“Pretty/Dirty,” the title of Marilyn Minter’s first retrospective opening today at the Brooklyn Museum, packs so much into two words. “It has multiple meanings, which I’m always interested in,” the artist explains, offering up an example: “One person’s beauty is another person’s disgust.” It’s a thread running throughout four decades of jarring, provocative work. In 1969, during a weekend home from college, she photographed her prescription-pill-addict mother at home in Fort Lauderdale, dyeing her eyebrows in bed and fastidiously applying makeup. Manicured hands pry apart a langoustine or a ripe orange in 100 Food Porn, a prescient 1989–1990 series soon followed by hard-core (and hot-button) subject matter. Minter riffed on cosmetics advertising with a suggestive lipstick bullet in 1994’s Rouge Baiser; a decade later, she exploded the norms of conventional makeup use in her close-cropped, hyper-sensorial Blue Poles and Glazed.
If Photoshop has become an instrumental tool in her artist’s palette, used to layer together photographic studies for her paintings, she also sees it as something to rebel against. “I had done editorial, and at that point there was this kind of robotic look—no flaws,” she recalls. “I saw these 21-year-olds made into perfection, you know?” And so she relishes the everyday realities often concealed from view—everything from pimples to dirty toenails to pubic hair, which is the subject of her 2014 artist’s book, Plush, and a new painting exhibition at Salon 94 in New York. This past weekend, during a moment of calm between installing her gallery show and the museum retrospective, Minter spoke with Vogue.com about the downside of laser hair removal, the role of artist as activist, and how “Pretty/Dirty” seems to find kinship with another timely two-word phrase: “nasty woman.” “Isn’t that great? It’s a badge of courage,” she says. “Just reclaiming and repurposing.”
Your work has drawn such a wide mix of opinions over the years, especially the hard-core paintings. People called you a traitor to feminism.
Isn’t it interesting how yesterday’s smut is today’s erotica! That’s historical; it’s always like that. Remember, Bettie Page used to be shocking.
What was that time like for you, when your work was lambasted?
It was a big disappointment. I just assumed everyone else thought just like I did and was a pro-sex feminist. I was reclaiming sexual imagery from an abusive history, and it really frightened a lot of feminists; they couldn’t wrap their brain around it. Well, why won’t you make images for your own pleasure?
Rouge Baiser, 1994.
Photo: Marilyn Minter
Now your retrospective is part of a larger series at the Brooklyn Museum called “Reimagining Feminism.” Is there more room in the definition of feminist art these days?
Absolutely. Everybody in my art world is a feminist. You wouldn’t even think twice about it. I love the title of Roxane Gay’s book: Bad Feminist. The idea that you had to be a certain kind of feminist to be a good one—there’s no ideological right way. You can be a feminist and be a housewife. You can be a sexual being and be a feminist. But young, attractive women owning sexual agency is so powerful and so threatening—to both male and female. They turn you into a blow-up doll! You couldn’t possibly have any serious ideas. It’s just appalling to me! And women do it to each other.
Was that reaction the same when you were younger?
Oh, it was virulent in my age group. You had to play down your looks, for sure—not everybody did, of course.
Did that affect how you styled yourself in terms of makeup, hair, clothes?
Oh no, never. But I’ve always been interested in the paradox about fashion: It’s so easy to criticize and have contempt for fashion and glamour, and at the same time it’s one of the giant engines of the culture. The way we present ourselves, it’s how we see what tribe we’re from. You have more confidence and you’re taken more seriously if you feel good about the way you look! I really don’t criticize women that do—
Botox and things.
Right. We’re so cruel, this culture. Women are judged all the time to such standards that you’re going to be constantly failing.
What do you look for in terms of models for your work?
I’m not interested in making another pretty girl, but I am interested in women with character to their faces—and nobody seems to notice, but I do shoot guys, too! I used to look for mixed-race models. I love the idea of an Asian girl covered in freckles because she’s Chinese and Irish or something. And I love blue-eyed or green-eyed or hazel-eyed black people. And white-blonde Brazilians. This is corny, but I like the idea that we’re all going to be a shade of brown at some point in the future. Maybe that is when we’re going to get along a lot better.
Blue Poles, 2007.
Photo: Marilyn Minter
How did you arrive at the decadent makeup looks, like the turquoise glitter eyes in Blue Poles?
