I feel ashamed for a moment that I have witnessed the aging ass of a white male being thrust into the face and presumably the mouth of a well-proportioned woman with one of the finest pair of tits I have ever seen. Nevertheless, I am entertained, and this leads me to carry out a hardcore search on the man that has captured this image, the man in the photograph, Terry Richardson.
My findings inform me that Mr. Richardson is a man of controversy and apparently a raging exhibitionist. Yet, he is quite capable of shifting between a tasteful image of President Obama and capturing a visual of exposed breasts, slinging dicks and bare clits in the rawest of manners. These egocentric images do not seem such a long way from Tom Ford’s advertising campaign (depicting the designer’s newest fragrance planted purposely, but altogether elegantly, upon female genitalia with the caption ‘for men’ beneath it) but I find myself asking the same question: how is this art?
A prolific fashion photographer first and foremost, Terry Richardson gained acclaim for his ability to capture integrity through lenses; realness in photography that presumably nobody in contemporary culture has been able to genuinely execute. This has included a tender shot of his father, former photographer Bob Richardson (deviating from his usual gonzo-style of photography), to, more recently, Lady Gaga in a meat dress. The breach between these two images would struggle to be any more antithetical. I am struggling to size-up this man and would perhaps be more at ease if I arrived at a definite title for what he is exhibiting. Is this nudity he is flirting with pornography? Why do phallic symbols feature in his most eminent work? Why is that woman euphemistically shooting milk from a cow’s udder into her mouth? But then I am reminded of the field Richardson is working under. Rather than suggesting that controversy is his only concern, I polish my thoughts and pose that art is:
“If people want to call it porn, that’s cool with me. If people are shocked or offended by it, that’s even better.”
We forget the broadness of art; and that at any point, if the subject has induced an effect, then the artist has succeeded. It is about aesthetics aside from the esoteric specifics of photography. Or as Richardson aptly puts it: ‘You can’t give your photograph soul with technique. I want my photos to be fresh and urgent. A good photograph should be a call to arms. It should say, “Fucking now. The time is ripe. Come on.”’ Where you see his name, you will usually hear people talk of these “boundaries” that he is overstepping. These are constructions of the mind, and I ask of you, who harbour this particular point of view, to consider this plain fact: that there are no boundaries in art. That is indeed one of its many beauties.
Whilst Richardson’s work has sometimes been received as ‘hegemony in photographic porno’, it is still aesthetically pleasing. “It’s all too much. Too crude. Too in-your-face” poses Sean O’Hagan in a 2004 Guardian interview with Terry. But these kind of artistic expressions are age-old. In the 19th century, Achille Devéria (a painter) regularly depicted ménage a trois and cunnilingus in watercolour, all in the backdrop of a regal setting. Yet till this day, we are still performing, acting as if we do not take pleasure in such spectacles. We are keen to express our displeasure with the libertines of society, but we will still enjoy the show for as long as it lasts, disgusted, cringing, in fear, in awe:
“I’m only doing what everybody else does behind closed doors. They take Polaroids of their girlfriends, then they hide them in a drawer, or post them on the Internet with her face blacked out. That seems a whole lot less healthy to me. That’s about shame and fear. I just do it all, and put it all out there. That’s what’s incredibly liberating.”
We should be congratulating these artists who reinforce the ‘indiscrimination factor’, not demonising them. Yes, I admit I did enjoy seeing Richardson being fellated while he looks ahead, disinterestedly. I did become aroused when I caught the sight of foreplay, semen jolting out and onto a flawless bosom. But I now feel deeply dense and embarrassed that I have misremembered the premise of Art: it is subjective and can literally be anything. If you find Richardson’s work offensive, and of course many will, then I applaud your sentiments: comforted by the fact that a reaction, though negative, was evoked. Much as I would have if you’d enjoyed it.
Terry Richardson’s photography has forced me to engage with my own stream-of-consciousness. I agree, someone ‘does’ have to “come up once in a while and say bollocks to all that mainstream glamour stuff”, but that is not the point. Whether I find his work aesthetically pleasing or worthy of an instant W.T.F, Terry is seemingly just being himself. Who are we to stop him? So the message is not to go off gallivanting, pushing the envelope and ten points if you’re naked with an SLR camera. Instead, it is the reinforcement of an idea: If something created is pure, aesthetic, but above all ‘real’, then that is its art, and, even if offensive to some, deserves to defended by all.
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