Saturday, 22 June 2013

Friedrich Engels, Power Relations in 'The Origin of the Family' and The Gendering of Class and the Classing of Gender

Tying in with my conference paper and post last week on the The Classing and Gendering of Self-Presentation here's a good passage by Engels to illustrate this point further. 
We are confronted with this new form of family in all its severity among the Greeks. As Marx noted the position of the goddesses in mythology represents an earlier period, when women still occupied a freer and more respected place, in the Heroic Age, we could fine women degraded owing to the predominance of the man and the competition of female slaves...The modern conjugal family is based on...admitted or masked domestic slavery of women, and modern society is a mass made up exclusively of conjugal families, like so many molecules. In this day and age, man in the great majority of cases, must support and nourish the family, at least in the propertied classes; and this gives him a sovereign authority which does not need legal privilege to back it up. Within the family man is the bourgeois; woman plays the part of proletariat. But in the industrialist sphere, the specific character of economic oppression that weighs on the proletariat is only manifest in all its severity after all the legal privileges of the capitalist class have been suppressed and complete legal equality of the two classes has been established; the democratic republic does not suppress the antagonism between the two classes, the contrary is true: that is what, first of all, provides the ground where the struggle is going to be resolved.

Friday, 21 June 2013

"Cause it's changing in the big sky, Its changing in the big sky now!"

Just found out I have been offered a Fully Funded Studentship for my PhD at Middlesex in the department of Art and Design! One point to us dyslexic and/or working-class students!

Tuesday, 11 June 2013

The Company of Wolves (1984): The Functions of Masochistic Desire in the British Horror Film Part Two


(This post was originally part of an undergraduate essay, I'm not sure if I agree with all of its arguments now, but it's an example of quite an early attempt at writing about masochism, which has been a recurring theme of my work)

Like Hellraiser, The Company of Wolves deals with masochistic desire in an unconventional way. Rather than being concerned with the negative effects of the masochistic desire of its young female heroine, The Company of Wolves shows it to be enabling for her, essential even for her ascension to womanhood. As Gaylyn Studlar writes: 'characters realise their “true” identity within the locus of masochistic desire'. Leo Bersani posits that following one's desire during the nascent stages of life is important in helping one overcome obstacles during the progression into adulthood
I wish to propose that most significantly, Masochism serves life. It is perhaps only because sexuality is ontologically grounded in masochism that the human organism survives the gap between the period of shattering stimuli and the development of resistant or defensive ego structures…Masochism would be the psychical strategy which partially defeats a biologically dysfunctional process of maturation. Masochism as the model of sexuality allows us to survive our infancy and early childhood.
In The Company of Wolves, succumbing to and owning our own desire is what allows us to "make the break" between childhood dependence and the future freedoms of womanhood - or so one hopes.

The idea of that masochism is inextricably linked to exhibitionism is shunned by both Hellraiser and The Company of Wolves: in both films the stage set for these desires is private, or at most features a company of two (this still includes the final scene of Frank’s torture by the Cenobites, as I think the contract is exclusively between Frank and Pinhead). The Company of Wolves’s initial scenes establish Rosaleen’s isolation. There is evident miscommunication between her and her family; the father says “she says I don’t understand her”, while the hostility between the sisters is blatant with the older repeatedly calling the younger a “pest”. The older sister has stairs and vast labyrinthine corridors to scale in order to reach her younger sister locked behind a door. The spatial distance shows visually the metaphysical separation between Rosaleen and her family - this maze-like mise-en-scène can be seen to represent Rosaleen’s mind.

