Tag Archives: sex


by Artsexcreations

Artsexcreations is a collaborative series of artwork by Bruce Neeley and Lesley Bentley. We call it ‘artsexcreations’ because our art is like babies from the commingling thoughts in our personal mind-theatre whereby we share our collaborative view of the world as how we desire to see and create it. Life can be difficult and painful at times and we hope that our art shares our love and humor with the world. Bruce Neeley chooses pieces from Lesley Bentley’s drawings and performs his artistic artsex digital magic to produce the final pieces you see displayed.

Artsexcreations-Expanded Thought

Expanded Thought

Artsexcreations-Ethereal Escape

Ethereal Escape

I’m Lost, I’m Scared, I’m Rock Hard

I’m Lost, I’m Scared, I’m Rock Hard

Modern Child Psychology

Modern Child Psychology

The Descent

The Descent



Priestess of the Heavens

Priestess of the Heavens


From Bruce: Lesley and I are a good fit on a psychological level, and my process fits in well with our approach. I take from a file of work Lesley sends me and work with it as though it were my own. We really are about the acceptance of the other. We work to create a piece of art for the greater good. It is about trust and respect at a level comparable to a an intimate relationship. It’s a very unique experience to be working so closely with another person’s work. I would say even spiritual. My strongest motivation is to please Lesley, and as with any work, give the public in general a memorable experience. I have never met Lesley in person, although we have talked. I think it would be fun to have a solo exhibit and meet there for the first time. This project has been a joy for both of us. We both have a good sense of humor and as artists we just enjoy the play. We share a sandbox.


Original work by Lesley for “Fantasy and Reality”:

Artsexcreation-Original work by Lesley for %22Fantasy and Reality%22

“Fantasy and Reality” (finished collaboration):

Artsexcreations-Fantasy and Reality

Fantasy and Reality


This is the original work Lesley sent to me which I added to “Dat Bitch Got Crabs”:

artsexcreations-Original work from Lesley for Dat Bitch Got Crabs

“Dat Bitch Got Crabs” (finished collaboration):

Artsexcreations-Dat Betch Got Crabs 100

Dat Bitch Got Crabs



Learn more about Artsexcreations:





Bruce NeeleyArtist Bruce Neeley:

I was primarily self-taught. I had 3 solo exhibits of oil paintings at various alternative spaces in my early 20s. In my 30s I attended the Kansas City Art Institute via scholarship. My course of study was drawing and painting. It has been about two years since I started working in a digital medium, although most of my work has its origins in drawings and paintings. Usually I draw, photograph it, and work on its manipulation electronically.

Awards and Exhibits to my credit include:

1995 Annual 5 State Juried Exhibit in Salina KS. Jurors award by Charles Moffet, Senior Curator of Painting from the National Gallery in D.C.

1997 Annual 5 State Juried Exhibit in Salina KS. Jurors award by Robert Workman, Senior Curator of Painting at The American Federation of Arts in New York.

1998 Solo large scale drawing exhibit ( Torments of the Self ) at the Mingunbach Arts Center in Lindsburg KS.

2010 14th Annual Northeast Arts Juried Exhibit in Kansas City. Award for best 2D work.

2012 16th Annual Northeast Arts Juried Exhibit in Kansas City.

2013 17th Annual Northeast Arts Juried Exhibit in Kansas City. Award for best 2D work, and Award for best themed.

2014 18th Annual Northeast Arts Juried Exhibit in Kansas City.

2015 19th Annual Northeast Arts Juried Exhibit in Kansas City. Award for best 2D work.

Currently preparing for all digital solo exhibit here in Kansas City of next year.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Neeley808
Twitter: @Breton1924


Lesley BentleyArtist Lesley Bentley:

I am a self taught artist from Houston, Texas. I grew up drawing with my mother and aunt who were artists. My drawings come from dreams and recurring thoughts about energy, manifesting thoughts, creation, recreation, healing, desire, humor, love and animals. I almost always include my face in my drawings. Sometimes I include the face of my deceased aunt. I think art heals people, introduces new thinking patterns and improves humor which increases joy in your life.
In addition to Artsexcreations I have my personal drawings on the following links:




Let’s Never Talk about Love

by Dimitris Melicertes


I slide the knife against her clit. She trembles, shivers. The stainless steel blade shines eerily over the pink of her flesh. Such amazing contrast. Her cunt is shaped like an upturned limpet. Strange. I don’t remember how I know the word, limpet. Limpet? Limpet.

