A Distinct Grace

Before, During and After Breast Cancer

curated by Paulette Singer

There is hardly anything new or revolutionary about the image of a naked breast in art. Countless nursing Madonnas and marble nymphs fill the great museums of the world. Nor are depictions of illness or other physical tragedies unfamiliar. We readily think of William Blake's drawings of the Great Plague, Edvard Munch's solemn scenes of death, and Vincent Van Gogh's ecstatic madness in paint. AIDS, our contemporary plague, has outraged and motivated artists to produce work that is personal, painful, sometimes humorous, often vehemently political. And even though heart disease and lung cancer kills more American women annually than breast cancer, it is breast cancer that has inspired artists to produce vast amounts of work related to this subject.* Where is the art (and art exhibitions) relating to heart disease and lung cancer? Why aren't legions of men and their loved ones painting and writing about prostate cancer? What is unique about the breast and cancer of the breast that so much art derives from it? In interviews with women who have had mastectomies, studies show that many felt the loss of one or both breasts to be more tragic than possible death. Some say they would prefer it. The breast, more than any other part of a women's body, is the signifier of her gender, the visible definer of her sex . . often key to her identity. It is a symbol of fertility, an object of passion, a cultural fetish and a true source of nurture and nourishment. The very word denotes far more than anatomy. The breast is charged with complex social and psychological content. Artists seem always to have known this. The oldest sculpture of a woman, the Venus of Willendorf, a 4 and 1/2 inch limestone carving (21,000 B.C.) represents the figure with abbreviated limbs and huge, voluptuous breasts, the most significant aspect of this tiny piece. In the Dogan villages of Mali in West Africa, carved wooden shutters cover the windows of family granaries. These mud brick buildings store grain and other life sustaining staples and sometimes house personal valuables and family alters. One motif used to decorate such shutters is a row of projecting breasts, suggesting the importance of the grain and the power of the breast to nourish and protect. In this exhibition, Sarah Hutt endows wooden bowls with similar symbolism. As used in My Mother's Legacy, bowls are vessels to hold food (and memories), and when turned over, mimic the form of the breast. The powerful breast which nourishes then seduces men, has also frustrated and enraged them. This can be seen in images of St. Agatha in 15th century European art. When the Christian virgin Agatha refused the advances of Quintainus, the consul of Sicily, he had her imprisoned, tortured, and ultimately had her breasts cut off with pincers. In a striking illuminated miniature by Sano Di Pietro (1406-1481), St. Agatha stands naked to the waist as her breasts are severed. The text spoken by her reads, "Cruel and impious tyrant, does it not shame you to amputate from a woman that with which your mother sucked you?" It is the power of the suckling mother embodied in all women that men desire and envy. In another depiction of St. Agatha, a painted alter panel by Giovanni di Paolo (1400-1482), Agatha presents her severed breasts to the viewer on a plate, nipples heavenward, two perfect domes, side by side. These emblems of her agonized martyrdom are offered up like an Italian delicacy, Nipples of Venus . . . Capezzoli di Venere, a confection not unlike Cupcakes, Anna Lascari's ironic work in this exhibition. (Architecture is not immune from this irony. Domes top many state and religious structures. These were once, and in some cases still are, exclusive bastions of men's power). In both paintings of Agatha, the Saint is shown as strong, stoic, and self-assured, as are the women photographed by Art Myers. These women are also joyous, determined, loving and loved, and possessing A Distinct Grace. At times in art, the breast becomes a stand-in or surrogate for a woman, as in the sculpture and drawings of Gaston Lachaise (1882-1935). He devoted his entire career to immortalizing the woman who was his mistress, and late in life his wife. Lachaise gave form to his obsession for and consuming love of flesh. Breasts were grossly exaggerated, (Seated nude with arms up, undated pencil drawing) multiplied, (Nude with four breasts, undated pencil drawing or separated from the torso to become, nearly, the entire work of art (Breasts with female organ between, 1930-2, bronze). Sculpture of multi-breasted Goddesses might have influenced Louise Bourgeoise when making her 1991 Mammelles of pink rubber, and Mia Westerlund Roosen's American Beauties, 1990. Westerlund Roosen's work is composed of nine pairs of back-to-back breasts (23x23x240 inches), a chorus line, perhaps a satiric showy pageant. Women of the liberation movement chose bra burning to underscore their disdain for contemporary pageantry, the beauty contest. Breasts have alternately been corseted or "au natural", padded or bound, rounded or shaped to a missile-like point. They have been "trained" and "criss-crossed," reduced, enlarged, revealed and concealed by changing fashion and sensationalized by all forms of popular culture. There can be no surprise then that when the breasts are the site of illness . . . when they are punctured or cut, irradiated or amputated, art, the cultural analyst, results. Death or the fear of it futher nudges, even compels the desire to create. My sincere hope is that you are touched by this exhibition. The ART is foremost. The human and deeply personal content requires both empathy and distance from the viewer. Art can be an outlet for profound emotion. It can summon beauty and express joy; soothe, shock or entertain. It records, informs and makes visible the secret and the silent. * Men account for 1 to 2% of breast cancer patients. Paulette Singer Curator