Erotique Picasso and the Borders Romance Aisle

The first time I was in Paris, in 2001, my friend and I went to an exhibition at the Musee Jeu de Paume called Erotique Picasso.

It was interesting. It was filthy. I think it was banned in America.

At some point, my friend and I got separated, as we often do at these times, and I was left to wander around alone. For an artist known for his abstract paintings, these works were straightforward.  Literal.  They were profoundly graphic.

Most pointedly, there were several works, like the one featured in this post, that depicted women having sex with Minotaurs.  At the time, I have to say that I found it strange and thought provoking. Or you know - freaky and weird - depending on who you're talking to.

I had never given much thought to Minotaurs before, but I haven't thought about them in the same way since. 

When I met up with my friend again, she said "What do ya think?"

And I said "I think Pablo was a freak."

And she said "Word."

'Cause that's how little white girls from West Virginia talk to each other in France.

I thought about Erotique Picasso this week while I was over at the bookstore browsing around in the romance section.

What is going on out there? There are romances about women and vampires, women and warewolves, women and centaurs. Even Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility has been reimagined and Colonel Brandon has been turned into some sort of sea monster.  There very well may have been a Minotaur section that I just missed. 

Is this what we're doing now?  Are we getting turned on to the idea of sex and romance with men who may or may not be entirely human?   Are real men so infernally boring that we have turned our lustful dreams towards vampires and men who are half horse?  Half sea monster?

Although I haven't actually read any of these books, I have been noticing their proliferation for a while now, mostly involving the vampire romances.  I, myself, am no less guilty of this, having had a long and happy lust affair with both James Marsters and David Boreanaz during the "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" years.

What is it about a man with the soul of a human and the raging instincts of a beast?  Does this feed our desire to save or be saved?  Is it wrong for us to talk about the female urge to be so beautiful, so sexy, so unforgettably desirable that our love can transform a man from tortured monster to monogamous minivan dad? 

I don't know the answer to these questions.  I guess I was hoping that I'd throw it out there and maybe someone would have some thoughts or insights as to what exactly is going on here. Are we over the sensitive man?  We we ever really under him? 

Anyone?

Image:  Dora et le minotaure by Pablo Picasso