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My body now is that of an aging woman. Its texture changes with time; the skin’s tightness loosens one inch at a time, its plumpness fading as a mirage that never was. My body is the body of a woman… For centuries, male painters have exalted the curves of the female body’s immaculate skin, gravity-balanced masses of youth as though their works were a tribute. The exaltation of my body through my work is not a favor to its self. I was not a pretty girl and am not a pretty woman. |
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“My body is not an excuse to contemplate beauty.”
Kukuli Velarde, Pieta Mia (Cadaver Series), 2009. Oil and acrylic on aluminum, 72 x 48 in. Courtesy of Barry Friedman, Ltd.
The Cadaver and the Aging Woman
Kukuli Velarde
My body now is that of an aging woman. Its texture changes with time; the skin’s tightness loosens one inch at a time, its plumpness fading as a mirage that never was. My body is the body of a woman…
For centuries, male painters have exalted the curves of the female body’s immaculate skin, gravity-balanced masses of youth as though their works were a tribute. The exaltation of my body through my work is not a favor to its self. I was not a pretty girl and am not a pretty woman. Curves never defined me. Small breasts, short legs, unexplainable stretch marks, and the moles that are showing up with shameless indiscretion do. My body is not an object to be given away with any resemblance of pride or humility. My body is me.
“Cadavers,” my series of paintings on aluminum, are life-sized full body self-portraits while my self is an analogy for “the other.” This “other” is a minority: a woman, a person of Peruvian origin in the USA, or just a middle-aged woman.
My body is a shameless assault on subtlety and decorum in Yo Misma Soy, where I place myself ready for dissection by any eye complicit with centuries of female objectification. My body is a metaphor for pain and self-pity, through the Virgin Mary and “dead Jesus” in Pieta Mia, or for religious extremism in Love me, Diosito, Love me, the endless story of desperate love, always sought and never achieved. It becomes Venus fighting in vain to get closer to a Western ideal of beauty or a lynched body savoring future justice in Vigilandote.
My body is not an excuse to contemplate beauty. It is every woman’s body. It is personal and universal. Through my work I witness the decay of my own flesh as tangible proof of my insignificance while I confirm through its multiple disguises an imperishable will to live.
This article was published by NY Arts Magazine, 2011. NY Arts Magazine is published by Abraham Lubelski. Sponsored by Broadway Gallery, NYC and World Art Media.