‘Can I cum now, please.’ Her voice is begging.

‘No. Shut up.’

Maybe not like a limpet, more like a cantaloupe core, I think. Or the fold of a dried apricot? It tastes pungent sweet. I lick more, and do the alphabet on her.

Around C she begins to shake again. Eeling her waist about.

‘Now, please please?! Can I please finish now?’

She’s not allowed to, unless she asks for permission. Instead of an answer, I reach with my foot, my toe finds the button and I manage to turn up the music. Some pop hit, deafening. The disco ball above us revolves, sending multicolored rays everywhere.

I dip my tongue into her and suck. Blow. Rub lips against lips. Abscond tongue, tease with teeth. The knife present all the while. She takes more time to orgasm –it’s her fifth– and I get tired of licking the alphabet in repeat, so I start inscribing sentences on her labia with my tongue.

By line three, she’s done. Convulsing like an electric chair condemned, she wraps her thighs around my head, pressing. My ears start ringing. It’s hot.

She screams. Finally, someone who gets it.

Never before has my poetry elicited such a reaction.


The hazards of performing cunnilingus holding a knife notwithstanding, the whole thing is quite funny because I haven’t even watched any of the Batman movies. The Joker/Harley roleplay was her idea, she did my makeup. I just played along, smiling threateningly and operating the knife, as instructed. Being dominant, in general. Not my cup of tea, so I’ve no idea if I was a convincing Joker.

But she seems to have enjoyed it.

We couple a couple more times. At midnight she leaves the bed and heads for the bathroom, wearing what remains of the ripped Harley costume. She looks wonderful and I wonder whether I should start reading comics.


‘What was the last thing you wrote on me.’

‘You really despise the concept of sleep, don’t you.’

‘At first you were doing the alphabet, I could tell.’

‘Really?! You’re kidding me.’


‘No one is that sensitive.’

‘I am.’

‘Not to my need for sleep.’

‘What was it? Insults?’

‘I didn’t write anything, just the alphabet.’

‘Maybe you were writing someone’s name.’


‘How ironic, making me finish with another woman’s name.’

‘It was a poem.’

‘A poem?’

‘A poem.’

‘You write poems?’

‘Nowhere in your self description did you mention ‘insomniac’.’

‘If someone finishes to something, don’t they have a right to know what it was? For all I know, it might have been a rape threat that did it for me.’

‘What are you, some Tumblr feminazi.’

‘Can I see the poem.’

‘It’s a draft. I never show drafts.’

‘But you’re okay trying them out on my vagina.’

‘…if you were that interested, you should have concentrated on reading it.’

‘It was exciting, I tell you.’


‘Okay. What was the verse.’

Let’s never talk about love / just kiss me on the mouth / like a mandolin.


‘You came to it.’

‘It’s mand-elyn, by the way. Not man-doline.’

‘What? I said, man-dollin.’

‘No, you’re pronouncing it wrong. Here, let me show you – put your lips upon mine.’

She mouths the word over my lips. Very wet, tastes of both of us. I can tell she’s aroused, again. I’ve observed the texture of women’s lips changes when they’re turned on, they’re somehow wetter or there’s more electricity in them.

‘Mandelin mandolin maudlin madline,’ she keeps whispering, becoming small under the sheets.


Around 5.00 am I sense her waking up. She downs the rest of her glass and returns, picking up my arm and putting it over her.

The sky outside is an immense blue.


It’s strange that I know her body inch by inch but almost nothing else about her.

But we talked about this, prior to meeting, and agreed to anonymity.

I know her from a 4chan rating thread. She’s an oldfag, I’m cancer. She rated me 8/10 and I gave her 2/10 purely for upsetting her and getting her attention. In reality, she’s out of any sort of rating. This creature, luminous with beauty, what makes her so dysfunctional as to seek out something like tonight’s business?

