"L'Amour Plus Fort Que La Haine". Photo: Jessica Johnston
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“You produce work and want to run for cover”: Celina Teague on art versus armchair activism

Just before the opening of her new show, "I Think Therefore I #",  the artist Celina Teague talks about the difficulty of producing political art, and the effect that social media has on the way we absorb news.

The beginning of 2015 saw a number of global scale events. The most memorable of these, for the artist Celina Teague at least, were the Charlie Hebdo killings and the continued executions by Isis terrorists. They flooded the media, and dominated headlines until the next big story came along.

At this point, Teague was preparing for her summer show: “I was gonna do something domestic, about this last couple of years, you know when you get married and have kids. But then at the beginning of the year there was just f**king horrible news”.

Teague, during our conversation, keeps coming back to the haunting images that drive her work: “It’s the images that are really affecting. It’s just the imagery. Images really affect. Text can too, but I’ll never forget seeing that picture [of the Jordanian pilot]. Everything is so image-based at the moment."

"I am nothing just a little vagina". Photo: Jessica Johnston

The news plays a major part in Teague's work, particular for its short-lived extremes.“We just absorb all this stuff," she says, explaining to me about the effect of the violence we see on the television. "How is it changing us collectively?”

She adds: “I find it so intensely upsetting that I feel like I need to process it. I just wanted to spend some time before I move on with these horrible stories. I go back to painting because it’s almost like taking time to stand back.”

One example of Teague trying to "process" the world around her deals with the abduction of the girls in Chibok, and the #bringbackourgirls campaign. “There are 276 pencils, because that’s how many girls went, and it’s in the shape of a uterus. There was this poem called ‘I am nothing just a little Girl’ written in the aftermath. I changed it to ‘I am nothing just a little vagina’ because I think it’s so often the women who suffer the most.”

Teague has always been an activist. After leaving Central Saint Martins she joined forces with a friend, and organised impromptu debates and events around London where they discussed the issues that they cared strongly about.

Increasingly though, Teague seems torn between her passionate feelings as an activist and an awareness that approaching such controversial subjects you can get in a lot of trouble:

“Half of art is being in a studio alone with your work. But eventually you want to get it out there and have some sort of reaction and discussion. My intention with my painting is never to be provocative and insulting just for the sake of it,” she tells me. “But when your subject matter is quite political a lot of the time, how do you back yourself? I’m not there to defend my work.”

"I Think Therefore I #". Photo: Jessica Johnston

“I go into painting, and everything I do is introspective and personal. Then you put it out there in a show, and it’s always nervewracking because you never really know how things are going to be read. With a lot of art, you produce work and just want to run for cover.”

The political element is challenging, and familiar images such as Charlie Hebdo cartoons are contrasted with familiar facets of social media activitism: emojis, instagram photos and well-known hashtags. The exhibition’s title piece, "I Think Therefore I #", refers to the busy intersection of hard-hitting current political affairs and the vapid world of the internet.

“I painted a girl stuck in a room but with all of these images and lame quotes. I did take a lot of these from my friends and famous people’s instagrams – they’re rip-offs from these. It’s armchair activism – but I did use mine too.”

She adds: “I’m very aware that I am a social stereotype as well.”


'The Last Sharpenings'. Photo: Jessica Johnston

“We are pedalling extremes,” she tells me. “And the space in between is what I’m trying to explore with my paintings. There is so much shitty news that we have in our lives at the moment. So you want something vacuous, totally easy – something fun. Maybe we are turning the camera on ourselves because it’s easier, more palatable, because everything else is so...” she trails off. She doesn't really need to finish the sentence.

Celina Teague's show, "I Think therefore I #", will be showing at the Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery from 5th August 2015 to 5th September 2015.

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Poldark is the latest show to throw in a lazy, irresponsible rape scene

It’s particularly dangerous to present a scene like this as consensual, as the writers insist it is.

So Poldark has become the latest show to throw in a lazy, irresponsible rape scene to spice things up. We’ve sat through them in outrage-courting Game of Thrones, in cosy Sunday night drama Downton Abbey, and even at the opera. Now, they’ve come to BBC period adaptations, too.

This is how the scene plays out (a detailed description of the events leading up to the rape follow):

Poldark (Aidan Tuner) turns up at his friend Elizabeth’s bedroom door in the middle of the night, in a rage. She suggests he come back tomorrow morning. He refuses. She suggests they relocate downstairs. He refuses. She suggests he should not be in her bedroom. He refuses to leave, and shuts the door behind him.

They argue about Elizabeth’s plan to marry an enemy of Poldark’s, a decision that disgusts him. She asks him to leave, again. “I’m sorry you feel like this, but I cannot help it,” she tells him. “Oh, you’ve never been able to help anything, have you?” he says, mockingly, adding, “well, perhaps you can’t help this either,” kissing her forcefully before she pushes him off her.

Poldark threatens her, approaching her again as he insists, “I oppose this marriage, Elizabeth. I’d be glad of your assurance that you will not go through with it.” She says again that she will be married. Poldark kisses her again against her will. She tells him she hates him. “You would not dare,” she pleads, looking at the bed. “I would, and so would you,” he says. He pushes her onto the bed. You can guess the rest.

Of course, this is a rape scene. Some say it isn’t – because Elizabeth shows signs of enjoying the sex, and she’s nice to Poldark the next morning, because she has (or has had) feelings for him. None of these things are relevant. Poldark verbally pressured and physically forced a woman who was refusing to have sex with him. That’s rape.

It’s particularly dangerous to present a scene like this as consensual, as the writers and cast insist it is. Andrew Graham, the son of Poldark novelist Winston Graham, who was a consultant on the BBC's current screen adaptation, said:

“There is no ‘shock rape’ storyline. The only way to judge what my father intended is to read the novels as a whole. Doing so it becomes clear, from earlier scenes as well as from Elizabeth's immediate reactions and later mixed emotions, that what finally happened was consensual sex born of long-term love and longing. It was, as Aidan Turner has put it, ‘unfinished business emotionally’.”

His opinion was supported by Poldark screenwriter Debbie Horsfield as well as Turner – who said the scene “seems consensual”.

This is not how consent works. Consent is not something you can assume based on “earlier scenes”. And it’s certainly not something you can retrospectively achieve based on the “immediate reactions” or “later mixed emotions” of someone you forced to have sex with you. That’s just you attempting to justify the fact that you raped someone.

The idea that Poldark knows Elizabeth so well that he knows what she truly wants (sex with me, the man of her dreams, duh!!) might seem romantic. But no love is so great that it imbues the lover with the ability to read minds. Implying that Poldark knew best peddles the dangerous myth that when women say no, they mean yes. Beliefs like this create rapists. The only way to know what someone wants is to ask them, and to listen to what they say. Elizabeth said no.

Adapting period material can be tricky – not least in its presentation of women, gender dynamics, and sex. The Poldark books are from the Fourties, and set in the eighteenth century. It’s a miserable state of affairs when the understanding of consent presented on primetime television, in 2016, is as dated.

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.