Closed Mouths Don’t Get Fed - Girls Gallery Send Nudes Group Show
Article and Images by Naomi Van Doveren
When one thinks of nudes, it is inherently always about sex. The amatory nature of the “nudie.” Every woman knows this. The unsolicited ‘dick pick.’ The invasive nature of it. The depravity and assault of it. Nudity or nakedness, for that matter, seems to stir a deep disturbance. There is something almost puritanical in the offense some people take when it comes to the naked body. It is something to be offended by, to shy away from. The idea that nudity is for the home, not for public consumption.
Now imagine for a second an art gallery that rents its space from Catholic nuns. There is something deliciously contradictory about having a show about being naked in a place that is inherently parochial. The idea that art and religion co-mingle.
This, of course, is not a new idea. Art has long had its place in religious circles. So has nudity, in fact. We all have seen classical paintings with heaving bosoms draped in luxurious fabric. Or naked sculptures of powerful men, whose proportions are far more idealised. Religion does not shy away from the nude form in art, despite its very closed-minded state.
I have always been quite prudish. I have looked at my own nudity with great suspicion. I cower away from mirrors that show even the hint of my naked body. A steamy bathroom after a shower is a godsend. I can see myself very much in smoke and mirrors. This is not to say that I have a problem with nudity and how my own body sits in that bearing, but more how I view my own unclothed form. It lacks the confidence of exhibition, even in private.
Yet, in this conservative vein, I am drawn to art in all its forms of the shape of a woman. Art was introduced to me early. The privilege of access. There was exposure to museums, film, art, theatre, and all things of expression. As an adult, I’ve become quite fastidious in my taste and my own confronting absence of wanting to be nude.
It was in this perhaps fortuitous introduction that discovering Girls Gallery hit my marrow in a way where art never has. It felt like a place of breathing. A place to not only see oneself in the work, but also a kindred spirit towards the artists and curators. I discovered Girls Gallery quite by accident. It was a t-shirt that introduced me to them. The t-shirt in question was by Sara Matt, who emblazoned “Not For Sale” in bold print on white cotton. I needed to have it.
In an Instagram exchange, I met one of the founders on a quiet Friday afternoon. I walked in this pipe exposed, makeshift, literal holes in the wall place that intrigued me. Dominique Cheminais met me at the gate. An obscenely glamorous woman. I cannot tell you what she wore, but a quick perusal of her Instagram gives you the idea. Tall, statuesque, confident, with a whiskey-over-stone voice. There is something almost brutalist about the gallery and her. Something that is unfinished but yearning to be seen and heard. Girls Gallery is such a place.
It would take a second visit, where I was introduced to the other proprietor, Keely Shinners. To describe her is difficult. There is an urbanity about her. A wavy, growing-out mullet, in the vein of Patty Smith. There is an ethereal quality to her. At this particular opening, she wafted through the rooms in her flowing, tulle-like, perhaps chiffon dress. You can also sometimes find her jamming away at a grungy club with her band Ugly Baby or find her doing a DJ set in her other side-hustle, Baby Lunatic. It is fair to say that both Dominique and Keely know how to gestate things. Be it music, art, or literature. They know what they are doing, and they invite others to join them.
And it strikes me that both Dominique Cheminais and Keely Shinners have taken the long road to get to this point of creation. To mix the almost forbidden fruits with something that is unhindered and open to expression. Both are novelists, which is their origin story. Best friends, in life, work, and art. Each of them, their own individual expression and, dare I say, complementary vision of each other. The perfect marriage to birth a place that allows the unseen to be seen. It’s a deep feat.
They know art and the system that allows those that have access to it. There is a tangible sense that they feed each other, and thank goodness they did. Because they have given a home to like-minded artists. It is with this in mind that each of the artists clamour to have their work shown.
When I asked each of them the impetus, not just about the gallery, but about what made them choose nudes as a starting point, they had this to say.
“When selecting artists, we were looking for work that strikes a certain cord. We are most attracted to artists that are making work outside of the norm and pushing the boundaries of beauty and acceptability.” - Dominique Cheminais
“I love art and love finding all different ways to make it. I think that energy encourages others at the gallery.” - Keely Shinners
And it is in this vein that they have incubated a place where 22 artists, ranging from painters, sketch artists, graphic designers, multimedia artists, and photographers, were invited to follow one simple brief, ‘SEND NUDES.’ Each of the exhibited works speaks boldly and loudly. The nudity is the subject and the voice. One painting showed someone giving fellatio. Another leg’s akimbo and spread wide with a hint of hirsuteness. Another, using a photocopy to produce black and white negatives. Another, a painting with the most robust buttocks, that reminded me of my own. The gamut of the work was unhindered. There is a polite voyeurism in the work. It’s salacious, but not pornographic. It forces you to look closer, not just at the work itself, but also at those who create it.
There is an interiority to each of the pieces and, by virtue of this, each of those who make it. You step into their practice of how they view the world and their bodies within it. If ever art were to be political, and in a South African context, art is always political, especially when it comes to the bodies of women. And to have all these nudes on full display, without shame and secretiveness, to see wholly who the artists and curators are, is an invitation to see yourself.
It’s rare to step into a place that holds no pretension. The gallery system is at best elitist. I have always felt that art, in all its forms, should be accessible. And on my own meandering road to create something, to find a place, Girls Gallery and her artists have made this so. They have indeed opened our mouths to be fed.