I did that makeup! I just smeared it on. When I’m making my art, I don’t ever use makeup artists. I just don’t want to disappoint them. I like it when the models start to sweat, when people get wet and glistening.
You don’t shy away from things that are usually perceived as flaws. What attracts you to them?
They’re really just images that everybody knows—everything I paint, everything I do. It’s just nobody’s ever made a picture of it before. Other than medical textbooks, there aren’t any pictures of pimples, but we all know them. We all know what armpit hair looks like growing in. We all know what it looks like to have freckles, but they’re Photoshopped out. So when I was working on that, back ten years ago, I was just erasing the Photoshop. I think the eye craves what it doesn’t see—like this last body of work, in my painting show [at Salon 94] and in the Brooklyn Museum show, too, it’s pubic hair. Pubic hair has been erased from the culture, so I wanted to make a case to women: Shave all you want, groom all you want, make topiary out of it—but don’t laser because fashion is fleeting and laser is forever. I tried to make the most beautiful pictures of pubic hair. You could put these in your living room, they’re so beautiful!
There is a movement again for it—I’m thinking of Petra Collins’s generation.
Absolutely! Petra and Sandy [Kim], and there’s others. And Alicia Keys, wearing no makeup. The backlash has started.
In recent years you’ve supported Planned Parenthood, organizing a benefit auction and collaborating with Miley Cyrus. What prompted you to take activism to the next level?
I’ve always been an activist—I was just another marcher, usually. But that was so easy after watching the TRAP laws being enacted. I was outraged because I remember when abortion was illegal and women got unsafe abortions, and I saw [access to care] being systematically erased. There’s [Mike] Pence saying, “The minute I get in the White House, I’m overturning Roe v. Wade. It’s going to be on the ash heap of history.” That just makes me crazy. How dare they? I got my birth control at a Planned Parenthood clinic. I got my abortion at a Planned Parenthood clinic. This was the only safe place back when I was a college student.
Coral Ridge Towers (Mom Making Up), 1969.
Photo: Marilyn Minter
Speaking of college, the retrospective includes photographs you took of your mother at that time—applying makeup, dyeing her eyebrows. Why did you capture those moments?
That’s what she did: She was a groomer [
laughs]. She was at one point a very beautiful woman, but she was a drug addict—a Southern belle who didn’t know what hit her, basically. I remember she pulled out her hair, so she had to wear a wig. And she had a fungus under her acrylic nails because she didn’t take care of them. So it was this off-glamour and, with hindsight, that could be the thread that runs through everything.
Did you share her grooming habits or rebel against them?
I rebelled—I was always really rebellious. I was put in jail at 16! I changed peoples’ driver’s licenses, so they could go to the bars and buy booze. They weren’t laminated back in the day, and I could draw in any number. If my mother told me to do something, I would do the opposite. I went from a hippie into a mod to a punk, basically.
Did you take on the punk look when you moved to New York?
I cut my hair off and I turned it purple, and I was teaching to high-school boys at the time! Leather jackets were endemic. That’s such a cliché! I looked like somebody looked in 1977. I used to wear these Cubs T-shirts, skintight jeans, and high-tops or boots. I slathered on eye makeup, and I always wore sunglasses. We thought we were so radical! [laughs]
Has aging been something you’ve embraced?
I’m trying to, yeah. I’m Irish-skinned and I stayed out of the sun, so it’s easier for me because I don’t have a lot of wrinkles. I try and stay in shape because I’m making my best work, you know? When you read about women artists, they get attention when they’re older. So I plan on evolving. I walk everywhere, like 12,000 steps or more a day. I’m 68, but I’ve got a lot of energy because I live in New York City—it’s like an exercise machine, just being in the city!
In the four decades you’ve lived here, it’s really become an amazing time to be a woman.
Well, your generation is so much better to each other. That’s what the boys have always done: They worked as a team until they got to the top, and then they would try and kill each other off! Elena Ferrante put it best when she was interviewed: that competition between women can be really healthy as long as you don’t try and destroy the other one. That’s aspirational, even with my famous women artist friends. Like, Pipilotti Rist just opened at the New Museum, and we’re friends. I love her work, and I’m also really jealous. But I go and tell her how great she is, and that drains the poison instead of [me] trying to kill her off. [laughs] She does it with me, too. We support one another.
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