I don’t generally think that anything Lady Gaga says, sings or does is worth repeating. Admittedly, her reputation was doomed the minute I met an obnoxious girl dressed as her on Halloween wearing nothing but balloons and stilettos. But this past summer she (the singer, not the look-a-like) announced her fears to Vanity Fair of her precious creative juices escaping through her vagina during sex. Lady Gaga finally won my attention.
When I first read the quote in the National Post, “I have this weird thing that if I sleep with someone they’re going to take my creativity from me through my vagina”, I found the statement over dramatic and painfully righteous. This says a lot considering the fact that I flaunt both behaviours daily. However, I soon found myself pondering if this statement might possibly be something more profound.
In a literary sense, we have all heard and accepted that creative inspiration “flows” and “juices”...but have you stopped to think about where these “creative juices are flowing” from and why creativity is so commonly conceptualized in liquid form? Perhaps likening these “juices” to sexual bodily fluids is not an absurd concept. After all, I believe we cultivate both sexual and creative energy in much the same way: by yearning for connection, expression and the opportunity to reveal a deeper part of yourself to others; by a desire to relish in the moment and stand still in time; or by demanding a release or escape from emotions that have overcome you.
So regardless if you are standing before a naked body or a naked canvas, maybe the bottom line is…what really turns you on?
And...can these urges (sexual and artistic) both thrive in chorus with one another or is Guru Lady Gaga onto something here…does one ebb in order for the other to flow?
I have always considered myself a creative spirit and wouldn’t say from experience that sex has diminished that will. But I could argue (for the purpose of this discussion) that physical relations, no matter how whimsical, provide an outlet for expression and energy that art otherwise might.
I’ve only ever experienced situational “abstinence” from sex once in my life. Partially imposed by physical separation from a distant lover, and largely imposed by the restraints of Ashram living. For six months I basically avoided intimate experiences of that nature completely. Never before had I felt that level of sexual repression and frustration. What emerged was a deeply subconscious, bizarre imagination that could not be reckoned with. That period in my life was defined by a string of impressionable and vivid dreams; drawings on my furniture, my walls, my notebooks and myself; and free flowing guitar tunes and thoughts that my hand repeatedly failed to catch up to.
But even after my abstinence retreat, I am no Lady Gaga.
I guess sex keeps getting in the way.
