Sex in Art: Porn or Nah?

I am a very open person. That sounded wrong, but this topic is meant to be risqué and to help all my misunderstood lovers of art and literature.

Allow me to start this off like a debate by defining some of my terms. First and most broad, art. Here I’m talking about anything from the media to canvas to written to music. From here we’re going to talk about sex. Yes. Sex. S-E-X. The thing that really makes babies. But this word in this piece will not be limited to oral, vaginal, or anal. Rather, it will encompass any sexual act or depiction in general. For example, a croquis drawing of two people sharing an intimate moment.

Now, I am a fan of controversy. I like reading, looking, and watching things that push boundaries to deliver meaningful and potent messages. As a striving artist myself, I feed off of these things. But does it mean that I’m “horny” or “into pornographic things” as many of my peers have accused me of? NO.

Following a (kind of?) standard essay format, I will now present my two arguments.


1. Haruki Murakami

Murakami is my favorite author and has been for a while. I have read three and a third of his books (still working on 1Q84…) And one aspect of his books is that there are quite a few sex scenes. However, a true reader will know why those scenes are often so important to Murakami’s style and even purpose in the books. On the other hand, a reader who does not take time to think about it will just say: “THIS IS AN EROTICA!” No. The sex scene is there to blur reality and highlight the abstraction within the novel. The metaphysical aspect, in fact, is often a core element in the plot of the books. To me it’s the perfect metaphor and juxtaposition for life. It’s something very human and natural, but also something meant to be almost gossamer and dreamlike. We are existing, but parts of our existence do not seem real.



2. “Blue is the Warmest Color”

Moving on. This is not my favorite movie, but I will agree that it is very impactful. “Blue is the Warmest Colour” is simply about a girl finding her sexuality. But one of the most alarming scenes is, of course, the seven minute long sex scene. Seven minutes! Even “Game of Thrones” doesn’t show that much detail in a single sex scene! But people! Is it really that bad? This movie is meant to inform the public about what it’s like being lesbian. It may be a film for the digestion of large society thus calling for some unrealistic elements; however, does it not kind of answer the question: how does lesbian sex work?” Well here you go! On top of that, it’s more meaningful that just sex because it’s about a girl who’s confused and just wants to find herself. Precisely like any adolescent in this world. The scene presented the characters and audience with a bit more insight and also an anticipation for how the rest of her bildungsroman with play out. It’s life. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Our world is becoming more liberal by the generation. I believe my generation (somewhere between Millenial, X,Y, and Z) have and will face the greatest clashes with the past. And the question arises, will those who do not really follow this generational trend choose to adapt or conform with the values of their parents or even grandparents? This is not to say that following either is a good or a bad thing. Your opinions are your opinions.

I merely wish that people would not see things like sex as controversial or ungodly especially in forms of art. It is a mechanism and it is up to the artist on how he or she would like to use it. In turn, it is the viewer’s job to really decipher it.

But I get it. It’s kind of uncomfortable especially when you’re young. So, here are some tips that helped me get over it. Say sex 5 times over. Then say it 10 times over. Just get used to saying it first. Then broaden your perspective by going to art galleries of every era, reading more, knowing your history, watching different kinds of films, just immersing yourself in culture. That’s it. Easy, right?



Sex in Art: Porn or Nah?

i cannot believe i am writing this…

First of all, for my close to none interested readers, sorry for the long break! I just graduated and have been enjoying my time off. I’ll get back to writing very soon!


I have just left a place of biologically immature teenagers. Leaving high school some of us have come out better and some of came out just…mediocre. Regardless of where they fall on that spectrum, they have people that truly care for them and really don’t. It’s a natural thing and nothing to be so upset over. This is a new chapter in our lives and there is no time to dwell on those things.

Thus as a symbol of a fresh start, I created new Facebook. Wow! So dramatic! O-M-G, I AM SUCH AN INSPIRATION! SUCH A LIFE CHANGING DECISION! A NEW FACEBOOK!

I don’t know why some people make such a fuss about this.  Whether they weren’t friended or not, does it matter? It’s such a shame that I’m writing this when I could be writing my terrible poetry or imageless fiction. But, to be honest, it’s my only muse right now.

So why weren’t you friended, cancelled, or unanswered?

  1. It’s not important. I’m not taking a lot requests right now from anyone unless I’m really close to you or have something with you in the future. Like college. But even those, I’ve  been putting to the side. I want to detach myself a little and focus on the people that matter to me IN PERSON. So, excuse me if I’m too lazy to press “confirm” on Facebook.
  2. The value of privacy. I used to be a Facebook obsessed, attention-seeking teen in my younger days, but not so much anymore. However, I don’t want my Facebook to be a platform where I have mere acquaintances watching and scrutinizing the meaningless things I do. Social media has become very versatile over the years. It can go from a harmless cat video to a battlefield with bombs going off with every little word you type. Personally, I have been through cyberbullying and it’s not fun. So, I have made it goal for me to close off personal accounts to people other than my friends. It’s not that I think I’m a celebrity and think I have paparazzi around me 24/7. I just feel more comfortable this way.
  3. We’re not really friends. Simple. I don’t really like you or don’t really know you. So maybe you can rethink our relationship and come back to me in five years. Some people think it’s good to be friends with everyone and not be exclusive. However, I don’t necessarily see it that way for myself. As I become older, I am noticing how hard it is to maintain friendships. I don’t see a point in calling someone a “friend” if it isn’t valuable to me or the them. That does not mean you have to live up to some kind of standard. Just, I want to at least kind of know you.

