(I know I said I’d do this several days ago. Aggiecon was more time-intensive than I expected, and Austin has beseiged me with allergens. But aren’t you just bonkers excited that I’m here now?)

I’ve bought prints in the past, mostly when I was trying to make my 9-to-5 office an enjoyable place to work. Other than that, print buying isn’t really something I do. A print at an art show has to resonate with me powerfully for me to want it, and it needs a certain additional degree of excellence for me to actually buy it. (I’m sure a lot of people function the same way.)

What did I promise again? Intrique? Woe and introspection, right? Morose… princesses? I don’t remember. Tell the story, Megan.

When we arrived at Aggiecon 2008, last year, we found ourselves in the unique position of having to go through Marty’s display art and censoring nipples. No nipples were allowed in the art show, so they gave us a roll of blue tape and we, uh, taped ‘em up. Marty’s artwork had plenty of nipples to censor! We were a little peeved. We talked to the show staff about it, and they obviously weren’t happy with it either—they showed us some really beautiful mail-in work that they couldn’t even include in the show, and more that they bikinified so that they could still display it.

Don’t get me wrong; I think bikinification with blue tape is very funny as a general rule. But I don’t think it’s funny when it’s censoring and effectively destroying the effect of a really nice piece of artwork. The blue bikini’d artwork, in this case, was Sarah Clemens’ St. Labia trilogy: Three nude incarnations of “St. Labia, the patron saint of pornography.” Each piece was wrapped and matted and contained the same lewd gesture, and the effect was really striking: Beautiful technique, unorthodox theme. Even better, I thought they were funny, and poignant, and just plain neat. Worth seeing. (If you want to see them, here’s Sarah’s nude prints page. Buy stuff from her. She’s awesome.)

The blue tape bikinis covered up the usual suspects, but they didn’t cover up the titles (“St. Labia” is fairly straightforward) and they didn’t cover up the lewd gesture. I wasn’t offended by any part of it, but the fact that the censors were picking and choosing was particularly absurd. Even if we bypass the whole argument about natural bodies and sexual denial, this was a stupid situation, and it was probably going to affect the artists’ ability to sell their work. We had put tiny pieces of tape on Marty’s artwork, just barely covering the “offensive” parts—but the blue bikinis on St. Labia covered too much. Who would buy them now, I wondered? I walked around the entire con talking about how shameful it was, how unfair to the artist, and how insensitive it was to her hard work. This offended me—not the freaking nudity.

Aggiecon 2008 went on; Angel instituted blue tape censorship of all willing con-goers. I bummed around the dealers room and found nothing I wanted. I was disheartened and grumpy about it. Nothing called out; nothing spoke to me. Nothing said “BUY ME.”

And then I realized that wasn’t true.

St. Labia had to be protected from their censored fate, and I was going to protect them. I was going to rescue them from blue tape bikinis. And once I’d bought them, I could show them to whomever I wanted.

Take that, censorship!

Victoriously, I paid the art show people and we peeled the bikinis carefully off my new prints. A cheer went up as they reminded me that the prints were no longer under their purview, so I could wave them around like a pro-sex heathen if I wanted. (I won’t say I didn’t have the urge.) I heard a rumor that one of the staff had bought a piece called “Dragonplay” (on this page, and nsfw, obviously), having felt bad that they couldn’t display it and not wanting the artist to suffer for it. As for me, who cares whether I would have bought them in a different situation? I felt like we had triumphed over evil. Save St. Labia, save the world.

I took my prints home and gave them pride of place on my bedroom wall, feeling silly in some ways and brilliant in others. They resonated with me because I wanted to protect them, because they represented a not-always-welcome artistic and sexual expression that I think we all need more awareness of.

In 2009, Marty was christened “The Boobie Guy” for his part in all of this. (I guess if it sticks, at least it’s accurate—he draws enough of them.) “You’re the reason we have that room,” the art room attendant told him when he arrived, explaining that now the nudes were left uncensored and displayed in a separate area, requiring them to check IDs. Three of Marty’s canvas prints were displayed in the public area, and three more—sans censors—are displayed in what has apparently been dubbed the Dirty Old Man Room. (If this catches on, it’s Marty’s fault.) We still think it’s a little silly for the nude work to be separate (and I guess that’s really just the kind of folks we are), but it’s a hell of a lot better than taping it up or not displaying it at all. The staff members we spoke to were obviously happier with this solution.

