Dargis, talks about this problem in regards to Hollywood filmmaking. (Jezebel.com, December 14)

“There’s a reason that women go to movies like Mamma Mia. It’s a terrible movie… but women are starved for representation of themselves. … It’s a vicious cycle. We’re (women) not going to movies because there aren’t movies for us. Therefore we’re not seen as a loyal movie going audience. My point is that if there are stories about women, women will come out for that…

That’s why [women] go to a movie like The Devil Wears Prada and make huge hits. They want to see women in movies. People in the trade press constantly frame that as a surprise. This, gee whiz, Sex and the City’s a hit, Twilight, hmm, wonder what’s going on here. Maybe they should not be so surprised. In the trade press, women audiences are considered a niche. How is that even possible? We’re 51 percent of the audience.”

To generalise, women are interested in stories about relationships between people. In popular culture romance and women’s fiction are invariably focussed on relationships both within the family and beyond, how woman negotiate these relationships and how individual women find a place in our society. These books represent us to ourselves – larger than life, sure, but with a core of truth that we recognise. However these books are marginalised, and in the case of romance, trivialised and stigmatised.

A relative of mine can’t get his head around the fact that I’ve chosen to write romantic comedy. The word ‘romantic’ sticks in his throat. He just can’t understand why an overeducated, intelligent western woman would be writing such things.

And I’ll tell you why – Australian author and academic Bronwyn Parry describes romantic fiction as having four main characteristics – a concern with relationships, with the emotional arc or journey of the characters, affirming the power of love and with an optimistic ending. I’m interested in relationships, I’m interested in exploring emotions, I know happy endings don’t mirror reality but people like to be uplifted occasionally. And I do believe in the transformational power of love – not in some queasy pink Hallmark way, but as a human who has had lovers, children, partners, friends and parents, and seen love at work. Everybody is, or has been, on a journey toward intimacy with another human being – it’s not a minority experience.

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Categories: culture, on reading | Tags: art, books, culture, love, writing