Art and Porn, who draws the line?

A friend recently told me about clearing up at the Prince Charles cinema after a packed screening of Salo, where she found the leftovers of one man's excitement in a popcorn box. It was a startling tale as Passolini's retelling of the Marquis de Sade's 100 Years of Sodom was, until the late 90s banned, and still is in most of the world. As the UK government moves to introduce legislation banning the possession on a computer of violent pornography  (which could include a home movie of consensual SM sex), one wonders if Salo's graphic depiction of the rape, torture and murder of a number of young teenagers has survived such a ban because it is deemed to be 'art'.

Why is this? Are patrons of art, and art films, considered to be somehow more responsible, more educated and therefore less likely to be 'corrupted' or excited by the work?

In another case last month a man in the UK was charged with possession of child pornography after photoshoping adult pornstars so that they had smaller breasts. Similar effects work was done on naked body doubles from the last film adaptation of Lolita, obviously without any quibbles. And in comparison to some of Jake and Dinos Chapman's work, where statues of children stand naked with vagina mouths and penis noses, again the sense is reinforced that the rules of accepted decency change when the context is an artistic one.

Perhaps it is a broader social perception that censorship in art is fundamentally wrong, and smells of fascist book burning and a public intellect that is afraid of being challenged. Censorship in pornography, on the other hand, is seen as a chance to save people from themselves and their darkest, most dangerous desires. Or is it simply that the question is motivation – if you state that your intent is to challenge or provoke, fine, but if it is to titillate or excite, or make money, then it's a big no no. Yet the greatest art I can think of stimulates, excites and engages with every sense it can - while much of modern art is built around profit.

Shooting People's launch of a 5 minute art/porn film competition judged by Larry Clark, got me thinking about all this again recently. It was awakened further with a late night conversation with another friend last week, someone far from self-righteous prudishness, who pointed out how disturbing the idea of a 50-something photographer filming untrained teenage actors simulate sex, as Clark did in Kids, just is. Clark frequently dates his young female leads (including Chloë Sevigny, Rachel Miner and Bijou Phillips), and in subsequent films has continued to delve deeper into the subject of teenage sexuality with full frontal nudity, real on screen sex, autoerotic asphyxiation and BDSM. Yet despite behaviour that would make most humanists (let alone feminists) at least question his motives, by shooting films targeted at the art house rather than porn industry, he is still revered as an auteur by a good chunk of the industry.

Since the sex liberalisation of the 60s much has been said of the commoditisation of sex, of its transferral from something secret and sacred to something that is sold and sells, whose details we know maybe far too much about. Most young people will have formed strong ideas about how sex works from TV, film and the web long before they have experienced it themselves. It was only after rewatching bits of Basic Instinct a few months back that I realised how influential that film had been on forming my ideas of how women enjoyed sex. I first watched it just on the tip of the Men Behaving Badly phase where all that a good healthy 15 year old bloke was expected to want was someone in the top 20 of FHM's 100 Babes list.

Now someone emerging from the headfuck of puberty must face Nuts magazine, and more free web porn than you can shake a, erm, stick at. To be upset or offended or to criticise this is as much as to declare yourself insane or frigid and no-doubt a closet Creationist.

Yet I do kind of wish in those formative years I had seen less and discovered more. It took until my mid-twenties to really learn how the other half lives and feels, by which time it felt almost too late. Hearts had been broken, and some wonderful women judged and rejected on the basis of a set of criteria imposed by a bunch of fashion photographers and pundits grossly removed from everyday heterosexual realities. Asides from the arguments about objectification and body image and the exploitative nature of the porn industry presented by feminists, I'm not convinced it does young men, with a four times higher than women suicide rate, a huge amount of long term good either, not least in terms of unreal, unnatural expectations.

But I can't say either that I'm a big fan of the government legislating as to what we can and cannot see or do – so long as it involves safe, sane, consenting adults. And the naked human body can be unbearably beautiful, and it would be kind of crazy for artists to ignore this.

Some would argue that art needs to explore every boundary and barrier, internal and external. I've spoken with artists who shudder at the idea that they have any responsibility as to the consequences of their work. Their purpose is to express and – if successful – challenge. End of story.

But where artists lead, the ad, pop promo, film and TV worlds come next, scores of people who can make a profit of our desire for intimacy and sex. Following close after, of course, is the often-passive consumers of these media: people, like myself once, impressionable and naïve enough to take what is presented and swallow without blinking. It's a good time for a debate. I do hope the Shooting People film competition triggers a meaningful one, as opposed to simply inspire a new generation of horny no-budget filmmakers to go out and follow in Larry Clark's footsteps.