Jul 30
Anne Geddes = creepy
I was doing some surfing of random sites, myspace pages and pictures in search of inspiration today. I found it…boy, did I find it!
Inspiration, thy name is Anne Geddes. I find her work to be creepy. Virtually every woman I know that obsesses over these pictures also obsesses over charting her body temperature to discover the optimal time to make sweet love to her husband/boyfriend/unsuspecting lover ala the Heart song “All I Wanna Do”. These are the same women that will talk, loudly, about their cycles in the break room while the rest of us wonder why they think we care. We don’t care. In fact, we feel terrible for your husband that you have reduced into a workhorse by removing any romantic or, dare I say, fun aspect of sex.
Don’t get me wrong, now, I have nothing against kids. I just feel that kids should be a joyus addition to your life and not an all out obsession. Hang up pictures of your own kids, for the love of God! Or if you do not have your own kids, picures of children in your life. The fact that there is a group of people out there that cannot resist hanging pictures of strange children that they have never met, and likely never will, is freaking creepy. Add in the fact that they are often sleeping or dressed like a fuzzy animal or foodstuff and it takes the strangeness to a new level.
Here are some examples for those that are not familiar:

Oh, look at that. Naked babies of strangers with bugs on their backs. Yes, this is a completely normal thing to have in one’s home or office.

Body image issues…it starts young.

Sometimes, the sweat shop employees get lost in their work.

Shroom trip gone wrong.

Babies in tightly wrapped fuzzy costumes. I have nothing else to add.
I don’t know if I am violating some “woman law” by blasting these pictures. I don’t really care. I just really don’t get it. Babies are awesome, I feel happy looking at pictures of the children in my life because I am seeing them grow and I am experiencing their lives firsthand. But these are pictures of babies that you do not know. These are the pictures of intimate moments of a child. A living, breathing child. It’s like snooping through a random baby album on the internet of a child you do not know. Anyone who thinks this is any different from the mothers who push their children into show business or beauty pageants so that they can cash in is fooling themselves.
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So I’m temping at a job and they’re currently putting me in any office they can. A girl goes on vacation and I take over her post for a week. She has two anne geddes posters in her office and they creep the hell out of me. Trying to make a point to a coworker, I type in anne+geddes+creepy into google and you’re the first post to come up. haha, I totally agree with your sentiments. Babies are cute, I wouldn’t even mind posters of adorable babies, but jesus christ, dressing them up as sunflowers just creeps the hell out of me. Love that mushroom picture haha. Jesus. Someone at work called it art. art. Calling Anne Geddes “art” is like calling Soulja Boy “music”. Sigh.
Good job on the blogpost! lol.
I agree some of the things may seem a little creepy, but I think the overall message she is trying to portray is that babies are representative of life. All the things she dresses them up as a things that make the world alive and happy. Caterpillars turn into butterflies, butterflies symbolize freedom and beauty and delicacy. Life is delicate and beautiful. The work she has done with black and white people together is lovely. Anne Geddes work has a message that is simple and beautiful when you look beyond the obvious. Lots of babies as plants as well which plants pretty much keep everything on the planet alive. She is just representing the beauty of life. Something people don’t like to look at, rather hiding behind their pessimistic, cynicism at life. I am guilty of that too. I’m not a fan of tacking babies on my wall or her work at all I just thought it deserves to be recognized for the fact that it is art, whether we like it or not it is good art with a message.