Robert Schultz

Tom Wilhelmus

The Madhouse Nudes, a first novel (a portion of which was published in this magazine) by prizewinning poet and essayist Robert Schultz, arranges itself around an exposition of the by-now familiar awareness-the "semiotic" awareness-of what has come to be known as "the male gaze."

That men have treated women as objects simply by the manner in which they cause them to be represented visually is the accepted dogma of our times. The man who buys the painting or the ticket to the movie theater, who pays for the dress or the fashion magazine and whose gaze must, therefore, be satisfied if sales are to continue, tacitly exploits women by forcing them to live according to his visual expectations. Our sensitivity to these issues shows up in our commentary upon cultural phenomena as disparate as the worlds of fashion, cosmetics, and art history, and in the aggrieved cry of feminism, shrill though it may sometimes strike us. To his credit Schultz, who teaches at Luther College in Decorah, Iowa, does not preach at us about these ideas but rather shows how they may and may not be true when they are seen through the actions of a single, fictional personage caught up in a particular set of circumstances.

John Ordway, a young painter specializing in the tradition of the female nude, has moved with his girlfriend from New York City to the unlikely town of Delphi, Iowa to pursue his work cheaply and without distractions. What appears to be a fairly simple, uncomplicated decision, however, engages him in events which-in this rather calm, understated novel-will raise fundamental questions about the nature and "business" of art and its relation to the self and others, especially those we love and live among.

At first Ordway encounters the suspicion and skepticism he might have expected in a small Midwestern town miles, and it seems generations, away from New York City . Among the majority of townspeople sexuality itself is wrong, especially when fostered by reprehensible "artist" types, not merely because it invites licentious behavior but also because it threatens the underlying stability of the community. The women Ordway hires as models are considered tramps by his neighbors although, in fact, he treats them (at least superficially) merely as tools in his artist's supply kit. Soon, however, Ordway himself begins to feel an estrangement from his girlfriend caused not so much by his choice of subject matter as by some underlying insensitivity on his part, some indifference to her growth and prospects as an artist as weIl as his own "objectification" of things as an artist. Slowly we realize (though he does not) that Ordway has denied his own subjectivity while engaged in the production of impersonal art objects.

Then his girlfriend leaves him, he breaks down, burns one of his important new canvases, and winds up in a local convalescent facility, in counselling, and dependent on antidepressant drugs. Although the source of his confusion is never made explicit, the results of his treatment-especially his introduction to a caring, supportive community in the town-will suggest the source of his difficulties and will eventually point a way out, though not until things grow a good deal worse. As the weeks progress, he cannot paint and must take a menial job in a local social service agency. Also, he is accused of an assault on one of his former models, a charge others find credible because of the sexually charged atmosphere his work has created in the town. Clearly Ordway's problem, symbolized in his psychological breakdown, originates in his inability to deal with others (his girlfriend, his models) as people and in the energy it takes to sublimate his own erotic fears and desires and turn them into art. Nor does he suspect the link that exists between sophisticated voyeurism and the sale of his paintings in New York .

Up to a point the "male gaze" theory suggests what is wrong with Ordway and some of the difficulties he must overcome. Nonetheless, like any theory it oversimplifies the complex needs and desires that truly characterize human sexual relationships, a topic on which Schultz has written in the Autumn 1995 issue of this magazine. In its latter half, The Madhouse Nudes turns from simply an analysis of Ordway's problem and attempts to suggest a cure. It turns out, for instance, that his exoneration occurs simultaneously with a new aesthetic outlook and a new relation ship, one which suggests a need for mutuality and caring, for a mature sexuality which includes respect for one's partner and love, and for an approach to painting that creates a new kind of relation between the painter and a non-"objectified" subject, all within a context of respect for others and for community. The effect of this emerging awareness is cumulative and leads to the well-rounded conclusion of this surprisingly complete first novel.

THE MADHOUSE NUDES, by Robert Schultz.. Simon & Schuster. $22.00.