The naked truth: What can we learn from the nude?
Ella Nixon argues that kids should be learning about their bodies from the nude of art history rather than modern nakedness
Florence, Italy: home of the Renaissance with masterpieces aplenty, and inspiration to writers including John Ruskin, Charles Dickens, and William Wordsworth, who marvelled upon its beauty. Given this mighty reputation, I was excited to see what souvenir my sister would bring back for me — a token of the beautiful city that Henry James found “to be colored with a mild violet, like diluted wine” — after her trip there last month.
Nestled in tissue paper lay a fridge magnet of Michelangelo’s David. The catch? It depicted, exclusively, his genitals.
The Renaissance masterpiece had been reduced to pure naughtiness. Although amusing, I seldom put it on my fridge due to full knowledge of its saucy nature (notwithstanding the fact that my landlady and frequent visitor is a vicar). The board of Tallahassee Classical School in Florida felt similar embarrassment a couple of weeks ago after a sixth-grade class was shown an image of the sculpture. In response, the principal, Hope Carrasquilla, was forced to resign.
The main issue behind this decision was that the parents had not received prior notification that their children would be shown the sculpture. Two parents complained to this end, suggesting a breach of expectations between the school and the parents.
However, media coverage of this event framed the decision in relation to simple artistic censorship. The article entitled ‘In Florida, parents are always right — even when they think a Michelangelo is porn’ by Arwa Mahdawi (The Guardian) framed the story in relation to Florida’s Republican governor Ron DeSantis, with the tagline summary declaring that ‘A principal was fired after a Renaissance art class was shown David in the latest example of the state’s censorship crusade’.
The article’s censorious language is suggestive of a quick-to-consume media. Rather than reflecting the complex wishes of concerned parents, the opportunity was taken to stoke political tensions. This attitude obscures any lessons such incidents could teach us. Thus, instead of passing judgement on the school board’s decision or the distinction drawn between art and pornography, I hope to reflect upon these debates to advance the importance of art history — and perhaps the humanities in general — as a bulwark against quick consumption.
David is not a Renaissance d*** pic sent on Snapchat. It was carved with the utmost care — reflecting thousands of hours of artistic training — and has maintained its position at the pinnacle of artistic beauty in the centuries since. For a generation with an attention span decimated by modern distractions, I am intrigued by the lessons that the nude can provide within the school syllabus, especially in relation to the debates surrounding the pending censorship of the Online Safety Bill. Can art history equip children to deal with the dangers of the digital world?
Kenneth Clark famously distinguished between nakedness and the nude in The Nude: A Study of Ideal Art (1956): whereas the ‘naked’ figure is deprived of clothes, the nude is clothed in art — reformed and redeemed in a “balanced, prosperous and confident” configuration. Thus, the nude is the ideal form: “the most complete example of the transmutation of matter into form”. Beauty in form, the nude transcends any earthly desire. Mary Beard criticised this distinction in a Royal Academy podcast, exclaiming her surprise at the fact that she “learnt all this rubbish” at university.
The nude versus nakedness and pornography debate is hardly new, and certainly, like many issues in life, does not have clear answers. Its complexities are suggestive of the conceptual challenges that the Online Censorship Bill will need to tackle if it is to walk the right line between ensuring safety and freedom of expression.
Unfortunately, by the age of 11 or 12, it is likely that some children will have been exposed to indecent images online. A study in the United States found that 15% of those surveyed had first seen pornography by age 10 or younger, with the average age reported as 12. Moreover, 58% of the respondents had seen pornography accidentally. In any case, if these children had not been exposed to such images, it would probably be only a matter of months until they were. So-called ‘artistic’ depictions abounded in my secondary school in England in the form of graffiti biro willies.
To this end, the study of David informs a mature understanding of the human body. In these formative stages, to be first and foremost aware of the human anatomy as intrinsically valuable — rather than something to be used and consumed — could be a defence against objectification and commodification of the body online. In this situation, an understanding of ‘art for art’s sake’ supplants art as a means to an end, suggesting the implicit utility of this widely misunderstood phrase.
The study of art within classrooms encourages long-term encounters with images, which is particularly relevant for nude images. Rather than consuming media as quickly as possible, perhaps art (sensitively taught) can teach us how to think more slowly and meaningfully about the human body. Kant made the important distinction between fast consumption and slow contemplation in his Critique of Aesthetic Judgment (1790). Whereas sensuous pleasure is an immediate hit (for example, the short-term joy one derives from devouring a donut), beauty generates more contemplative long-term pleasure because it requires long-term reflection.
Pornography falls into the former of these categories. Louise Perry describes it as a super-stimuli designed to activate those areas of our brain responsible for feeling as quickly as possible. Aside from porn, apps such as TikTok with their short video formats reduce user attention, encouraging us to scroll and scroll and scroll. The result of this endeavour is an impatient generation unfamiliar with the implicit communication behaviours that characterise meaningful in-person encounters.
Art history should be incorporated widely within school syllabuses to push back against this trend of lightening-quick and inconsequential consumption. Artistic appreciation can teach students patience and understanding, how to approach the complexities of life, and encourage habits of extended viewing. Michelangelo once wrote, “I created a vision of David in my mind and simply carved away everything that was not David.” He left us to find the context within which to interpret his masterpiece. The ongoing nature of such an encounter constitutes a relationship in itself — one that ought to last much longer than the brief sojourn of the magnet on my fridge.
Great piece - and I also think that art history could be a useful means of encouraging artistic appreciation instead of inconsequential consumption. But would it make a difference? English curricula to A-level already encourage "close reading" of texts, while most history papers will have a visual source question that demands contemplation and consideration. If these don't already encourage it, how could art history make a difference? And would the pervasiveness of critical theory, the male/female gaze in crude and simplistic formats across platforms such as TikTok merely reinforce snap judgements and superficial consumption?