I post a lot of random, personal, and teenager-y things on this blog because writing has been an outlet for me and I am a biologically immature teenager. From these posts I hope readers are entertained and may see a new perspective. I don’t want this to be place where I call out names of people because everything I write is anonymous and if it’s about you, you will know. If you have assumptions, go ahead. But you’re probably wrong. Only to those who are THAT familiar with me have I disclosed very specific information to. So, please don’t second guess yourself. Read this blog with fun and comfort or don’t read at all.

This post will be down by (latest) the end of the summer (if I don’t die of cringe).



i cannot believe i am writing this…

the receiving end of obsession

i have always been a free spirit

doing whatever the fuck i want

because of my uncanny unconventionality

or at least i seemed that way to you

you were my opposite

we should have been like yin and yang

able to find balance

but no

you broke me instead

i lost myself in your competition

competition against me

what were you trying to prove?

then pushing me to the curb

 throwing shitty scraps of your time

like i was your trash can

you’re not in love

you never were

you’re obsessed

i had to be your possession

and in order to do that i had give up myself

my freedom

everything i was

thank God, you’re gone


the receiving end of obsession

The Girl Named Raven

Haruki Murakami inspired.

“Are you ready?” she asks. The girl named Raven sat with immaculate posture besides me at a long, empty dining table. The dark, polished wood glistened under the yellow light of the crystal chandelier. I stared at her with a sly smirk on my face.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” my tone was almost challenging, if not mocking of her doubt in me.

“You always act so strong,” her voice was laced with venomous sweetness. “But that façade always gets you into trouble, doesn’t it?”

I merely shoot a glare. The girl named Raven really did know just how to push me the wrong way.

She ran her finger around and around the rim of her glass cup filled with red wine. Her finger was dampened with the liquid substance causing the glass to ring a high note throughout the room. The girl looked like royalty sitting the way she was. Legs crossed, upper body open, and a slender hand moving liberally.

“Life is not kind, dear,” she continued to say before scoffing. “I shouldn’t be giving such trite advice to a mundane girl like you. Girls like you need to learn by themselves.

But I’m too nice.

Listen, darling. You’re not all that you think you are. You say that you know that you have no purpose in this world when in reality, you think you do. You think you were put on this Earth for a reason because it makes you something.

But you’re not obligated to be anything. You don’t serve a purpose because you shouldn’t serve anything. 

Eighteen, huh? You don’t need to go through an emancipation process or… Don’t you get it? You’re free. So don’t be bound by anything. Not even a silly purpose.”

The girl named Raven took the cup into her palm and tipped it over into her lips. She downed half the glass in a single gulp, her eyes never leaving mine.

“I’m not doubting you,” she reassured. “In fact, I believe in you so much I could make a whole religion with you as my goddess.”

She rose from her seat and she walked around the shorter end of the dining table with her wine glass. I merely listened to her heels click against the floorboard. The girl named Raven stopped right beside me and crouched down and held the half full glass in front of my face.

“So, are you ready?” she asked once more.

I took the cup from away from her fingers and downed the last bit.


The Girl Named Raven


I’ve felt it before.

The weight on top of my body that’s just shy of being overbearing. The pressure around my neck as the white woman above me seems to squeeze just a little bit tighter.

Sinking into my sheets, I wonder when this will all be over. Sinking into my sheets, I am screaming. I can so clearly hear myself, so why can’t anyone else?

The side of my head is buried into my pillow and my eyes are wide open. I can’t see the lady on top of me, but I know she’s there.

Her pitch black hair tickles the side of my cheek. If I could only move my hands I would swat it away or at scratch at the itchy spot.

Panic settles as a blur of a white dress whisps by.

A hand roughly travels up my spine and…

I am released.

All is still. Just where I left it. And the night is forgotten.



To the underclassmen who doubted the class of 2017

Now that a majority of the results are out, the Class of 2017 can finally take a breath of relief before making the most important decision of our lives so far. For the next month we will be sprawling out our applications, playing eenie-meenie-mini-mo, researching all over again to pick the best school suited for us.

But of course, being in this kind of spotlight raises the infamous haters.

Actually when I was a junior someone from the year below me actually said,

“Hey, I don’ think our grade (Class of 2018) is going to do very well with colleges.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because you’re grade is going to do really bad and worsen the impression colleges have on our grade!”

Oh yes, the underclassmen. They always have so much to talk about when decision season rolls around. Whether its about the kid that applied to Yale or about the kid that got into “the bad Washington University” (whatever the hell that means), there’s so much to say.

Well, my dear underclassmen. What do YOU really know? You’re not the one’s writing thirteen applications. You’re not the one who really knows what “ranking” means. Because ranking differs by what an individual wants. Perhaps someone really just wants a top school. Or maybe they want a top school in their major. So maybe, that’s why they went to “the bad Washington University.” 

Look, it’s growing process. And I was in your shoes once as well. I get it. It’s fun to talk about. But unless it’s someone who has their ego way too far up their ass and is basically all talk, don’t say a word. Who knows. Maybe you’ll jinx yourself.



To the underclassmen who doubted the class of 2017