As culture dictates that we keep the human body clothed, shielded and hidden from view, depictions of nudity have become symbolic of exposure, vulnerability and weakness.
I was reading this wonderful article discussing the symbolism of nakedness in the work of Austrian artist Egon Schiele, who was rather well known for his very vivid, very raw depictions of the nude body. Nudity has long been a fascination of mine, as most things forbidden, and this quote and my own musings in the gym locker room sent me down a bit of a rabbit-hole.
Have we always been afraid of the naked physique?
Clearly, no. As art and histories of ancient times attest, our culture hasn't always held to this crisp, rigid view of nudity. Quite the contrary. There was a time when nudity was embraced, though not in the orgiastic, purely hedonistic sense we might assume.
There was a time, rather, when nudity was... well, the norm.
It is a common misconception of our culture that nudity became taboo once organized religion got under way, in order to curb sexual exploration, adultery, and so on. Except that theory doesn't hold water, when explored in depth. After all, it is not the nakedness itself that arouses us, it's the taboo nature of the naked body.
Seeing someone naked is illicit, and as most illicit things, it sparks a thrill, is pleasurable. I'm sure other factors come into play, since the naked human body can be quite aesthetically pleasing. But I'm quite certain the reason we find naked people so "sexy" isn't inane, rather it's the fact we only see naked people very rarely.
Is religion to blame for the taboo?
Yes and no. While you can certainly trace some of our current ideas about nudity to Puritanism, the English Civil War, so roughly speaking, the 17th century, I think that's short-sighted. We hold this misconception that antiquity was a nude free-for-all, except that was not the case. Yes, Spartan women, for instance, embraced nudity wholeheartedly, and would often train naked. Yet at the same time, in the same historical point, other cultures shunned it, and chose to conceal their bodies (particularly the bodies of women -- what else is new?).
Truth is, the further back you go, the more complex this issue becomes, making it impossible to pinpoint the specific moment in history where nakedness got outlawed. Religion certainly helped, though.
One thing we can agree on is, looking at our 21st century European/Western society, nudity remains, for some, a vicious taboo.
Laying bare festering wounds
Blotchy or clear, acne-prone or smooth, this is a wound that's not just skin deep. Nudity has been and remains for many a pervasive source of psychological suffering, of guilt, and shame, and depression. I see the women in my gym locker room, naked, yet looking around themselves with narrowed eyes, ready to pounce.
Is someone judging me?
Scrambling for their clothes in a hurry, lest someone notices them, or gets offended by their naked bodies. It's only fake courage. I take off my sports bra, and think myself very forward, yet with my other hand, I'm desperately pulling on my shirt to cover myself, and end this morsel of vulnerability.
Because yes, as the quote in the beginning attests, nudity is a gateway to vulnerability.
Who are you typically naked with?
Your partner. Whether sexual or no, being naked in front of our lover indicated a level of intimacy and trust, precisely because we would not show our physical nakedness to others (and in that, perhaps, a mirror of our emotional and psychological vulnerability).
Your doctor. Yet that one hardly needs explaining, doesn't it? When we are naked before our doctor, we only do so under the previously-established belief that "they see this all the time". I'd argue our nakedness in front of our doctors is, rather than helpful, a hindrance. There we are, stripped of so many of our physical identifiers (clothing and accessories play a huge part in how we define ourselves, hence the stripping or prison inmates), vulnerable, and open to a trauma (aka an illness). If anything, it reinforces the belief that nakedness is dangerous.
Yourself. I've kept the best for last. Some will argue you don't count. Obviously you're naked before yourself every day (presumably). But how accurate is that? How often do you look at your body when changing or washing? How often do you hold your penis and truly see it? How often do you rub your chest or your thighs like you're cleansing something beautiful and essential and perhaps sacred? Most people wash like they're scrubbing the kitchen table.
The sad truth is many of us live disengaged from our naked bodies, as if a veil had been drawn over our eyes, barring us from truly seeing it. With its imperfections. With its festering wounds. With its wrinkles, and saggy skin.
It's very telling of our relationship with nudity that we, the only people to see ourselves naked daily without fail, are so blind to our bodies. Almost like in our inner eye, we're ashamed to regard our own nudity.
The naked human body is intimate and private, usually reserved for a select few viewers. It’s usually reserved for private moments, and yet Schiele repeatedly renders his naked form on canvas, to be displayed publicly. In doing so, he at once challenges normal convention and ideas of decency, and also invites the viewer in to his private, personal world.
The quote refers to Schiele's private world, though when I first read it, I immediately thought of my own private, personal world. Is that what I'm doing when I'm being naked in front of someone else? And would baring myself to a mass of people automatically dampen the colors of my rich inner world?
We live in a paradox. Although we're assailed by naked bodies through entertainment and pornography, we're still reticent, as individuals, in baring ourselves. We're still covered up, and tend to either look away or gawk awkwardly when we see someone naked, even if it's nothing wow.
There are movements to decriminalize nudity, some of them pertaining to the feminist movement, and while they may be laudable, we're putting the cart before our proverbial ox here. As long as we remain afraid and embarrassed of our own naked bodies, disconnected from our knees, and out stomachs, and our breasts, and our toes, we can plaster every single wall with nude bodies, and be no wiser.
In the end, that's the beauty of Schiele's work. There is nothing sexual about his paintings, and I'd argue that's what made them so horrifying to his early 20th century peers. That he captured the human body not as a sexual vessel, not as an object of repulsion, but as real. Small or distended, flat or bulging, reddish or too pale. All those things that are anathema to us, Schiele laid bare.
So maybe our battle for comfortable nudity doesn't start with our larger social circle, but with ourselves. Maybe it starts with going to a museum, or failing that, a mirror. Full body length.
