Tag: orgasm

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

Artfully depicting masturbation is not an easy feat.

The act is private, sequestered. Thus, the question of how one witnesses such goings on becomes central—is it voyeurism, exhibitionism or a bit of both?

The more voyeuristic the image, the less intentional it appears, the more it relies upon the reputation of the image maker to supplement its ‘artistic’ merit.

The more exhibitionist the image, the less artful it appears–exhibitionism being rooted in self-consciousness and the efficacy of art being so commonly measured on its ability to annihilate notions of self and other.

This scene suggest an altogether brilliant fucking with this dichotomy: subvert the distinction between subject and object. What’s one of the oldest means of doing that? Reflections.

Now, I will not argue the young woman is unaware of the camera. (She definitely is… at least initially but she’s watching herself trigger and experience her bodies sexual response.

This discursive nesting of contexts–for me at least–continually refocus my attention on her increasing arousal and accompanying pleasure.

That to me is such a fucking turn-on that I really can’t even…

(NOTE: I had previously published .gif excerpts from this clip. I’ve elaborated somewhat on the comments accompanying those .gifs in an effort to tidy things up a bit.)

Alina Senchuk (goodbyestockholm)

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— La petit mort  2011

It is difficult to speak the truth, for although there is only one truth, it is alive and therefore has a live and changing face.

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— Franz Kafka

Source: Flickr / goodbyestockholm

nymphoninjas:

nymphoninjas:

Approximately 65% of my sexual pleasure arises from orgasming. The remaining 35% is determined by what occurs afterward.

Closeness and cuddling are wonderful but I need more before that, something which demands more than I think I can withstand.

I am not necessarily talking so-called post-orgasm torture—though if that’s on the table, I won’t object. No, I crave something and more gently insistent; stimulation which recognizes and respects my heightened state of post-ejaculatory sensitivity while dismissing the notion that there can be such a thing as ‘too sensitive’.

Alas, this is not something I achieve alone—past a point, my nervous system short circuits and my body locks up.

Being alone for the last four years has caused me to seek out the vaguest hints of the same pleasure overflowing into pain, requiring complete surrender to overwhelming physical sensation.

This is a Polaroid of me—holding my ex’s panties stilling bear the marks of her former longing with which I sometimes in an Icarus like attempt to remembered some shadow of the glory arising from responding involuntarily to touch as if shivering in a desperately cold draft.

I feel like this submission would work really great in an art gallery, the photo is beautiful and touching. And the write up sounds more like an essay than a poem or message. Thanks for your submission dude I really fucking like this one and am proud to have it a part of SS. 

chichispalabanda:

Artfully depicting masturbation is not an easy feat.

The act is private, sequestered. Thus, the question of how one came to be able to witness such goings on becomes a central—is it voyeurism, exhibitionism or a bit of both?

The more voyeuristic the image, the less intentional it appears and the more it relies upon the reputation of the image maker to supplement its ‘artistic’ merit.

The more exhibitionist the image, the less artful it appears. Exhibitionism being rooted in self-consciousness; the efficacy of the work of art being so frequently measured on its ability to dissolve notions of self and other.

These clips of a larger piece suggest an altogether ingenuous way of subverting this dichotomy: fuck with the distinction between subject and object. What’s the easiest way to do that? Point the camera at a mirror. (And I do not mean any of this teen-girl-shooting-her-reflection-in-the-bathroom-mirror Tumblr noise. I fucking HATE that shit!)

Now, I will not for a second argue that she is unaware of the camera—I am almost certain she is. But is she looking at it or looking at herself in the mirror? This becomes about the spectator watching her watch herself cause and experience her own pleasure.

For me it also has the effect of focusing me on her growing arousal—which while certainly mirroring my own is continually refocused on hers.

Source: tiendadeabarrotes.blogspot.com