How far can an artist go, in order to make great art? Meet Carina Úbeda -- this Chilean artist has collected five years worth of her own menstrual blood on scraps of cloth for the sake of art.

Graduated from the University of Valparaíso with a Bachelor of Arts, the artist's most recent exhibition, entitled "Cloths," shared extremely intimate part of her life with complete strangers that certainly took her a lot of courage. She hung up 90 used red-stained sanitary rags with words like "destroyed," "discard," and "production" stitched below each of the stains at the Center of Culture and Health in Quillota, Chile. Each embroidered rag was placed in an embroidery hoop, also surrounded by dangling rotten apples intended to symbolize ovulation.

"This is a super visual," said Úbeda, adding that she wanted to "mix art with something personal." She also explained why she began keeping the fabrics in a cushion. "I keep things because I always say, 'I'll do something with it.'" She claimed she initially tried to make an artist book out of the cloths, however she realized having them displayed at an exhibition would make more sense.

The artist also expressed that she did not hesitate to share something very personal and private. "When I look at the cloth, I do not see that, but an abstract image," she said. "Many people have asked me why I wanted to show something so intimate... For me, it is simply a work of art made by me, I see them as separate things."

Carina Úbena shared the reason why she used cloths, instead of using pads or tampons. "I cannot wear pads because they trigger an allergic reaction," she explained to Soy Chile. Instead of just tossing her sanitary cloths aside, like how the majority of females would do, she decided to save the soiled fabric until inspiration struck.

Fritz Demuth, the Center's art manager, testified that many spectators at the exhibition were trying to sniff the art. "But the smell just does not exist, [the cloths] are not filthy," said the artist, adding that to maintain hygiene, disinfectant spray was applied directly to the blood and cloth before going on display, eliminating all odors as well.

Whether the art was hygienic or unhygienic, smelled or did not smell, it definitely stirred controversy, as many were surprised by the concept of the execution of the art and reacted with shock at the thought that anyone would consider blood of a woman's menstrual cycle the subject of material for art. Some of them expectedly called the exhibition "filthy" and "disgusting." "Not art! Just disgusting and scary to think that the public would go for something so nauseating," said one Floridian visitor.

While some did not appreciate Úbeda's choice of material, others, especially women, came to the artist's defense. Marlen Huerta Mella questioned how people could be "disgusted" with something that makes women "blessed and unique." "We can create life," she said. "[These comments] are a little expected of men, however, some of the female comments fill me with sadness."

Another spectator Silvana Sáez agreed. "Male blood is celebrated for being brave while ours is a shame," she said. "This won't change until we release our body as the first stage or political struggle, repression and male power of centuries."

"I loved the reflection of the artist," Francisca Torres added, "being able to look at everyday things from a point of view much more abstract, such an act, I feel beautiful."

In addition, there is a long history of female artists similar to Carina Úbeda, and there actually is a name for this type of art: Menstrala -- the term was coined by artist Vanessa Tiegs. "Menstrala simply reminds us that menstrual blood is not invisible, not to women," she said. "Menstrual blood is the only blood that is non-violent." Tiegs also explained that there are research suggesting people's reactions to menstruation are rooted deeper than they might realize, as the words 'ritual' and 'taboo' both derive from the bodily function: 'ritual' comes from 'r'tu', which is translated to 'menstruation' in Sanskrit and 'taboo' comes from 'tapua,' which means 'sacred' in Polynesian.

Moreover, Menstrala art has been going for decades -- it has surprisingly been over 38 years since Carolee Schneemann read from a long sheet of paper she pulled out of her vagina in the feminist performance piece, "Interior Scroll," and 40 years since Judy Chicago introduced "Menstruation Bathroom" (1972), which featured a trashcan overflowing with blood-stained menstrual products. Chicago's art undoubtedly blurred the boundaries between private and public, and marked the beginning of feminist ideals in women's art.

However, the art of woman's blood is still viewed as something absurd and unusual today, and the topic has inevitably been the controversial subject of reviews, essays, discussions, and ultimately, art history. For instance, EJ Dickson discussed the expected responses to the art of Menstrala in "Guernica: A Magazine of Art & Politics."

"If you look on the Internet at menstrual artists' websites, the negative responses to their work generally fall into one of two camps: people either find it disgusting and unhygienic, or they think it is hippy-dippy feminist nonsense," she wrote.

She then shared her opinion of why many people continued to be repulsed by the concept of Menstrala, even after all these years. "I guess I understand why some people would be squeamish about menstrual art, just as they'd be squeamish about artists using other bodily fluids (urine, semen, etc) in their work," said Dickson. "What I don't understand is why menstrual art produces such a uniquely visceral response, particularly in men. When I told my male friends I was reporting this piece [on Menstrala for Guernica], they all reacted with abject disgust, even though a lot of these dudes were art history nerds and were familiar with Andres Serrano, Damien Hirst, the Italian dude who canned his own shit whose name I forget, etc. This was in stark contrast to my female friends, who mostly responded with a mixture of curiosity and even awe (like 'wow, I wish I was brave enough to do that')."

"I think people continue to be repulsed by menstrual art because menstruation is one of the last taboos in our culture," she added. "For some reason (I'm betting on sexism), people are totally OK with having every other bodily function out in the open (I'm thinking of the dog semen-eating scene in 'Van Wilder' specifically, but I'm sure I could find more culturally relevant examples), but the concept of women bleeding out of their vaginas assaults our delicate sensibilities. Nobody wants to hear about it, let alone see it. And women who do menstrual art are thrusting it in people's faces and forcing them to see it. Which is not to say that I think all menstrual art is good, or even important. But you have to admit, it's pretty ballsy."

As EJ Dickson explained, Piero Manzoni's canned feces in the 60s and Andy Warhol's urinated paintings in the 70s did not cause that much of a stir, merely a temporary shock. Similarly, people find themselves facing with sexism, as they almost glorify "National Lampoon's Van Wilder" a 2002 film of a frat brother eating dog semen as great comedy, while being a woman and unveiling the natural processes of the female body still continues to freak them out and raise eyebrows of many today.

Dickson also claimed that it has not been easy for female artists to assert what they perceive in art. "When Chicago's piece was first exhibited, menstrual-themed art was considered subversive, an innovative way of bringing a social taboo to the forefront of cultural conversation," she wrote. "Yet it has since acquired a reputation as a pretentious gimmick, intended solely for shock value. The satirical Wikipedia website Encyclopedia Dramatica, for instance, has an entry on menstrual painting, calling it 'the practice where women paint shitty, terrible pictures... and get asspats for being liberated.' Menstrual art's reputation as an amateurish gimmick was cemented with the 2001 cult film 'Ghost World,' in which a dippy art teacher (Ileana Douglas) praises a dimwitted student's final piece, a tampon in a teacup. 'It's a response to a woman's right to choose, which is something I feel super-strongly about,' the student cheerily says."