What has come to be known as the Sex Show at the Barbican has received mixed reports. Some people dismiss it out of hand (and unseen) while others profess to enjoy it immensely. One painter I know loved it, but then he is a voyeur both by profession and inclination. I approached it with an open mind, ready to be seduced (if need be, and strictly for the sake of my readers) but found myself all too soon turning judgmental, as critics tend to do. I also found myself thirsting for an oasis of subtlety among the deserts of brashness: thankfully, there are real works of art here interrupting the tasteful or not-so-tasteful pornography, which provide some respite from the overweening lubricity.
The visitor is greeted by a plaster cast of a fig leaf made in 1857 to disguise the evident manliness of Michelangelo’s ‘David’, and to protect Queen Victoria’s delicate sensibilities from sudden shock. By starting with this monument to prudishness, the exhibition has the latitude to develop in several directions, though given the temper of the times, it would be remarkable if it progressed anywhere else than towards the explicit. And sure enough, the show focuses on male and female genitalia spanning some 2,000 years (quite a span), through 300 exhibits which include classical marbles, Indian miniatures, Japanese prints, photographs and even some ‘High’ art. The quality of the exhibits fluctuates wildly, but their dedication to the theme and overriding preoccupation of the show is undeniable.
There are some rather dull fragments of murals from Pompeii and the sort of sculptures that pubescent boys snigger over. There are also the expected contortions and elaborate positions in the Indian miniatures. The Japanese prints, some of them with moving parts and quite humorous, are altogether more graphic and superbly drawn. Hereabouts there is a sudden influx of art, with some hasty sketches by Fuseli and some really lovely drawings of mythical subjects by Annibale Carracci, particularly ‘Danae’ and ‘Mars and Venus’.

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