A lascivious smirk belies the coy simplicity of Stephanie Sarley’s fruit art. In one short video, which the Oakland artist posted to Instagram in January, a finger gently rubs and then probes a juicy, halved blood orange. The video went viral. Her Instagram following grew from 10 to over 20,000. One new follower, New York Magazine art critic Jerry Saltz, commented: “You. Are. Genius.”  But the same video spawned countless crass memes. When Sarley attempted to enforce her copyright, the meme creators often berated her. When Sarley formally reported especially virulent bullying from one user, her account was disabled by Instagram. It wasn’t the first or the last time. The company had already removed several of her individual posts – including a whimsical animation of a bright red pelvic area featuring horns and a mouth – for running afoul of the app’s ban on “sexually suggestive content”.  Related: Instagram, an artist and the $100,000 selfies – appropriation in the digital age  Throughout the recent ordeal, Sarley started to consider the consequences of viral reach and became disenchanted with Instagram itself, which appeared to simultaneously censor her abstract depictions of genitalia and ignore her reports of harassment.  “The video is basically about personifying and empowering vaginas through humor and absurdity, and the acceptance of female sexuality at large. But all of these dickheads took it and went, ‘Ew, period sex,’ and then called me a ‘stupid hoe,’” Sarley said. “While I’m going through that, plus all of these infringement battles, Instagram decides to delete me. It’s tarnished my experience completely.”  Sarley, 27, is an illustrator, printmaker, and video artist whose work has always been inspired by the “psychology of kink”. Fruit art aside, her series of illustrations include the florid Orcunts and expressive Crotch Monsters. She joined Instagram in 2014 to promote her self-published coloring book, a menagerie of phallic snouts called Dick Dog & Friends. It worked. The book, which is distributed by San Francisco purveyor of comics and lowbrow art Last Gasp, went into a second printing. She acquired celebrity followers and last year exhibited among similarly social media-inclined artists at Brooklyn’s Superchief Gallery. As her work grew increasingly figurative, her popularity soared.  At the same time, her art seemed to increasingly transgress Instagram’s terms of use, which have notoriously excluded images of menstrual bloodstains and women’s pubic hair, while tacitly tolerating comparable posts by celebrities. Approximately 10 of her pieces were removed and, in early January, her account was disabled for the first time. Sarley had registered a backup in anticipation, but she was relieved when, after protesting directly to the company that her work was “in no way pornographic,” Instagram suddenly restored the main account.  Shortly thereafter, she posted the blood orange video. An account with the handle @slutstweet attached a joke about menstruation to a still from the video, watermarked it, and shared with 100,000s of followers on multiple related accounts. Since the user advertised followers for sale, Sarley was especially upset: @slutstweet appeared better poised to monetize the imagery than the artist herself. (Sarley observed that the appropriation is highly gendered; it’s almost exclusively men who repost her work without permission or credit.) For users circulating @slutstweet’s erroneously watermarked meme, Sarley has used Instagram’s copyright infringement report form to force dozens of takedowns – though its viral reach exceeds her grasp.  However, Sarley isn’t a copyright zealot. With other memes, even distasteful ones, Sarley is content to be credited and let them spread. In fact, Sarley is fascinated by the video’s online permutations, what she called its “waves of influence.” She keeps a “fan art” folder on her phone stuffed with screenshots of posts inspired by her own. A meme account attached text about menstruation to the fruit art as well, garnering over 5m views on Facebook and Instagram, but in that case, Sarley just requested proper credit.  Sarley even grew philosophical about the very most regressive responses to unsanctioned reposts of her work, such as disgusted comments on forums aimed at so-called men’s rights activists. If Sarley can’t dislodge their entrenched aversion to female sexuality, she tries to relish the apparent power she wields over conservatives with just a piece of fruit, likening it to a sort of witchcraft.  Related: Young women on Instagram and self-esteem: 'I absolutely feel insecure'  Sarley’s ire has largely fallen on the Instagram platform itself. Though the app removes infringing content upon request, it urges rights holders to first contact violating users directly, which in Sarley’s case led to harassment. After contacting the person behind the accounts associated with @slutstweet, she was tormented via comments and direct messages from several affiliated accounts. “This is someone who wrote, ‘That stupid hoe should’ve watermarked her work,’” Sarley said. “Instagram wants me to go and reason with that.”  After her account was suddenly disabled, Sarley emphasized the abuse in emails to Instagram, who responded with what a generic email stating that she’d violated the app’s terms of use. Two weeks later, Instagram sent her an apology for “having trouble accessing” her account, which was then reinstated. The app never acknowledged her reports of abuse. All of the accounts associated with @slutstweet remain.  Instagram did not respond to a request for comment on this article. Sarley’s backup account has since been disabled without explanation.
Artist Stephanie Sarley’s work challenging society’s aversion to female sexuality has proved a viral hit – until Instagram disabled her account