reviewed by Mary Anne Mohanraj
Twelve women pleasuring themselves -- masturbating.
Six photographers, with very different styles.
One very beautiful book.
I first saw this book at an erotic event, a classic porn filmfest at
the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland, CA. It was sitting stacked on a
table, and I reached towards it, drawn by the woman's face on the cover,
her head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted. And then I realized what
the book was. I read the subtitle, and hesitated. Even there, surrounded
by other people who I knew had a positive attitude towards sexuality, I
was nervous about picking up a book full of photos of women masturbating.
I did eventually nerve myself to pick it up, and I'm glad I did. I
wonder how many other people will pick it up in bookstores, will nerve
themselves to open the pages to these women who are spreading themselves
open for the camera, for us. How many will page through the gorgeous black
and white photos of Thea, Molly, Julia and the others, will read the words
prefacing the photos, words in which the women speak to their own
experience of masturbation? How many will be touched by the expressions of
joy, of laughter, of peace on these women's faces?
If the history of this book is any indication, not as many people will
encounter it as ought to. This is the second edition of I Am My Lover; the
first was photographed entirely by Honey Lee Cottrell in 1978, twenty years
ago. The first book has a sad history, as editor Joani Blank tells us.
"Within two years after its first and only printing, that volume disappeared
from the shelves of the few courageous women's bookstores that dared carry it.
The original art and printing plates went (ostensibly for safekeeping) to
Mexico with the printer, and were subsequently lost to Down There Press
forever." Even this edition had great trouble finding a printer -- which
doesn't surprise me, given how many printers turned down my own book of
erotic fiction and poetry (because it had pictures of women's breasts!).
It worries me -- I'd hate to see this book disappear into obscurity the
way the earlier edition did. I think this book of photographs is
important, as well as beautiful.
These women aren't models. They're just women -- short and tall, small
and large, some with naked skin, some dressed in an assortment of tattoos
and piercings. Most not wearing anything else. They're the kind of women
you could run into in the street -- one of them, in fact, was a classmate
of mine. And yet, in these photographs, they are all beautiful.
It's hard for me to pin down exactly why that should be. Some of it
lies in how unselfconscious they seem (which I imagine must be partly due
to the skill of the photographers). When Kim stands in a snowy field,
stripped naked to the waist with a snow shovel in her hand, concentrating
on her work, she seems totally at ease. Later she lies exhausted in front
of the fireplace, sprawled in a position that would surely be uncomfortable
if maintained for long -- yet her body seems to almost shout its
satisfaction. She's just too tired to move quite yet... She looks like
she's been doing this sort of modelling forever, yet in the text
accompanying her photos, she says that "being erotically photographed is a
first for me. I am a very private dyke, yet I love to challenge myself."
This is quite a challenge, I'd imagine, and she's met it with grace.
These women open themselves up to us, and that is beautiful. Both
physically and emotionally, they lay themselves bare on the pages of this
book. That vulnerability is gorgeous. That courage. They tell us their
secrets, share private moments. Barbara tells us about her first orgasm:
"My first masturbation to orgasm was on the day of my Holy Communion; it
happened outdoors with a tree that I used to climb." As she gives us the
details of that experience, as we are faced with the reality of her body
spread on the grass in the photo on the facing page, her hand between her
thighs, how can we not be impressed, touched? I found myself wondering
where they found the courage to do this, to share themselves with the world
this way.
I once had a friend, a photographer, take some nude photos of me. I
wanted to give one to my boyfriend as a Christmas present, if they came
out okay. I was tremendously nervous throughout the experience; the
insecurities and anxieties were probably too many to number. Worry that
the photographer wouldn't think me attractive enough to photograph --
worry that I would look fat in the photos -- worry that my boyfriend
would be shocked or simply not like the one I chose for him... When
we finished, there was in fact one photo that I really liked, that I
ended up matting and giving to a few people. It was black and white;
it was artistic -- and my face was turned away, so I could almost pretend
it wasn't me. The woman in the photo was beautiful.
I think about how much anxiety I went through over that simple
photograph, about how silly those fears were and yet how much they
bothered me. And I am so impressed by these women who not only show nude
photos to the world (the people I gave copies of my photo to had to
solemnly swear to never show it to anyone else), but show photos of
themselves nude and masturbating. Masturbating! I still have trouble
saying that word out loud at times. I've never had the nerve to let a
lover watch me masturbating -- not in the light, at any rate. Yet here,
under a photographer's bright lights, these women are able to share their
pleasure with us, a gift that I find stunning in its generosity.
I want to finish this with the words from Thea that open the photographs,
and for those of you who have not yet bought a copy of the book, please
imagine my favorite photo from it -- page 10, a woman sprawled on a futon,
her dark blonde hair tangled. A black cat near her pillow, a white one
sprawled over her foot. She holds a vibrator between her thighs, and her
head is turned to face us. Her eyes are closed, and she has the world's
biggest grin on her face. She is so clearly happy.
"I am pulling back the lips to show the teeth that aren't there. I am
pulling back the shades to show the shame that isn't there. This is my
house. This is my cat. This is my bed. This is my body, belly, breasts.
This is me masturbating.
Brave
Awkward
Shy
Beautiful
Vulnerable
Joyful
Proud."
