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Grin and Bare It: The Visceral Itch of Intimate Photography
@ :: editorial ::
Mar 30 2009, 07:17 (UTC+0) | 
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When Germaine Greer, the Australian feminist and best-selling author of the ‘The Female Eunuch’, was to be photographed by the legendary Diane Arbus at the Chelsea Hotel in New York, the last thing she expected was a physical assault. “But it was tyranny. Really tyranny,” she recalled to Arbus’s biographer, Patricia Bosworth. “[She] ended up straddling me – this frail little person kneeling, keening over my face. I felt completely terrorized by the blasted lens.”
And Greer added, “If she’d been a man, I’d have kicked her in the balls.”
In the latter half of the 20th century, the last vestiges of an age-old reserve that defined the relationship between a portraitist and his or her subject were torn down by those who believed that in order to get someone to reveal more than they wanted of themselves, it was necessary to penetrate their facade, to disrupt their poise, and to create an atmosphere in which self-assurance was displaced by discomfort and tension. A portrait session could no longer be described as a sitting but rather, as Greer saw it, “a helluva struggle.”
In many ways, the revolution in portraiture over the past 30 years has been reflected in nude photography. Where once even the classic nudes shot by masters such as Edward Weston or Manuel Alvarez Bravo were just a stilted evolution of the anatomical sketches that are still commonplace in art school ‘life’ classes - monochrome studies in light and shade etched across the topography of a human form, controlled to the point of sterile, and lacking the moist fleshiness of real sensuality – nowadays it is less about arty contortions and abstracted limbs and musculature, and more about a confronting intimacy, in which sexual tension, emotional vulnerability and even psychological disarray are quite literally laid bare in mundane ‘real world’ environments.
There is no escaping the inevitable metaphor of the lens as a penetrative device.
Some of the best contemporary images of sex and sensuality have resulted from situations in which nudity is unplanned. A few photographers - among them, Helmut Newton, David Bailey, Nobuyoshi Araki, Bruce Weber and Terry Richardson – have had an uncanny knack for convincing even the most resistant subjects to surrender their inhibitions and pose provocatively by gradual, deft changes in the atmosphere and tempo of a conventional shoot; sure, they’re helped by their reputations but they also have an unembarrassed matter-of-factness, as well as an assertive confidence, that imbues trust in their subjects (as I told one Lomographer recently, the easiest way to get someone to pose naked is simply to ask them to undress). Others, like Larry Clarke, Corinne Day, and Nan Goldin, are already entangled in their subjects’ everyday lives to an extent where it feels like the camera is just another means of social interaction: when it observes nudity or sex, it feels accidental, transitory, but entirely natural.
Sexual images are, inevitably, voyeuristic but the perspective is no longer from the keyhole – the ambiguous and constricting moral frame of those abstract, mid-20th century monochrome nudes we’re supposed to revere – but rather from a position somewhat similar to the one Arbus adopted with Germain Greer, up close, straddling. The camera is now inside the scene, a part of it, moving in and around the subject as he or she dresses or undresses, bathes, sleeps, makes love. There is no artful pose, no make-up, no complicated lighting: in each exposure, it’s as if the camera has strayed unwittingly into a random instant of the subject’s everyday. It is no accident that, these days, there is a fine line between images of nudity and images of sex.
Sex still hasn’t lost its power to shock in the photographic image, even as it slips uncensored onto the shelves of neighbourhood newsstands and video stores and late night cable TV. A porno’ aesthetic, raw, proletarian, has become part of our everyday vernacular, as commoditized and accessible as toilet paper. It is also part of contemporary photography. Despite the bleating of conservative politicians and religious folk, most of us don’t give it a second thought. If there is discomfort, it is transient and random, like listening to a radio station tuned at the very edge of its frequency: not specific enough to be objectionable, but still somehow there, intruding on our attention, provoking a dissonant clamour, detected mostly as an insistent, visceral itch that, at once, disturbs and titillates.
It is a part of real life. And that’s what Lomo is all about, too.
Editorial by Creed O'Hanlon copyright(c) Creed O'Hanlon 2004.
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Nov 12, 2009
 budcolor.jpg / lomo missions click on the picture to enlarge and see description |
Aug 01, 2006
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