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The 'racist chair' is not shocking but a cruel reminder of the art world's views The 'racist chair' is not shocking but a cruel reminder of the art world's views
(about 1 hour later)
When a photo of former model Dasha Zhukova sitting on a chair resembling a semi-nude black bondaged woman was published this week on a Russian fashion site, it added to a painful list of instances where black women's bodies remain expendable objects. Regardless of the outrage that consequently led to its removal, the barrage of images such as these continues to demonstrate that pop culture, art and fashion are not only riddled with racism, but dependent on it. Shocking? Far from it. A photo of Roman Abramovich's partner, Dasha Zhukova, sitting on a chair resembling a semi-nude bondaged black woman, published this week on a Russian fashion site, added to a painful list of black women's bodies being treated as expendable objects. Regardless of the outrage that led to the photograph's removal, the barrage of images like this one continues to demonstrate that pop culture, art and fashion are not only riddled with racism, but dependent on it. Shocking? Far from it.
In the past year alone, we've seen the internet explode with similar debates about Mylie Cyrus "twerking" with black women as props to her act, and Lily Allen using black women's bodies to prove a "satirical" point about something or another. Like Zhukova and the site Buro 24/7, neither they nor their teams found what they were doing as racist, sexist, or problematic to begin with. In the past year alone the internet has exploded with similar debates about Miley Cyrus "twerking" with black women as props to her act, and Lily Allen using black women's bodies in a music video to prove a "satirical" point about something or another. Like the gallery owner Zhukova and the fashion site Buro 24/7, neither they nor their teams considered what they were doing to be racist, sexist, or problematic to begin with.
What becomes particularly dangerous in these debates, however, is the insistence that art has a distinct right to offend, regardless of who or why it offends. The designer of the chair, the Norwegian artist Bjarne Melgaard, is a prime example of this. According to Zhukova's spokesperson, in reinterpreting works by Allen Jones, this chair provides a commentary on race and gender politics. And while Melgaard is no stranger to exploring racial anxieties through sexuality, the question to ask is: who is it designed to shock and disturb? What becomes particularly dangerous in these debates, however, is the insistence that art has a distinct right to offend, regardless of who or why it offends. The designer of the chair, the Norwegian artist Bjarne Melgaard, is a prime example. According to Zhukova's spokesperson, in reinterpreting works by Allen Jones, who used white women's bodies as furniture, this chair provides a commentary on race and gender politics. But the question to ask is: who is it designed to shock and disturb?
The photo of Zhukova provoked outrage for those familiar with white women's historical complicity in the oppression and injustices suffered by black women and men (see 12 Years A Slave and what happens to the character Patsey). Black women are no strangers to the context in which their bodies remain the battleground for racism and sexism. Nor strangers to the fact they remain invisible, unconsidered or violently silenced (especially in relation to grief and rage) as these battles occur. While these images are offensive, painful and difficult reminders of being subjected to regular inhumanity, they aren't shocking. The photo of Zhukova provoked outrage for those familiar with white women's historical complicity in the oppression and injustices suffered by black women and men (as highlighted recently in the award-winning film 12 Years A Slave ). Black women are no strangers to the context in which their bodies remain the battleground for racism and sexism. While these images are offensive, painful reminders of being subjected to regular inhumanity, they aren't shocking.
Black women portrayed as hypersexualised, abused and ridiculed objects is far from new. There is a long colonial history that stretches from academia to the everyday imagination in the form of cartoons, caricatures and even human zoos. One of the most well known examples is that of the Hottentot Venus, or Sarah Baartman, a Khoi woman taken from the Eastern Cape and paraded all over 19th century Europe. Displayed for scientific examination and public entertainment, she was ultimately classified as both negro and orangutan. More than 200 years later, Baartman's skeleton and body caste remained on display in a museum – until the late 1970s. Her body offered a spectacle, one that read blackness, and black womanhood as inhuman. Black women portrayed as hypersexualised, abused and ridiculed objects is far from new. There is a long colonial history that stretches from academia to the everyday imagination in the form of cartoons, caricatures and even human zoos. One of the best-known examples is the Hottentot Venus, or Saartjie "Sarah" Baartman, a Khoi woman taken from the Eastern Cape and paraded all over 19th century Europe. Displayed for scientific examination and public entertainment, she was ultimately classified as both negro and orangutan. More than 200 years later, Baartman's skeleton and a cast of her body remained on display in a museum – until the late 1970s. Her body offered a spectacle: one that read blackness, and black womanhood as inhuman.
Melgaard pays poor lip service to these racist tropes, arguing that "racism is a form of sexuality. It is all about sexual jealousy and sexual threat". He might attempt to confront the act of fetishism that is often involved in the gendered racialisation of black bodies – the eroticism and desire that underlies the disavowal involved in racism – but he does so by using black women's bodies as collateral.Melgaard pays poor lip service to these racist tropes, arguing that "racism is a form of sexuality. It is all about sexual jealousy and sexual threat". He might attempt to confront the act of fetishism that is often involved in the gendered racialisation of black bodies – the eroticism and desire that underlies the disavowal involved in racism – but he does so by using black women's bodies as collateral.
It becomes evident that black women are rarely visible, let alone a considered audience for the spaces their bodies are used (and personhood denied). They offer up objects, but not subjects to these narratives and anxieties about blackness and black bodies, they are talked about and for, particularly by those who get to control how or who gets to talk about racism or sexism in the first place. When Zhukova is photographed on the chair, for an interview devoid of context about the "art" in itself, this speaks volumes about which audiences are allowed to respond. In an art-for-art's-sake world, artists are allowed to use real socio-political questions as impetus for their work, but have limited accountability. There is a clear distinction between what shock and offence look like in the art world. Injustice and denigration can be reduced to a piece in a gallery. But how dare those outraged be offended, rather than shocked, at the portrayal (yet again) of black women's bodies as the expendable backdrop or prop to some ill-conceived artistic point?
When Dasha Zhukova is photographed sat on the chair, for an interview devoid of context about the "art" in itself, it speaks volumes about which audiences are allowed to respond. In an art-for-arts-sake world, artists are allowed to use real socio-political questions as impetus for their work, but have limited accountability. There is a clear distinction between what shock and offence look like in the art world. Injustice and denigration can be reduced to a piece in a gallery to be looked at uncomfortably or be perched on and look pretty. But how dare those outraged be offended, rather than shocked at the portrayal (yet again) of black women's bodies as the expendable backdrop or prop to some "artistic" point or another?