THIS IS A BODY
THIS IS FLESH
Mahsa Salali is an Iranian multidisciplinary performance artist, contemporary pianist, activist, and curator. They are a co-curator of MYTO, an ecosystem dedicated to interdisciplinary and politically charged art practices, that bring resilient innovative and provocative works to life.
In 2024 Mahsa participated in Marina Abramović’s historic solo exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts, performing selected works and collaborating closely with Abramović and her team.
Blue Parlour: Hello Mahsa, thank you for joining us at Blue Parlour. Shall we start with a simple question? Is your work erotic?
Mahsa Salali: Is my work erotic? I think yes and no. For a long time I really wanted to stay away from eroticism. I used to think I needed smaller breasts and a smaller ass to do nude performances and I hated having a bigger body because I felt like it made it harder to separate performance from eroticism.
A while ago a friend said, "Do you think you see your body as erotic because society, through the male gaze, has told you what eroticism is?" That really resonated with me because I hated being seen as having this "boom, boom" kind of body. My breasts were sexualized from a very young age, so using my body in a non-erotic way felt empowering. I just wanted to show it for what it is—a body, just flesh.
BP: Like a confrontation or without confrontation?
MS: With confrontation. Or more specifically asking “Why is this a confrontation?”
BP: So how does the environment that you're in affect that? Are there some environments in which it's harder to confront?
MS: Often the environment is the challenge of a piece. Because if I do it in a space where people already have an open mind towards women's bodies, then I don't feel like I am changing or glitching the system, or changing people's perception. I think that's why I enjoy public performances, because the work is just there, right in the middle of everyday life. I like to perform in spaces where people aren't expecting to see a performance piece, or an artwork, or a naked body.
BP: Okay, so you're saying your work is and is not erotic?
MS: It really depends on how we and society define erotic. My work is constantly breaking down those narratives.
Lick my Masculinity, 2024
Photography by Davide Edoardo
BP: There’s this ugly idea that any woman who gets naked for an audience is doing it because she thinks she’s hot. There’s this narcissistic dimension which men artists who get naked for an audience don’t have to deal with. What are your thoughts on that?
MS: You know, I gained confidence with my body by working on my comfort with sex, which took time. Now I’m nude often and people are surprised or shocked, asking how I’m so at ease. But I’m not doing it to be provocative—I’m just being.
I love that my friends and people I meet, even those who struggle with body image or nudity, are inspired by my nudity., I often hear from friends “Oh my god I was topless the other day and I found it so inspiring and I thought I'll send you a photo.”
The fact that we, as female presenting bodies, feel empowered about being topless is proof that gender equality still has a very long way to go. Even in queer spaces, being topless is still a process and a performance. I’m very aware of the power it holds and what it represents.
I have been labelled a provocateur, and now I’m carrying the responsibility of that label.
I float like a rock, performed at Mimosa House August 2024. Photography by Dimitri Djuric.
I float like a rock, performed at Mimosa House August 2024
I float like a rock, performed at Mimosa House August 2024
BP: How have you found navigating the art world as a sexy artist?
MS: Am I a sexy artist, is that the question? Haha.
BP: Yeah, that's the question. Let me rephrase that, if you don’t want to i-d as sexy, how have you found navigating the art world as an artist that makes sexy art?
MS: My art is not sexy [laughing].
BP: As an artist who makes work that can be perceived as sexy?
MS: My work is about modesty and breaking gender norms. It is about censorship of the female body. How the female body is presented in a sexual way. How women have been sexualized, objectified for millennia. Through the patriarchy, the male gaze, porn, etc.
But in terms of industries, or institutions you mean? I think they're all fucked. For example, when I performed with a dancer at Trinity - at Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance - we had to ask for permission to be topless.
BP: Permission to who, sorry? Like the Dean? To the head of the college?
MS: Not necessarily the head. You have to come, let's say the concert manager or the programmer. They have to be informed there's nudity in the performance. Because they want to declare it in the program. And they want to put a notice outside. And write it on a website. And use a million trigger warnings. (And when I say nudity, we're just talking topless.) Anyway, I did the performance without going through the protocol. Because that was the whole point of it. It was scary.
As was the performance I did outside the Tate on IWD in honor of Ana Mendieta. It was a protest and I know if I’d been showing nipples they would have probably dragged me by security, or the police.
BP: It's not illegal to show nipples in public, is it?
