Pop artist Allen Jones graduated from the Royal Academy in the 60s, along with Hockney and Patrick Caulfield, and has now returned for a retrospective – displaying his painting, sculptures and those ridiculous pieces of sculpted furniture that he claims are not sexist.
If his work is about so much more than just these sculptures, as Richard Dorment suggests in this article, why did the curator – Edith Devaney – decide to whack two of them in Room 1, so that the first view visitors have of Jones’s work is two female figures, bent over, arse cheeks parted, with a pane of glass on their backs acting as a table top?
Both clad in lace-up knee high boots; one donning a lycra gimp suit and the other a corset, the female models have fake tits, peachy arses and tiny waists. Just like the women depicted in every other sculpture and painting in this exhibition. It’s not so much that I have a problem with the female form being presented in this way, it’s more the fact the Jones claims to be a feminist.
He defends his decision to dress the women like this by explaining that everyday clothes might have made them look like mannequins (because all us wimmin walking around in normal clothes are basically a bunch of walking mannequins, durrr.) Fetish clothing, on the other hand, ‘achieved his aim of accentuating the shape of the body’. Oh yes, of course! Now it makes sense.
I wonder why Jones also chooses to dress the female figures in his paintings and photographs in such a limited wardrobe of clothes and shoes – always painfully high heels, often in tight-fitting; restrictive materials and suspenders, sometimes actually trapped in a cast, like in this famous image of Kate Moss:
Maybe it’s because he’s concerned that otherwise they might wind up looking like mannequins too?
A stab in the dark here. Perhaps despite his best efforts to persuade us otherwise, Jones is actually a sexist, misogynist artist who is desperate to provoke a reaction from the same people he is portraying as nothing more than objects: women. But he continues to defend his work, assuming that us walking mannequins won’t pipe up because our brains are made of fibreglass.
Another room displays a series of sculptures showing the curves of a woman and man as they dance together. It’s as if they blur into one; she becomes his to lead wherever and however he pleases. This is also apparent in his painting Sin-Derella, where the man’s belt is wrapped around both bodies; trapping the woman he is dancing with. Her leg pushes between his, seductively, because Jones sees women as inherently seductive and provocative, but the man still owns her body. Jones has taken the innocent fairytale slave Cinderella and made her a sinner:
It’s always inspiring to walk around an art exhibition that elicits such a strong reaction, as it gives you the opportunity to readdress your values and understanding of people, art and the relationship between the two. So i’m grateful for that. But when men pretend their art is presenting an existing social construct rather than being outright sexist, I do get a little peeved.