We first see Rosaleen lying in bed - it is daylight and she is wearing her sister’s make-up. The rather sloppy way she has applied it hints at her lack of experience: she is experimenting with the trappings of female sexuality. This I believe is why she is in bed during the day with the door locked - so that she may explore herself in private, for her own pleasure. The interruption by the sister banging at the door can be viewed as the masochistic pleasure of punishment, adding a heightened sensation of indulging in the forbidden. The image of Rosaleen in bed is heavily reminiscent of another fairytale character, Snow White, whose physical description mirrors Rosaleen’s: 'as fair as snow, as rosy as the red blood and with hair and eyes as black as ebony'. This I think is a rather sly play on the fairy tale genre, as Rosaleen is not the typical passive beatific sleeper of Sleeping Beauty or Snow White fame. The very deliberate roundness of the red blusher on her cheeks seems to make itself a burlesque of fairy tale maidens' rosy cheeked beauty. The Company of Wolves, adapted from Angela Carter’s story of the same name, is a feminist retelling of Perrault’s Little Red Riding Hood (1697), giving agency back to its heroine, so what we are concerned with here is the psychology of the sleeper.

Sudden darkness fills the room while the camera zooms in on a close-up of Rosaleen’s disordered bed while she sleeps, tossing and turning (antithesis of Snow White’s death-like sleep), groaning as if having a disturbing dream. Despite sleep’s state of rendering one inert, Rosaleen is presented as very much alive: her displeasure is understood by the audience sonically and visually. This I see having parallels with an analyst examining a patient's psyche, looking at the dark desires present in their dreams. This idea is reinforced during the next scene’s dream sequence in which Rosaleen’s sister is killed by a pack of wolves. This fantasy or wish-fulfilment dream could represent a sibling jealousy and desire to be rid of the older, more physically mature sister. I think in wearing her sister’s make-up it shows Rosaleen’s projection and subsequent identification with her, therefore the fantasy of being chased is a masochistic one as it allows Rosaleen to inhabit the position of the person in danger and at the same time be granted autonomy by the death of the sister.

After becoming an only child, Rosaleen is made a red cape, by her grandmother. This fetishistic object symbolises Rosaleen’s imminent maturation, being the colour of menstrual blood and so signifying anatomically functioning sexuality. Even the choice of name “Rosaleen” is suggestive of a small rose bud about to bloom. The sister’s death forces Rosaleen out of aping another’s sexuality, and frees a space within the familial space for Rosaleen to be granted ownership of her own sexuality free of the competition a sexually superior older sister presents. The sibling rivalry is made explicit by the gift of the cape or hood as an act of favouritism, confirmed by Rosaleen’s mother telling her she was always her Grandmother's favourite.

Dreams and fantasies are vital in allowing one to express and make sense of desire. The function of the Horror film shares fundamental links with that of the fairy tale. Both allow the viewer or reader to put him/herself in the position of danger/passion to work out a particular fear or desire. Bruno Bettelheim clarifies the productive role reading fairytales (and, I propose, watching horror films) possesses: 'When unconscious material is to some degree permitted to come into awareness and worked through in imagination, it’s potential for causing harm-to ourselves or to others-is much reduced'. The majority of the film's action takes place within a dream; this awareness allows the audience to decode the symbolism present in the film.

Female masochism sits precariously in a feminist dialectic, as it positions the heroine in the very role it is challenging. As I stated previously, historically, masochism has been seen almost exclusively as a feminine state, when it occurs in men it is explained as having an emasculating effect. Kaja Silverman confirms this trend: 'It is unfortunate but not surprising that the perversion which has commandeered most of the literary and theoretical attention - sadism - is also the one which is most compatible with conventional heterosexuality'. This trend is also more at ease within a patriarchal, sexist society. Yet this film gives new attention to this desire, challenging imposed notions of female masochism being solely characterised by submission to stronger (male) sadistic sexuality. Masochism for Rosaleen is actively enjoying a socially dangerous search for pleasure, dangerous because it is not socially acceptable that women have strong sexual urges, let alone embrace them. The risk is to follow the fairy tale theme further - to be an unconventional woman in that world is to be a witch, and in this one a bitch or whore; both figures are ostracised.

