We’re moving into the next chapter of our series spotlighting artists who rethink intimacy, identity, and the role of the body in contemporary art. Our aim is to highlight creators who are unafraid to push boundaries.
This time, we spoke with Georgian-based artist Militsa Clifford, whose practice challenges the deeply rooted expectations placed on women in conservative environments, while reclaiming the naked body as a space of honesty, freedom, and strength. We discussed the difficulties of growing up in a culture where femininity is tightly controlled, her teenage struggle with gender identity, and other meaningful and insightful topics.
Sexual energy is, in my opinion, a form of female power, and that power scares the patriarchy.
Militsa Clifford
I (Interviewer): In your opinion, how does society in your country perceive art that explores topics of eroticism, identity, and the human body? You were born in Russia and live in Georgia now, right?
M (Militsa Clifford): Yes, I live in Georgia now. And honestly, Russia and Georgia are quite similar in their attitude towards erotic art. Georgia is a post-Soviet country, part of the Caucasus region, so these topics are complicated in both places. The human body, especially the naked female body, is heavily tabooed. Religion also plays a huge role. Georgia is a very religious country, so anything involving nudity is perceived as something “crazy,” “against God,” or simply shameful. If a woman is depicted naked, they think she’s “a slut” or “low.” With male bodies it’s a little easier, but even then the genitals must be covered. The reaction is almost always shock and shame. Unfortunately, they don’t see the human body as something pure, natural, or beautiful.
I: Do you think this conservative environment has influenced your approach to visual art?
M: Yes, it influenced me by giving me the motivation to work with this topic. I couldn’t understand why people felt shame around the naked body. My mom used to tell me I shouldn’t wear tight shorts because I wasn’t a child anymore, that my body was growing and it “attracted men.” She didn’t explain anything about safety, it was only about shame.
But I never understood that. Everyone is born naked. Animals are naked, nature is naked. To me, the naked body represents freedom, comfort, a natural state where nothing restricts you. Clothes can express your mood, I like that too, but people forget about the freedom of simply being yourself. When you’re on a nudist beach, for example, you feel completely relaxed and free. No one is looking at you judgementally.
The environment I grew up in played a big role. In that region, expectations placed on women are extremely rigid, and that kind of pressure also influenced my unwillingness to be a woman.
Militsa Clifford
I: What were the most difficult and vulnerable moments in your life related to the topic of identity and sexuality?
M: There was a time when I didn’t accept my body at all. As a teenager I had a form of gender dysphoria. I tried to look more masculine, dressed in ways that hid my body, and spent a lot of time reading about gender transition. I felt out of sync with myself, as if my body didn’t match who I was inside.
The environment I grew up in played a big role. In that region, expectations placed on women are extremely rigid, and that kind of pressure also influenced my unwillingness to be a woman. My father once said that my brother should have been born a girl and I should have been born a boy because I was “more ambitious and combative.” Comments like that stay with you. I even had tantrums at home, demanding to know why I wasn’t born a boy. My parents didn’t know what to say, and honestly, I wouldn’t know how to answer either.
People had also mistaken me for a boy since childhood: my short hair, my clothes. Even in kindergarten they called me a boy. Later, some people assumed I was trans and even showed my social media page saying, “Look, this is a trans person,” until someone corrected them and said I was a girl from their art school. It was confusing.
Now I’m glad I didn’t make irreversible decisions, but back then it felt like the only possible solution. Over time, I learned to accept my body more. I eventually realized that I could explore identity by experimenting with my appearance, through art, performance, and photography instead of radically changing my body.
I: Can you name a work, yours or another artist’s, that impressed you the most and maybe changed your attitude toward sexuality in art?
M: For me, it was definitely Toulouse-Lautrec and his incredible works. They changed everything. Especially his series from the brothels. His life and biography touched me deeply. He lived inside those brothels and saw that world from the inside. It’s interesting because they were outcasts, both he and the women he depicted. He had a hereditary illness caused by intermarriage within his aristocratic family, and an injury in his childhood led to disability and significantly short stature. His father and relatives were ashamed of him, and even more ashamed when he became an artist and started drawing those subjects. He was a disgrace to the whole family, had to leave home, and never returned.
I: Do you think erotic art and the expression of sexuality itself can be a form of protest?
M: I absolutely think so. Women have been oppressed for so long by patriarchal pressure. Even today we still hear that women shouldn’t be sexual, should be calm, modest, and barely look anyone in the eye. The usual Caucasian expectations: don’t show anything, don’t attract attention, don’t even smile at an unfamiliar man.
But sexual energy is, in my opinion, a form of female power. And that power scares the patriarchy. That’s why patriarchy tries to suppress it, to push it into rigid boundaries, so that women don’t stand out, so they stay quiet, obey men, the church, the state.
I: How would you explain to potential collectors why buying erotic art is more than just decorating a room?
M: First, by purchasing work created by women, you are apparently supporting women.
Second, people need to step out of their comfort zones. Many aren’t used to seeing a naked body on a wall. But to change anything, you have to step outside your comfort zone. Buy such works, hang them at home, and show them to friends and relatives. Let them see that it’s just a body, and it’s normal.
During the Renaissance, the naked body was considered the pinnacle of beauty and sophistication. And now, for some reason, the naked body is seen as something shameful or “low.” It’s strange how drastically things have changed over the centuries. I think we need to return to the origins.
SHAME
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