Both of us so desensitized. She’s expressly stated –and I concurred– that this won’t evolve into anything, despite our transgressions of curiosity for the other.

I guess her reasons are similar to mine, perhaps. I assume when your aesthetics differ vastly from those of the majority, you’re by definition classified as dysfunctional. Plus, pretty much everyone is dysfunctional in one way or the other regardless. Whatever; I never found communication anywhere outside written word.

So, this. We’ve both taken the day off work. She chose the hotel. Neither knows the other’s address or approximate location, habits or occupation.

A new romance for the age of reason? No, this is just sanity.


‘There’s no room really for a third in our relationship,’ she says stroking my chin.

‘I’m not shaving it.’

Lying on my back, I occupy most part of the bed like an octopus stretched out languidly over a rock. She, coral-like, is half-glued atop my side, face resting on my chest.

‘Then we should probably give it a name, no?’

‘I thought women preferred men with beards for stable relationships.’

She seems to think about it. I study her ass in the hotel’s ceiling mirror directly above us. Just like a peach. Until now, I’d found the idea of fucking before my own image rather tasteless, but a night spent observing our reflections tangled in serpentine windings has made me less platonic about the whole deal; perhaps in moments like this I like the phenomenon more than the noumenon, I conclude. Though I doubt either Plato or Kant would enjoy my limiting the application of their philosophical distinctions to Anon’s ass.

‘Who said I want you for a long time?’ she says carefully and moves, leaving the bed. I search her face and she’s grinning.

‘Then no reason for me to go through the trouble of shaving it,’ I remark and get up as well, following her graceful legs to the bathroom.

She squats artistically on the seat and fixes me with a challenging stare, unblinking even when her pee echoes tinkling into the bowl. I let out a sigh.

‘Feminists,’ I mutter.

‘What’s that,’ she says.

‘Objectifying someone isn’t bad when it’s mutual and exclusive.’

She continues pissing in response.

I turn to the mirror over the sink. ‘You know what,’ I say, ‘why don’t you do it? I’ve always fantasized having my beard shaven by someone else.’

‘Thus the profession of the barber was invented.’

‘By a woman, I mean.’

I can’t tell if her look is supposed to express sarcasm or pity. ‘Nothing to do with power between genders,’ I clarify. ‘I just think it would be… intimate, somehow, you know? A nice experience.’

Now she seems curious.

‘Are you really asking me to shave your face?!’

‘Look at it this way. Since we aren’t going to see each other again…’

She nods while wiping, not looking at me.

‘…then you might as well grasp the opportunity to make something personal out of this complete lack of futurity.’

‘Anon? I don’t find shaving your beard sexy.’

‘No other woman has done it,’ I offer.

I look so childishly ridiculous, she thinks, as I say this with such seriousness standing stark-naked in the bathroom.

‘Okay, maybe I find the idea a bit attractive,’ she says, flushing the toilet, and catches me grinning.

‘But would you trust me taking a razor to your face?’ she says incredulous, raises a brow.

Applying foam to my face, admittedly with unsure fingers at first, she finds herself thinking of this strange scene unfolding between us. What does it mean? She can’t visualize herself doing it in the past, at all. Nor has heard of anything similar for that matter, so unimaginable it is. Perhaps I’m right and this is primarily a male ritual that no one else had thought of twisting into an affection scene between a couple. Maybe it is intimate after all. Or the proximity it involves is.

As for me, I’d purr if I could. Standing very still, I keep big eyes fixed on her through the mirror, the mirror framing our picture in alternating stages: first as she notices the creamy bubbly feeling of the foam in her palms and decides she enjoys it, then as she kneads the now soft hair on my cheeks –that reminds her a bit of scratching the fur of a wet dog–, afterwards as she handles the blade, with slow, careful movements, and finally as she begins to uncover and map with her fingertips the geography of my face underneath. Concentrated, almost worried. At some point she’s kissing me. The foam tastes sweetish, leaving slushy, schmaltzy, tart air in our nostrils.

We laugh much, I keep licking her nose and she cuts me only six times.