Her liberation from childhood comes in the form of a threat of sexual violence, as Andrea Dworkin might say of the loss of our virginity. Although not necessarily pertaining to actual violence, it is often described within the language of misogyny suggesting a breach, a loss, a breaking-in and the "popping" of a cherry/hymen etc. This threat is personified by the form of the wolf. In The Uses of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim proposes what the figure of the wolf may represent for the reader/audience: 'the wild and destructive wolf stands for all the asocial, unconscious, devouring powers against which one must protect oneself, and can defeat through the strength of one's ego'. I think this is strongly tied to society’s fear of (and longing for) sex. Rather than heeding the warning of possible repercussions, dark strange sexuality is longed for by the individual as freedom to express the self. Instead of a flight or fright from the wolf, Rosaleen welcomes him in - literally, if you consider the detail of giving the wolf her grandmother’s address. Rosaleen’s courtship of sex and danger can be seen by her flirting with the wolf: “at least you’ve got your clothes on” she jokes after having just met him.

The bet between the wolf and Rosaleen seals the contract, the initial stage of their mutually delayed pleasure. Theodor Reik notes that 'Masochism is not, as has been surmised up till now, characterised by the pleasure in discomfort, but by pleasure in expecting of discomfort'. In this more sexually overt version, the wolf does not bother to disguise himself as Granny; instead Rosaleen finds him rocking expectantly in Granny’s chair, his shirt half-open in a suggestive manner. The wolf leaps up and inadvertently steps on Granny’s spectacles; we hear them crunch, then they both look down, their bodies mirrored and close. The repetition of question and answers begins by: “what big eyes you have”- “all the better to see you with” that allows the pleasure and pain of anticipation to build; the connection between foreplay and verbal exchange is implicit as items of clothing are removed piece by piece. Rosaleen gladly throws her red hood into the fire expressing her active desire. After the wolf removes his shirt, offering her his body, Rosaleen then shoots him, revealing our vulnerability when naked. Exposure in the masochistic union seems to require a dose of affection, it is only after Rosaleen feels sympathy towards the wolf (“I never knew a wolf could cry”) that he can shed his skin and reveal his true self. This puts me in mind of Andrea Dworkin’s idea of becoming “skinless” during a compatible sexual union: 'Sometimes, the skin comes off in sex. The people merge, skinless. The body loses its boundaries. We are each in these separate bodies; and then with someone and not with someone else, the skin dissolves altogether; and what touches is unspeakably, grotesquely visceral, not inside language or conceptualisation, not inside time; raw, blood and fat and muscle and bone, unmediated by form or formal limits. There is no physical distance, no self-consciousness, nothing withdrawn or private or alienated, no existence outside physical touch'.

The last sequence in Granny’s house is climatic; non-diegetic music reaches a crescendo as the wolf bursts forth shattering the glass window. This can be seen symbolically as the severance of innocence and loss of virginity but a simpler reading sees it as an action of 'self-shattering mechanisms of masochistic jouissance'. When the mother opens the door to find Rosaleen’s metamorphosis into a wolf (revealed by Rosaleen's crucifix around the wolf's neck) she does not let the father shoot her child; she allows Rosaleen to escape through the window. The metamorphosis also reflects Rosaleen’s change from child to woman. This scene fairly obviously signifies the Mother letting go of the child who has reached maturation. The wolf grants Rosaleen 'masochistic jouissance' the experience of which allows her break away from familial bonds.

The newly transformed couple run through the wood, triumphant music is heard as they are joined by other wolves forming a pack but the mood of the music alters becoming more sinister and threatening. The camera tracks this forest procession as it enters the house; this visually blends the dream sequence with the supposed reality of Rosaleen’s bedroom scene. The interior of the house has changed; it is now dark and covered in decaying leaves as if nature has taken over. Like Hellraiser, this decay stands for a corroding of boundaries of what is morally tolerated. The wolves breach the safety of the house, bursting in, breaking through paintings (culture, civilisation) and mirror the older sister’s path by rushing up the stairs, literally invading Rosaleen’s reality. The locales of dreams for masochistic fantasies are expounded by Studlar, 'characters in the masochistic text are often not quite sure if they are awake or asleep, perceiving or fantasizing into dream'. This last sequence is a warning of letting desires overcome us. Rosaleen awakens horrified; her masochistic fantasy is ruptured from the safe place of dreams by the wolf bursting through her bedroom window. This ending expounds the often problematic way in which we experience pleasure during the horror film. To keep filmic pleasure safely in context, reinforcement of the borders between fantasy and reality need to happen, via the moralistic cautionary ending. The explorations of dreams through film are safe and important, yet brought into daylight these fantasies are quite simply horrific.

Part One: Hellraiser (1987), The Functions of Masochistic Desire in the British Horror Film

Monday, 10 June 2013

Hellraiser (1987): The Functions of Masochistic Desire in the British Horror Film, Part One

(This post was originally part of an undergraduate essay, I'm not sure if I agree with all of its arguments now, but it's an example of quite an early attempt at writing about masochism and abjection, some recurring themes in my work)

In this essay I plan to examine the forms of masochistic desire evident in two films from the British horror genre, what significance and meaning they hold in the films they feature and how the audience participates in sharing this masochist pleasure. I will be looking at the films Hellraiser and A Company of Wolves. These films, I believe have strong threads of masochistic desire but both approach them in unusual and unconventional ways. I will be reading these films following Leo Bersani’s ideas of a “self-shattering pleasure” as I feel the functions of masochism can paradoxically be seen as both positive and negative in its enabling powers of expressing identity for the films characters- aiding revelations of self through a shattering of imposed social or sexual roles and also a means of total self destruction through the same self-shattering experience.  

Firstly I’m going to look at Hellraiser. Within the film there is a complex system of masochism on screen and off- in terms of audience identification as masochistic spectators. This pleasure is derived from the pleasure of watching scenes of abject horror. The notion of pleasure of filth is foregrounded by Hellraiser’s opening scene, the audience is not granted access to who is present and where the action is taking place, instead precedence is given to a visual and aural feast of enjoyment of all things dirty - the dense buzzing of flies are heard while a close-up shot shows a filthy finger nailed hand, while the line “what’s your pleasure?” is heard. The connotations of dirt of decay are therefore linked to pleasure, seen to represent a moral collapse or degradation. 
The next scene, of the house’s interior is the stage to what Kristeva might call a site of “pure abjection”, the filth is audible, scratching and buzzing sounds of the insects and rats crawling over rotting food and moulding floor boards. The dark, womb like bedroom interior, personifies a broken body; blood, guts and body parts hang from swinging, whistling chains. The audible and visible is very expressive in this film, used to give the abject a visceral dimension- disgusting to the eye yet pleasing to the ear. At the end of the film Frank becomes an embodiment of pleasure in the abject. Theodor Reik propose that, 'when the body is consciously felt as ugly, and the phantasy of the display as disgusting, this feeling itself becomes characteristic or the masochistic pleasure and contributes essentially to sexual excitement'. When Frank is finally caught by the Cenobites and strung up by hooks and chains covering his body, ripping and stretching his flesh, Frank slowly, sensuously licks his lips, lets out a laugh and at the climatic moment states “Jesus wept”! 
This I think is a really crucial scene in understanding the films masochistic meanings. The position of Frank’s body in chains, arms outstretched filling the frame is unmistakably that of a crucifixion. The fact he says “Jesus wept” makes this connection or reference explicit. The film is also rife with religious iconography. Small icons of Mary and Jesus are left in Frank’s bedroom alongside the pornographic photographs Julia picks up. After fleeing the house, Kristy in a white (connotations of all american youth of purity and virginity) t-shirt covered in blood and sweat (sex, menstruation) runs past two Nuns who we see looking at Kristy with disapproval. When Julia and Larry explore the house for the first time, a statue of Jesus drops out of a closet (the closet being perhaps a rather clunky allusion to Frank’ desire for exclusively male victims) and startles them. This can be seen as a reminder of the original masochist aesthetic- Jesus on the cross, pain and martyred bliss present on his face, seen in a thousand depictions in Religious art. Religion is ever present in this film, representing the moral warning of the evil dangers of acting on the pleasures of the flesh.
