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Updated: Sep 23, 2021

Like many, I have been following the recent events unfolding in Afghanistan. I have mostly been feeling sad and powerless while thinking about how badly the Taleban takeover has affected our Afghani sisters' hard-won rights from the comfort of my home where I enjoy peace and freedom.


It's easy to get cynical and think that throwing money at something so huge and tragic doesn't do anything to solve the problem, but the reality is that women journalists in Afghanistan are facing persecution and may need to leave and settle elsewhere in order to rebuild their lives. And that requires money.


Please consider amplifying this cause and supporting “Journalists for Afghanistan,” a photo print fundraiser launched by Network of Women in Media, India. Not only are the images beautiful, but they also bring us closer to a reality that for us is unimaginably frightening. All proceeds will go towards helping these brave and talented Afghan female journalists so they can continue to use their voice and tell their stories. The stories we all need to hear.


Photo credit Farzana Wahidy


 
 
 
  • Writer: Beyond the Canvas
    Beyond the Canvas
  • Sep 14, 2021
  • 2 min read

Coming out of this extensive and excellent survey, you get a strong sense that Rego's work is an intoxicating blend of the political and the personal, an intricate map of her identity both as a woman and as a Portuguese citizen. Grown up during Salazar's fascist dictatorship, Rego started calling out the regime's domestic and colonial abuses when she was only 19, by which time she had moved to the UK. Since then, she has never ceased pointing her finger at political and social oppression, with a particular preoccupation for the condition of women.


The large acrylic pictures from 1986-88 in the Love, Devotion, Lust section of the exhibition are perhaps the most iconic part of her oeuvre, and certainly the ones that better illustrate the sheer complexity and befuddling ambiguity of her subject matters. Rego explores the female role in patriarchal societies by painting young women interacting with people, things and animals in ways we cannot fully decipher. These pictures demand our attention, for what at first may seem like a peaceful scene, turns out to be downright terrifying. These characters look calm and then, as we look closer, they look evil, as if driven by an intense need for revenge.


For example, the women who are dressing/undressing/helping/manhandling/subjugating (does anyone know?) the man in The Family. Rego unleashes her fascination for storytelling, before this became an irritating buzzword, and shows us a scene with no beginning and no end, where symbolisms and narrative clues do nothing to shed light on what is actually happening. There is anger, there is pain, there is sexual tension. Brutality and tenderness blend into coded messages from the artist's subconscious that we are unable to make sense of. These works represent a sumptuous and harrowing visual manifestation of the Freudian uncanny where the familiar and the obscure come together in all their mystifying splendour.


At Tate Britain until 24/10 - not to be missed.








All images © Paula Rego


 
 
 
  • Writer: Beyond the Canvas
    Beyond the Canvas
  • Sep 4, 2021
  • 2 min read

At long last, my reading drought has come to an end. I am currently re-reading the original version of The Life Before Us written in 1975 by French author Romain Gary under the pseudonym of Émile Ajar. This extraordinary novel tells the story of Momo, the abandoned child of a prostitute, the mother he will never know. Mere pages into this second reading, I was reminded that Gary used the verb 'se defendre', to defend oneself, to describe what prostitutes do. I am puzzled by this expression as I'd never associate prostitution with an act of self-defence, so I have gone down a linguistic rabbit hole to try and make sense of it. Could it mean that they were independent financially? Any native French speakers with a clue, please help me out.


Much of the artistic output of the 19th and 20th century is testament to the obsession for the depiction of prostitutes. Manet, van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec, Degas, Renoir, Schiele and Picasso to name a few, they were all at it. With the growth of the modern cities came the significant presence of sexual commerce in the streets and, for the artists, the abundance of cheap and available models. The representation of the women of the night expressed all the fascination and disdain for the splendours and miseries of what was arguably one of the symbols of the degrading morals and ambiguity of urban modernity.


I will never forget the first time I saw this painting, which is hands down my favourite Picasso. This is a scene you don't just look at, you listen to it, you feel it. The rustling of the robes, the whispering of a secret, the clinking of the glasses, the band playing, I'm sure there's an accordionist in there somewhere. And what of the gentle evening breeze, those flickering lights against the dark sky, the intoxicating lust hanging in the air. And the chattering of the women who are there to defend themselves.



Pablo Picasso

Le Moulin de la Galette, 1900

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, Thannhauser Collection

 
 
 

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