Dimitris MelicertesDimitris Melicertes is studying the PhD in Creative Writing and Practice-based Research at Royal Holloway, University of London. He has translated three books.

Website: dmelicertes.com

Postcolonial Thoughts: Notes on Judith Butler’s Performativity: Spectacle & Realism

By Christopher Hutchinson


“In the late 80s, a new theorist emerged on the scene. She was called Judith Butler, and she was to revolutionise gender theory so fundamentally, that to write a paper on gender in the 21st century that does not at least reference Butler, is to almost place yourself outside of theoretical intelligibility.”-Caroline Criado-Perez

Sex & Agency

Both Butler and Foucault, leading theorists in queer theory, outline the automatic problems with identifying sex as a morally structured construct. Sex merely wants to “get off”. Sex has no interest in the organization of like sexual beings to engage in politics. Both theorists see the engaging of politics and origination as an agency that is separate from sex. Foucault suggests that the politicizing of homosexuality, for those agencies that are concerned with morality, should be more accurately discussed under birth control and reproduction. Butler goes further to analyze the gender role performed by all. She suggests that once one assumes an identity, then one has to perform the corresponding acts to fulfill that identity. That performance becomes just as binary as the patriarchal structure present. Both theorists see the binary gender roles as problematic. Butler attempts to identify and dismiss the performance in her discussion of performativity.

Judith Butler believed we were all performing gender-Caroline Criado-Perezhttp://www.newstatesman.com/voices/2014/05/caroline-criado-perez-judith-butler-whats-phallus-got-do-it




Butler’s performativity is a complicated proposal that ends up being a place of ambiguity. The goal is to operate completely outside of the binary, to become oneself. No labels, no boxes, no campaign, no identity, no agency that can be used as propaganda. Performance functions within those paradigms. Butler’s argument is applicable to all gender roles and stereotypes generated in this culture, and subcultures. Should one assume and wave the flag of the stereotype/gender/ethnicity for an agency? Proving to be authentically a gender/stereotype/ethnicity is merely advocating the spectacle as it relates to patriarchal normalcy. Identity by itself is a lazy excuse to create art.



 Rashaad Newsome

Shade Compositions 2012 SFMOMA (27min. version)

Queer Realism

 “Realism is an approach to art in which subjects are depicted in as straightforward a manner as possible, without idealizing them and without following rules of formal artistic theory. The earliest Realist work began to appear in the 18th century, in a reaction to the excesses of Romanticism and Neoclassicism. This is evident in John Singleton Copley’s paintings, and some of the works of Goya. But the great Realist era was the middle of the 19th century, as artists became disillusioned with the artifice of the Salons and the influence of the Academies. Realism came closest to being an organized movement in France, inspiring artists such as Camille Corot, Jean-Francois Millet and the Barbizon School of landscape painters. Besides Copley, American Realists included the painters Thomas Eakins, and Henry Ossawa Tanner, both of whom studied in France. http://www.artcyclopedia.com/history/realism.html



The thoughts developed in realism seem most to encompass both Butler’s and Foucault’s queer theory, which would more accurately be described as queer realism. Butler’s ambiguity attempts to find this realism. Tanner’s Banjo Lesson is not about pity, sympathy, or idealism. It is simply a grandfather teaching his grandson the banjo. Contemporary Black art is today filled with sympathy, pity, and idealism the complete opposite of the Tanner’s realism, now belittled in a romanticized spectacle. So too have many under the banner of queer theory, moved so far away from queer realism to pure spectacle, engaging in the very same binary gender archetypes perfected in patriarchal society. Many have manipulated and abused Butler’s theory to advance their own agency of indulgence, politics, and morality.


Christopher HutchinsonChristopher Hutchinson is an Assistant Professor of Art at Atlanta Metropolitan State College, Archetype Art Gallery Owner in Atlanta, Ga, and Smoke School of Art Founder. He received his Master of Fine Arts Degree in Painting from Savannah College of art & Design, Atlanta and his Bachelor of Arts Degree from the University of Alabama in Huntsville, Alabama. He lived in Alabama for 10 years before moving to Atlanta in 2008.

Learn more about Christopher and his work at Black Flight 144.

%d bloggers like this: