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Michael Curran
'It is you who have wakened my love, so troubling when conveyed by such a shady flower...It is evident that if one expresses love with the aid of a flower, it is the corolla rather than the useful organs that becomes the sign of desire...It seems in fact that desire has nothing to do with ideal beauty, or, more precisely that it only arises in order to stain and wither that beauty…The most admirable flower for that reason would not be represented as the faded expression of an angelic ideal, but, on the contrary, as a filthy and glaring sacrilege.'

Amami se Vuoi - Love me if you want. You can't help but think of flowers, of the act of pollination. This seems strange when you also feel confounded by the act staged here while a sweet chanson plays. He is stretched naked across a table. He puts out a cigarette and addresses the camera, 'okay, can you put it on', a second man approaches, leans over him and spits into his mouth, over and over again. You keep watching. Eye to the keyhole, eye to the lens, spit in your eye.
In the Miracle of the Rose, Genet imagines spit replaced by rose petals; so Bataille invokes the disconcerting gesture of the Marquis de Sade, who had the most beautiful roses brought to him only to pluck off their petals and toss them into a ditch filled with liquid manure. Mouth to mouth then. The gobs of spit are a gift. Pleasure is inflicted. We are frozen before the image.

Still from Amami se Vuoi by Michael Curran, 1994
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