By: Stephen R. Jaffe

There is a block-long cluster of art galleries on Saginaw Street in Pontiac, which is becoming a major center of progressive art in Michigan. I recently stumbled upon Jef Bourgeau’s Museum of Contemporary Art, whose name evokes an image of a substantial granite building but consists in fact of a room of perhaps eight by 10 feet that is, itself, within the well-known contemporary Galerie Bleu. It has had a brief but controversial existence, as I was soon to discover.

Two years ago, in response to a routine mailing the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) made to all of the other museum of modern art in this country, it received a letter from the director of no less a lofty institution than the Guggenheim Museum in New York, asking that the Guggenheim be removed from the MCA’s mailing list. In an astounding statement, the Guggenheim’s director wrote:

"We have received your mailings for about a year and have become aware that they are not germane to us geographically, no in relation to our mission or interests. We kindly ask that you take us off your mailing list immediately …" A minor scandal erupted over the letter, it was discussed, lambasted and published in places as far away as Italy, and the Guggenheim was ultimately forced to publicly apologize for its arrogance.

I stumbled upon my own controversy. The current exhibit, titled "Naked in the Nineties," is a collection of mostly photographs of young naked children. While none of the photographs depicts a sexual act, they are clearly sexual in purpose and content. In the center of the small room is a doll house. In the window of the doll house, a tiny television monitor continually plays a videotape of a pubescent girl’s face in a state of self-arousal, complete with sound. The work in entitled "Prisoner of Gender."

Upon entering the room and seeing these pictures, my first reaction was a shocked, "What is this?" I think mine was the reaction that Jef Bourgeau, the MCA’s director, intended.

Several petitions have been circulated regarding the exhibit, among them one from the North Oakland Family Mental Health Center. That petition asserts that portions of the exhibit, which were at the time in a street level public window display of a different location on Lawrence Street, "upset" passersby; in particular "children who have been sexually abused."

The point of the petition was well taken about the placement of its provocative contents. But as I reflected on the exhibit, it occurred to me that, as shocking and/or repulsive as some people may find it, the photographs and other art in the exhibit may indeed serve a higher purpose beyond sex and shock. The legal definition of obscenity is that the material must appeal solely to the prurient interest and the work must be utterly devoid of any redeeming social value. That definition is so elastic that it is almost impossible to apply in a fair and uniform manner.

I might have preferred some kind of disclosure about the nature of the contents of the exhibit at the threshold of its doors so I might have made a choice whether I wished to view such material. However, no artist intending to convey the impact of his or her message partly by shock would allow such a filter.

While the photographs in the exhibit "Naked in the Nineties" may shock, repulse and titillate its viewers, they also unquestionably serve to trigger a public awareness and discussion of the issue of child sexual abuse and pornography. The fact I am writing this article is a testament to the truth of that idea.

Sexual exploitation of children will never be reduced or eradicated if it is kept hidden in dark corners and not exposed to the bright light of moral conscience. If the "Naked in the Nineties" exhibit helps to raise the issue into the public’s awareness, its right to exist – no matter how distasteful one may find its contents – must be supported for that reason alone.