My next example of a masochistic delight in the abject, for the protagonists as well as for the audience; is the death scene of Frank’s last victim. The head and shoulders of the victim are situated at the far right of the frame with Frank’s body taking up much of the remaining space leaving a small gap to his left, this gap I feel is where the viewer insert its/ourselves as viewing from Julia's point of view, who watches with a mixture of fear and excitement, seen in her heavy breathing and rapt facial expression. Frank shouts back to Julia not to watch as he devours the victim, we hear a slurping, suckling sound not dissimilar to the very appetising sound of a milkshake being sucked up with a straw. The imperative “don’t look” is frequently repeated , and we do not see what finally happens to the victims bodies once the camera eye has shifted its gaze. But we hear the action by these often very sensuous sounds. This tactic of not showing but hearing, leaves the viewer (sharing POV with Julia or Kristy depending) expectant and imagining the horrors we are not permitted to witness. This pleasure is a particularly masochistic one, the enjoyment of the filth, that which repels and attracts us in equal measure.
The relationship between Julia and Frank defies conventions of a sado-masochistic union. In fact, such a union of a sadist and masochist pairing is impossible according to Gilles Deleuze. In Coldness and Cruelty he states, 'But the intention to convince, is merely apparent, for nothing is more alien to the sadist than the wish to convince, to persuade, in short to educate'.  Put simply, a true sadist would find no pleasure in a compliant victim. In Hellraiser Julia and Frank find compatibility in shifting roles as they acquiesce in satisfying the others’ needs. Julia first appears on screen as the paradigm of eighties power-dressed womanhood. Everything about her appearance is sharp, from the shoulder padded jacket to the make-up highlighting her eyes, which are drawn out at the corners making her gaze seem feline and predatory. Her lips are painted a powerfully symbolic, sexual scarlet. A sharp silver broach on her chest catches the light, drawing attention to its own sceptre-like threat.  In short she is dressed as the symbolic femme fatale villain.  Yet under this outward display of sex and power- when she speaks her voice is soft, feminine and actually rather sweet.  Her masochistic tendency is suppressed by the accoutrements of a liberated eighties power-dresser. Gaylyn Studlar via Deleuze explains this discordance: 'the femme fatale may appear to be sadistic, but as Deleuze insists it is the pseudosadism necessitated by the woman’s incarnation of the “element of inflicting pain in an exclusively masochistic situation"'. During the film's flashbacks we learn (or are told) that perhaps her pretence of control hides her desire for sexual submission. For it is Frank that rips at her clothes with a sharp silver knife, it is his sexual aggression we see on the bed. Yet this does not mean that Julia and Frank do not both show equal sexual agency. Julia’s desires match Frank’s in spite of her wish to be dominated. Deleuze could be describing Julia’s attraction to Frank; “We are no longer in the presence of a torturer seizing upon a victim and enjoying her all the more because she is unconsenting and unpersuaded. We are dealing instead with a victim in search of a torturer and who needs to educate, persuade and conclude an alliance with the torturer in order to realize the strangest of schemes'.
 
Frank’s form of masochism is quite different from Julia’s; his pursuit for pleasure is dangerous and ultimately nihilistic. Frank’s actions towards Julia are in a rather sadistic vein; he is assertive to the point of violence and sexually aggressive. At one point while coercing her into providing him with more victims, he tries to sway her with the promise of his body restored to all its sadistic capabilities, Frank says to Julia: “we can be together- like love- only real”, this statement reminds me of a phrase the Marquis de Sade gives to a character in the book Justine, 'Now there is no sensation in an object more quickening than suffering; the impressions are positive and do not deceive like those of pleasure'. What I take from this statement is that pain does not lie like love can, for Frank, pain is the only true sensation. Despite Frank’s incapacity and his reliance on Julia, he still holds great power over her. She seems equally attracted too and fearful of him.  In some ways she acts the stronger partner, providing sustenance by feeding him male victims. Yet rather than being a mother figure, I picture Julia as the stereotypical "Lady Macbeth" character, seen from her furiously cleaning her hands of blood after doing the dirty work Macbeth/Frank, was unable to do himself. Julia’s actions of making Frank whole allows her indulgence in her own masochistic pleasure, yet in the process of realising these; she shatters her humanity thus becoming a monster. In Hellraiser the transformative possibilities of following ones desires are strictly negative. Leo Bersani explains, 'We desire what nearly shatters us, and the shattering experience is, it would seem, without any specific content- which may be our only way of saying that the experience cannot be said, that it belongs to the non-linguistic biology of human life'. In this case the “self-shattering” pleasure leads to a complete break down of boundaries that leaves Julia and Frank beyond redemption. It could be either Julia or Frank, who is the “Hellraiser” of the film’s title.
Frank’s quest for experience is expressed as a rather bourgeois rejection of his semi-detached middle class suburban house in favour of what appears to be from the outdoor market, high-light and dust- a hot eastern climate. This escape into unknown places represents his search for unknown pleasures. This pursuit ruptures relationships with family as well as from society as a whole- when Julia and Larry move into the house they do not know where Frank is, whether he is alive or dead.  This isolation allows for the privacy needed by the masochist, expressed in Hellraiser by Frank’s constant commands of “don’t look at me” and Pinhead’s comment “this is not for you eyes”, said to Kristy before ripping Frank apart. In her book Male Subjectivity in the Margins, Kaja Silverman explores the experience of the male masochist, 'The male masochist magnifies the losses and divisions upon which cultural identity is based, refusing to be saturated or recompensed. In short he radiates a negativity inimical to the social order'. It is not just that this perversion is antisocial in and of itself but that in our patriarchal society; masochism is seen as a particularly feminine perversion. Frank’s experience with the Cenobites, gives him what he has been searching for, an extreme “self-shattering pleasure” that for him breaks down societal  notions of masculinity. The Cenobites literally shatter his body to pieces; this can be seen without too much of a leap, to represent Frank’s desire for autonomy as a desiring object rather than the limiting notions of what is to be “male”. So much of what characterises a "man" is tied to his body image of strength and power. By breaking his body with pain, he breaks the illusionary notions of a socially constructed idea of man.  In a world that is built upon such illusions, for Frank pain is the only reality one can be sure of, Deleuze states, 'The pain he suffers is the ultimate pleasure, not because it satisfies a need to expiate or a feeling of guilt, but because it confirms him in his alienable power and gives him a supreme certitude'.

Part Two: The Company of Wolves (1984): The Functions of Masochistic Desire in the British Horror Film

Friday, 7 June 2013

Disavowed Portrayals: The Classing and Gendering of Self-Presentation

(This is a rough draft of the paper I gave at yesterday's ANTI-PORTRAITURE  conference)


In this paper I'll be discussing some of my research from the first chapter of my thesis, which focuses on the way class and gender are described as well as disavowed in much representations of women. So for a bit of background, In my  thesis I'm writing about the female grotesque, of representations in art and visual culture of femininities that have been treated as socially undesirable and aesthetically displeasing. My argument will question how it is that actually many of the supposed grotesque femininities can be subversive in their refusal to adhere to western cultures repressive beauty norms - that their presentation of alternative bodily realities can in fact be received with pleasure and delight. This I feel chimes quite nicely with the idea of the anti-portrait, as images of the female grotesque are also destabilising to the notion that photography and portraiture, is in some way representing one truth or essential essence of a person. The anti-portrait like images of the female grotesque highlight the fragmentary and constructed nature of representation itself.     

What I'm interested in exploring here today are the ways that some aspects of the realities of women’s bodies and lives have been erased from presentations of women in art and the media. For example, class is disavowed in conventional representations of women in art and visual culture, particularly in media images that often aim to promote a perpetually aspirational subject with no class consciousness or identity, this often instils a sense of shame of ones class background and encourages a desire to “pass” as higher class in order to be socially acceptable or employable, or worthy of representation in visual culture etc.

In the work of Jo Spence who I'll be looking at today, the class-conflicts of coming from a working-class background while being involved as an “artist”, writer and academic, which were predominantly middle-class occupations in the 1970's, and I'd also say, that still stands today, caused her to feel the a split-subjectivity of never quite fitting in with either class, and being like an intruder in both. 

Another example is the physical realities of women's bodies and sexual selves are disavowed in media images, in favour of normalised versions of femininity. The standardised version of Western beauty has been for some time despite certain attempts to move forward, white, thin, youthful, heterosexual and aspiring to classlessness. Michel Foucault writing on biopolitics discusses the way historically the body has been put under social disciplines of “standardised normalisation”, these disciplines are political as well as physical and enforce a regulatory effects over the body. This can be seen particularly in the management of women's bodies:  that must be kept “in control”, to keep the integrity of the boundaries of the body upheld, these bodies must be tight, must not age or seep or swell, must not have hair in “the wrong place”, must not be sexually ambiguous and must be clearly defined as “feminine”. 

This also works on the way we view bodies and people more generally in art, the sociologist and philosopher Pierre Bourdieu writes on the way good taste or distinction is constructed, he defines this as a class-based cultural capital -  that we are therefore taught what or whose bodies can be perceived as beautiful, are allowed to be socially visible, and celebrated as “normatively correct” and worthy of regard. The images of women I'll be looking at today, show women's bodies that have deliberately disregarded these rules of normalisation and “good taste” to show behaviours and gestures of class and sexuality in the “wrong place”, of anti-portraits of what has been culturally disavowed.


Jo Spence was a photographer and social activist working in the 1970s and 1980s,  through working in feminist co-counselling and consciousness raising groups in the 70s Spence along with collaborator Rosie Martin came up with Phototherapy, a community led practice that allowed people to take ownership of the means of artistic production, in this case photography, in order to reconstruct their own images of themselves and their histories to counter the often negative and limited representations of women and the working-class in the media and the art world. Phototherapy allowed and encouraged women space to work through problems and conflicts within themselves by creating multiple diverging and conflicting images, anti-portraits of photographic role playing versions in order to explore, work through and to become familiar and comfortable with themselves.

Spence and long term collaborator Terry Dennett came up with the term "Intruder Systems" to describe gestures of resistance in their own projects. This term came from advertising lingo to describe the object or part of an image that catches the eye, similar in some ways to Roland Barthes notion of the the punctum – the thing in a photograph that moves you. The Intruder Systems in Spence and Dennett's work was often the “thing in the wrong place” - something that destabilises our usual easy visual appreciation or enjoyment of an image, the intruder system is meant to disrupt, cause confusion and to communicate meanings.  

In Colonisation (1982), Spence positions a scene in which the two polarised spheres of public and private, of the domestic and the sexualised are forced into coexisting in the same space. The incongruity of her being topless with a broom on the front step of a terraced house in a working-class area acts as the intruder system into the iconography of the pornographic pin-up of men’s' mags, the fact that Spence has not posed herself in the typical “sexy” gestures, instead choosing to pose in the familiar cliché of the old fashioned working-class housewife cleaning her front step,  throws both stereotypes of classless pin-up and working-class housewife into stark relief. 

The social geographer Doreen Massey in space, place and gender, speaks of the way all geography is to a large extent gendered, that much of our life is demarcated into separate into spheres of classed and gendered space within work, home and culture etc. In Colonisation Spence draws our attention to the way fetishised pornographic images have colonised women's sexual integrity and identity. By baring her breasts, breasts being one of the most highly fetishised signifiers of sexuality as commodity objects (think of Britain's topless Page 3 Girls for example), and in the wrong social sphere Spence is exposing her own sexuality but that of a real woman, a woman with a body that has been lived-in, that expresses her age, that comes from a time and place and class. 

The deliberate awkwardness of this image is also what makes it interesting, its echo of art historical female nude is brought to mind - these nudes who were real people, whose disavowed lives outside of being idealised held the unsexy hidden realities of having to work for a living, the “bad taste” of selling ones labour and in this case, ones body, by posing as fantasy objects. Here Spence brings to focus the uncomfortable pairing of sex/fantasy with reality and labour.