Also in the quiet sanctity of the Dirty Old Man Room (you guys know by now that no link in this post is work-safe… right?) was a fourth incarnation of St. Labia, newly released this year.

At least, it was there until I bought it.

It seemed only appropriate!

I’m going to start this with a disclaimer: I adore the Colbert Report. I pretty much adore everything Stephen Colbert does, and on top of that, I eat his ice cream. (Read: I’m a fan.) But today I have some things to say about a segment he ran that touched a few nerves. That said, it’s only comedy, and I’m not offended by it. But I still wanted to say my piece. :}

Last night the Colbert Report ran a segment on an exotic dance studio in New Jersey. The focus was pole dancing. When the segment started, I got all excited. More neat pole dancing stuff! You see, I get all my pole dancing information from a net friend on the west coast. She started Seattle’s first ever pole dancing school, and I’ve really enjoyed hearing about it over the last few years—so my excitement was utterly justifiable!

As the segment played, I started to get a sour feeling in my stomach. Oh, I expected the clip to be laughy—we’re talking about Comedy Central, after all. But I don’t think I expected the angle to be so… dissatisfying. My exposure to my friend’s school is strictly text-based, and I’ve never taken a class, or even visited the school. But it’s funny how plain text can make such an impression.

Here’s the segment on Comedy Central’s site, if you want to take a look.

After watching the whole thing, I felt as if the Colbert Report had really managed to misrepresent pole dancing instruction, and the very quality of the concept. Hell, I don’t care that they did it. It’s fake news. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to set the record straight, and give you a chance to see what’s really going on. I don’t know anything about Johnna Mink or her Jersey workshops—they may have been misrepresented too, for all I know. But I do know about this other thing, whether anything else comes up to its standards or not. And it’s really worth saying something about.

It’s called Pole for the Soul.

I haven’t known Krisha well or long, in the scheme of things, but she’s said a great deal about her business, over time, and why she started it. What I’ve learned from her particular perspective on pole dancing instruction has really been nothing short of inspiring. For Krisha, it seems there is breadth and depth to the way she makes her living. It’s something that feels missing from the workshops Colbert covered in Jersey. And I think it’s something that’s missing in a lot of people’s lives, all over, everywhere.

It doesn’t seem to me that what Krisha teaches is about putting on a show, or your partner getting a private treat, or even being able to nudge yourself into that shallow stripper stereotype that so many people seem to like so much… for so many of the wrong reasons. It’s not so much about getting to finally be the sex object. It doesn’t even have to be about sex.

It seems to me that Pole for the Soul might be about something really different. The impression I’ve gotten… is that it’s about you.

It’s about becoming powerful. It’s about building yourself into the person you want to be; it’s about shedding those old stereotypes and preconceptions. It’s about taking the layers and layers of buffering we have wrapped around us—what we constructed to pad and protect ourselves from the world that is often bad and scary—and peeling them off. I’m not making a stripping pun (amused as you may be); we all have those layers. We can be strong without them. Finding out who we really are underneath is an incredible thing. We are so often so different, when that happens.

You know what a warrior I am on issues like this. This is my bag.

And so even though it was disguised as a joke in the clip, the woman who said thoughtfully, “I would say my husband enjoys it… probably more than I do”—That makes me sad. And don’t even start me on the guy who likes to pretend he’s not a pig. I don’t think Pole for the Soul allows spectators at all; the only people present are the teacher and the students, which I think is awesome, and enforces the idea that it’s not about someone else. I have to remember, too, that the Daily Show and the Colbert Report really don’t have to work too hard for the shocking quotes they get. People give them willingly. Those people are out there, and they don’t seem to have thought about the wonderful things they can do for themselves.

This is why Pole for the Soul’s take is so refreshing, and revitalizing. It’s revitalizing to read—I can’t even imagine what it’s like to take one of her classes. And man, does she get good reviews.

The Colbert clip had some pretty weak comments about personal power—but now you know. It’s true. In fact, it’s way better than you thought. Self-discovery? Creative expression? Confidence and strength and personal power and awesomeness? It’s definitely out there. You just have to look in the right places. But this is the only teacher I’m willing to vouch for. ;}