Awash In Fine Artful Porn
Saturday, February 24th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
There’s apparently been a silly debate going on somewhere just beyond the periphery of my Twitter feed; from what I can gather, some of the usual marching morons attempted to assert that porn is not art, or cannot be art, or some such blathering nuttery of that long-discredited ilk. All I really know or care to know comes via having noted Conner Habib stalwartly engaged in refutations; some stupidities are too wearying, honestly, to even be worth rubber-necking at. Drive on.
I am so utterly convinced that the veil between art and pornography is, if it exists at all, a flimsy thing that’s penetrated more often than the most industrious sex worker in a busy port during Fleet Week, that I can never resist posting so-called “fine art” that checks every box you might care to design on any notional mythical “Porn Identification Checklist”. How about, for example, Paul Gustave Fischer’s Morgentoilette?
No? Still not convinced? Back up, close the door, bend down, and look again, this time through the key hole:
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