MS: It's not. As long as you're not harassing or imposing it to children, or making other people uncomfortable. A very grey area. I even had to have a legal briefing before the Tate performance on the laws around public nudity in performances, so that I could protect myself.
Street Performance Art Protest on International Women's Day in honour of Cuban artist Ana Mendieta, 2024. Photography by Stylian O S.
BP: So this brings me to questions about consent, power, spectatorship and the violence of the gaze. Regarding the fact that many institutions, or platforms or whatever use trigger warnings.
I see a difference between fighting the structural oppression that creates that kind of culture, versus for example performing a confrontational piece in public, or with an audience, without that audience’s consent. This is also a very grey area.
MS: I think it defeats its purpose if I put a trigger warning saying “This performance involves nudity or exposed breasts.” It’s against what I'm trying to say and do.
Fighting censorship is part of the work.
But also, to the individual I would say: what are you offended by? Why are these two bits of fatty tissue so offensive to you? To some degree this is perhaps a British culture thing. In France for example, we see nudity and toplessness a lot more, in cinema, or on beaches.
I have the same feeling towards institutions and platforms: For God’s sake, come on! The amount of times I’ve had to send emails to Instagram because they censor my work or shadow ban me—it’s ridiculous. It’s the same thing in my opinion, when I do public performances I face a huge amount of catcalling and harassment. That’s also censorship, coming from individuals, it’s incredibly heavy.
BP: Is it all men?
MS: No, women too.
BP: Shaming you?
MS: Yeah, I had a woman shout at me, “What is this nakedness, this sluttiness?” And I hadn’t even started the performance walk yet. It was a protest performance for Mahsa Amini’s anniversary, from the Iranian Embassy through London to Trafalgar Square. I wasn’t even fully topless—I was wearing a mesh top.
BP: That sounds really tough.
MS: It was. It is. The impact of dealing with the male gaze, harassment and misogyny is far more difficult than someone simply seeing a pair of tits.
Performance Art Walk in honour of Mahsa Jina Amini's first anniversary death, 2023.
Photography by Sourena.
BP: What are the differences between making work about bodies, versus using the body as a medium?
MS: I like using my body and I'll call it a sculpture. I am a sculpture and I'm still like a sculpture but people have a problem with that. Because what? Because I’m alive? Because I might move? Some of the performances I do, I literally lie there motionless. When I was performing at the RA for Marina Abramovic retrospective re-performances the academy went through so much effort to prevent people from photographing the nude performers.
My work plays with these contradictions. On one hand it’s about my own body and experiences—how I was sexualized and assaulted at a young age, how I grew up in Iran, forced to wear a headscarf and cover myself, and how women’s bodies are still oppressed there. Even when I moved here, I realized oppression still exists, just in a more subtle form. I was told to wear ankle-length dresses at the conservatoire’s orchestral projects, and I challenged it. I remember I told the principal, “I didn’t come all the way from Iran for you to tell me what to wear.”
On the other hand my work is about the fact that the policing of women’s bodies is universal, whether in Iran or here, and that’s why my body is a big instrumental tool of my work.
BP: Why do you think some people think erotic art is bad?
MS: People are uncomfortable with their own sexuality, especially the way it’s presented publicly. Sexuality still remains taboo, particularly for women. We can’t openly discuss topics like masturbation or the clitoris. The language and education around sex and eroticism for women is far less developed than for men. For example, many people can draw male genitalia, but few can accurately draw a vulva. A lot of women don’t even fully understand their own anatomy and its functions. This lack of understanding stems from societal repression—whether that’s due to religion or capitalism, or patriarchy.
I rate erotic art that breaks boundaries making people uncomfortable. It forces them to confront suppressed aspects of themselves. When something like erotic art is dismissed, or seen as "wrong," it’s because it’s shaking up deeply ingrained taboos.
The art world has the same issues, it often marginalizes erotic work. It’s similar to how pole dancing - a highly skilled art form - is still viewed through a sexual lens. Despite its athleticism and artistic potential, it’s rarely integrated into contemporary dance. I admire those who break these barriers and show that what we’re taught to sexualize can also be art. Pole dancing is an art form, society devalues it because we’re supposedly turned on by it, but like I'm turned on by your painting right now [laughing].
BP: The idea that art should make you feel everything apart from sexually aroused is such repressed, liberal nonsense. If an artwork arouses you then it's Erotic, it's not art proper.