Again speaking of uncomfortable or strange pairings, is the story of the Victorian maidservant Hannah Cullwick and her collaborator and secret husband, the wealthy philanthropist Arthur Munby. At the turn of the century a wooden box was bequeathed to the British museum with special instructions that it not be opened until 1950; the British Museum turned it down and the box was taken into possession by the Trinity College Library archives. This box was called "The Munby Box"; it contained hundreds of photographs by Arthur Munby, revealing his passion for collecting and archiving images of a particular type of body: the broad-shouldered, hard-muscled physiognomy of working class-woman. He also "collected" washerwomen, female miners, milkmaids and women who suffered facial disfigurements due to Congenital syphilis - Barry Reay in his book on the couple, called Munby a "collector of noseless women". In their work together, Munby posed Cullwick in ways that best showed off and revealed the signs of her labour, which marked her physical as well as social otherness from him and his class.

In the first picture (1862 - 1867) Cullwick is attempting to "pass" for a gentleman, her hands are hidden from view, a "real" gentleman would have had the delicate hands of someone who did not have to use their body to earn a living, therefore exposing Cullwick's calluses and the largeness of her hands would give away her class origins. Due to the strenuous labour the body is put under, the working-class body is outwardly visibly, one that works, moves, lifts, scrubs, endures strain etc so that no matter what clothes are put on, the body is inscribed as poor. This is in marked contrast to the supposed refined body of the middle and upper classes - John Berger in his essay The Suit and the Photograph details how the modern suit was designed for a body that doesn't partake in physical work: the tailored suit is restrictive, form-fitting, meant for the leisured body of the office clerk who is in tern then marked out visibly as middle-class. Therefore what is interesting about this picture is that Cullwick's failure to pass as a gentleman has not only to do with her gender, the fact she is female, but also to do with her class. 

In the image on the left, Cullwick juxtaposes feminine dress with her muscular body, there is an Intruder System here,  it is her large impressive biceps which rather than disguise she displays proudly. But, as in the case with the suit and hidden hands, her body seems to rebel from the restricting confines of the classed demarcated clothing, to reveal itself as Other to the dainty figures of waifish Victorian femininity - her body being too large and muscular to successfully carry off posing as a lady. The intersections of class and gender here are interesting, as a working-class woman, Cullwick can't pass as a gentleman, But as a worker, she can't pass as a lady.

These two portraits work against the normative regulatory structures detailed by Foucault that I mentioned at the start of this paper, being working-class and possessing a large muscular body that is socially coded as masculine, meant that Cullwick's image is an anti-portrait of failed femininity or rather the decision not to conform to standardised feminine appearance. This process of compulsory gender normalisation starts at a young age, Judith Butler in Bodies that Matter, calls this the process of being “girled” that from the moment the female infant is born and given a girls name she is gendered into being different from that point on. The feminist philosopher Iris M Young backs up this idea in Throwing Like a Girl, stating that girls are taught to move, view and experience their bodies differently to boys, that female children must monitor their behaviour so as not to appear unladylike, to not make exhibitions of themselves etc, this kind of self- monitoring makes it hard for girls and the women they grow in to, to feel free to move in their bodies, as they/we are taught that their bodies are things to control rather than simply live in.  

Yet it seems this supposed otherness of Cullwick's, her powerfully strong, unladylike classed-body bursting out of the flimsy ladies' dresses was for Munby an exciting frisson of two ill-fitting worlds colliding. It is also worth mentioning that Arthur Munby, being a Victorian gentlemen of well fitting suits and philanthropic pursuits, did not have a body that had ever experienced manual labour: perhaps this goes some way to explain his fascination with the bodies of the working classes. Either way, putting aside the indications of problematic power structures between Munby and Cullwick and the evident fetishistic pleasure he takes from her body, the images themselves are still successful at destabilising stereotypes of normative polarised genders, and make the effects of social class difference visible. 

In my research I have had decided to discard discussions of Hannah Cullwick as the gap of historical contexts between that of the Victorian era and of the arguably more politically vibrant time for feminists in the 1970's when Spence was working seemed a stretch. Yet for this conference thinking about notions of how the Anti-portrait can be seen to function I felt it fruitful to return to both Cullwick and Spence to compare different ways class and gender signifiers that have often been disavowed, can  be played around with, represented and disrupted.