In the movie Castaway, Chuck Noland, played by actor Tom Hanks, creates an imaginary companion from a Wilson soccer ball, by painting his own bloody handprint into the shape of a face, and then naming him Wilson.
Chuck’s traumatized psyche exploits the resources immediately available to him, to restore some semblance of normalcy and emotional balance, giving him the wherewithal to survive his predicament. The soccer ball and Chuck’s own blood were the most accessible mediums for creating his temporary, anthropomorphic companion – a split off portion of his own psyche, projected onto a red faced soccer ball. If something more human appearing had been available, such as a puppet or doll, he most likely would have chosen that over the bloody soccer ball.
If the blood and soccer ball were intended as a deliberate metaphor, then it belonged to the immediacy of the situation, which was being stranded on an island without the support of people and the conveniences of modern living, such as paint. We exploit what is necessary for our survival, both physically and emotionally. The more desperate the situation, the more we resort to primitive solutions, such as exploiting our own body – blood in this case.
What about the artist who deliberately uses real blood for her artwork, despite having full access to a variety of manufactured paints? I recently came across such an artist, posting her works in a Facebook psychology group. Her paintings reminded me of Jackson Pollock’s abstract expressionism and drip technique, but what really stood out, was her use of menstrual blood, instead of red paint.
The reaction was mixed at first, with several people – myself included – attempting to offer supportive comments regarding her artwork. Yet, privately, I wrestled internally with the idea that the artist used her own blood, rather than traditional red paint. In time, other members voiced their distress and annoyance with these bloody works of art. A few members felt violated by it, as if obscene photos had been forced upon their eyes. I backed out of the discussion at some point, not knowing how to express my opinion without humiliating the artist, who had obviously experienced a personal catharsis through her blood soaked art. She was quite proud of her work.
I don’t say this with any judgment or criticism, but the truth is that I felt somewhat disgusted by the blood, even though it was her metaphor for celebrating the feminine, evolutionary life force within her. I was stuck, not being able to move beyond the image of her blood, nor her decision to expose something so personal and private on social media – kind of like a form of exhibitionism, but with good intentions. I worried about her in this sense, since in her mind, she had shared something very personal with people whom she assumed would embrace and support the joy of her inner process – the intimacy of it. Instead, people were expressing their disgust and disapproval.
We are uncomfortable with the sight of blood, have a knee-jerk reaction to it, since the appearance of it indicates injury or the potential loss of life, with the exception of menstrual blood.
For some of us, real blood on a canvas or any kind of artistic medium, triggers an internal dissonance between what is real and not real. Our minds are wired to differentiate between the real and fictional. Generally, the tools we use to create art are symbolic or metaphorical, such as red paint representing blood. When we mix the real with the artistic, the overlap is sometimes disconcerting to the psyche. We like to compartmentalize things, such as keeping the mashed potatoes separate from the green beans, or not comparing the apples with the oranges, because they are too different. Yes, there are exceptions, such as ice sculptures, sand castles, and gardens, but those combine artistic sensibility with natural beauty – complementary, mutually supportive relationships.
Blood is another story, as it is not inherently beautiful, not like a red rose. There are negative connotations associated with blood, which affects our emotional response to it…our perception of it. Our mind perceives the appearance of blood as the proverbial red flag, in most cases anyway. There are always exceptions, such as the bags of blood providing life saving transfusions, and of course menstrual blood, but yet it is not something of aesthetic value to us. And generally speaking, it is probably quite unsanitary to use body fluids on canvas.
If we were told that her work of art used red paint rather than real blood, would the response have been different? Personally, for me, probably so. I would have made an effort to interpret the abstract expressionism being depicted, how it made me feel, and maybe how it resonated with something within me, as would a Rorschach test. But, I could not get to that point…too much real blood for me. I was not able to psychologically bridge the gap between art and the sight of her blood.
A similar debate has gone on regarding the difference between art and obscenity, which I don’t think has ever been fully resolved. When does art become so real, provocative, or crude that it ceases to be art, or does it? Is there a line that should not be crossed? Is the metaphorical significance of a work of art lost or diminished when it becomes too real? Interesting questions to consider!
© 2021 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
Notes from David 