MS: When I studied gender in music, through harmonic analysis we learned that male composers, especially in the 17th and 18th centuries, their compositions can be compared to the male orgasm in terms of how they build tension and reach a climax. For example, someone like Beethoven creates a certain tension and buildup in their music that leads to an explosive release. I'm pretty sure people wanked to Beethoven
BP: Who even are you if you haven't wanked to Beethoven?
Fist the patriarchy performance, 2023. Photography by Stylian O S.
Fist the patriarchy performance, 2023. Photography by Stylian O S.
THE art WILL NOT BE CAPITALISED performance, 2023. Photography by Stylian O S.
THE art WILL NOT BE CAPITALISED performance, 2023. Photography by Stylian O S.
Resistance and Liberation performance, 2023. Photography by Zenhofer.
Resistance and Liberation performance, 2023. Photography by Zenhofer.
BP: What's the difference between porn and art? And why are some people so concerned with it?
MS: Yeah, I struggle with that. Porn has had such a huge impact on how we view sex. Sometimes I wonder, what would someone from another planet think about our ideas of sexuality having never been exposed to porn? I question my on sex life, too. Like, am I doing this because I think it’s sexy, or because it’s what I have been exposed to? Our minds have been colonised to act and be a certain way and sadly we are not truly free in our sexual liberation. I takes a lot of time to deconstruct those mindsets. I recommend reading Pollywise by Jessica Fern.
Porn, I think, has done a lot of damage. It’s given everyone—not just men—a tool to validate misogyny and objectify women. When I was younger I’d watch a lot of gay porn—men on men—because it felt okay. And I was drawn to amateur lesbian sex but didn’t know why at the time. Later, I realized it was an expression of something I hadn’t fully understood.
BP: Desire comes before rationalization, right?
MS: Totally.
BP: So, art that understands the impact of the porn industry, especially when the artist has a deep understanding of it, is vital. I think that kind of work creates a new way of thinking about eroticism.
MS: Exactly! I’ve been working on a performance piece with another artist. We’re trying to strip everything down to "ground zero," where there are no preconceptions about eroticism. It’s fascinating. Like, anything could be erotic—brushes, gestures.
BP: What is the future of sexy art?
MS: Do you always have to say sexy art?
BP: No. What would you rather I have said?
MS: I guess what do I see as the future for the art? Or Erotic art? Because I still have an issue with the word sexy, because my mind is also colonised by patriarchy, I'm from the same system that tries to stay away from sexyness to be taken seriously as an artist.
BP: Okay, scrap that, what is the future of your work?
MS: I'm going to say آزادی (azadi). The true azadi, which means freedom and liberation in Farsi.
BP: What does that look like?
MS: Obviously it's very complex. I'm not sure I believe it will happen in my lifetime.
What I really want to say is that the future is matriarchal.
And I believe that, fundamentally.
BP: Anything else?
MS: I wonder, are we going to accept a culture where misandry is deemed ok? I don’t believe a matriarchal world would allow misandry to exist, or maybe not?
Thank you Mahsa.
Mahsa Salali is an Iranian multidisciplinary performance artist, contemporary pianist, activist, and curator. They are a co-curator of MYTO, an ecosystem dedicated to interdisciplinary and politically charged art practices, that bring resilient innovative and provocative works to life. They completed their Bachelor's degree (BMus) in Piano Performance from Goldsmiths University of London and MA in Performance and Education from Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance; where they specialised in performance art and contemporary piano practice.
In September 2023, Mahsa completed Cleaning the House, an intensive workshop by Marina Abramović focused on mastering long-durational performance art practices. Subsequently, they participated in Abramović’s historic solo exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts, performing selected works and collaborating closely with Abramović and her team.
Mahsa's current research and work focuses on the gender binary and body, the notion of modesty and misogyny in different cultures. Born and raised in Iran and immigrated to the UK at the age of 18. In Iran after the 1977 Islamic Revolution, women have to wear a compulsory hijab from the age of five. This has had a big influence on Mahsa's artistic-work; on how women are presented in a society and the constraints which weigh on them through traditional cultural or religious practices; whether via bodily autonomy, behavioural or dress codes.
Mahsa’s performance pieces critically examine the societal and religious expectations imposed on the female-presenting body. Through the lens of durational practice, they reclaim the body as a medium for political agency and self-expression, posing a compelling question: is the body an instrument of liberation or a site of confinement? This approach exemplifies Mahsa’s commitment to dismantling oppressive systems and using art as a means of creating transformative dialogue and resistance.