Naked

In his theory-thick introduction to the catalog for "Naked Since
1950," C&M Arts Director of Exhibitions Robert Pincus-Witten
writes, "What the nude once forbade, the naked now parades." The
40 representations of nakedness in "Naked Since 1950" is a
parade of beauty, perversion, skin, breasts, and genitalia in all
sorts of exhibits that are both provocative and awesome. The
catalog for this show reads like a table of contents in a book of
contemporary art—or a guest list for the world's
most orgasmic party. It is deliciously diverse: Yoko Ono, Picasso,
Cindy Sherman, Lucien Freud, Basquiat, Warhol, Edward Hopper,
Giacometti, Louise Bourgeois, and all sorts of people you may not
have heard of but definitely should know.

Essentially, "Naked Since 1950" is a collection of sculpture,
paintings, video, photography, and mixed media that asks us to
consider the difference between "naked" and "nude." Referencing
Kenneth Clark, Pincus-Warren suggests that when a naked figure
is presented in moralizing circumstances (such as religion or
politics), it is considered "nude." Reubens painted "nude" figures,
not "naked" ones. Michelangelo's sculptures are "nude." But
Charles Ray's Male Mannequin with genitals cast after the
artist's own (spindly tuft of light brown pubic hair included) is
"naked."

Why? Is it the incongruity of a shopping mall mannequin's pale,
plastic skin and vacuous gaze with these remarkably detailed
genitalia? Is it the element of surprise in seeing a mannequin with
such a realistic penis? Looking at this mannequin, I felt like an
intruder. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to touch him. These
provocations are all over the gallery, leading visitors to question
the roles of the viewer and the viewed, perhaps asking which is
which and if there is a difference.

Yoko Ono's piece, Film No.4 (Bottoms), is an 80-minute
black-and-white film of different bottoms walking. The frame is
entirely covered by the buttocks and upper thighs of different
people, or more precisely, the diamond of space where the
buttocks and upper thighs convene. Some have more hair than
others. This is the only way to tell them apart, as the focus is so
close that the buttocks exist separately from any individuals to
whom they might belong. There is very little variation, the motions
are consistent and constant, and it is completely absurd but
terribly wonderful. Who ever looks at this part of the body,
particularly when it is in motion? Why are these people not "nude,"
but "naked"?

"Naked Since 1950" also gathers together some of the most
renowned and controversial modern photographers, such as
Robert Mapplethorpe, Diane Arbus, Larry Clark, Cindy Sherman,
and Nan Goldin, all of whom make remarkable contributions. The
very first piece by the daunting, heavy door is an untitled
black-and-white photograph by Larry Rivers. Eleven men and
women stand in a line naked and covered with mud on a cloudy
day in 1970. They all look happy, free, and natural. The photograph
gives a temporal context to the show, framing it in the sexual
revolution that took place after World War II with free love and birth
control.

Robert Mapplethorpe follows up on this with his homoerotic
portraits of naked black men from the "Z" Portfolio (1979, 1980),
produced when AIDS began to appear in gay communities
throughout the United States. Nan Goldin's photograph, Joana
in the doorway looking at Aurele, Chateau de Neuf, Avignon,
2000, is sad in its intimacy, in the vulnerability of this slight
female body, her head turned away from the viewer and toward her
lover, a blur on the bed in the background. Goldin captures a
moment that explicitly excludes the viewer but still necessitates
one.

In the 1980s, the explosion of pornography as hugely marketable
challenged this already ambiguous naked/nude dichotomy.
Pincus-Warren cites an article from The New York Times
Magazine that stated "Pornography is a bigger business than
professional football, basketball, and baseball put together.
People pay more money for pornography in America in a year than
they do on movie tickets, more than they do on all performing arts
combined."

Lisa Yuksavage explicitly plays on this theme with
Northview (2000). The viewer is an on-looker in this
painting, where a woman stands in stockings and panties, a shirt
over her shoulders, looking down and out a window. Yuksavage
captures a private, quiet moment, with loud, glaring magenta
colors, very much like a Disney cartoon, the Robyn Bird show, or a
cheap porn film. This concept is so contradictory and yet so
tempting to a modern audience, as Frank Rich shows in the
Times Magazine with statistics and as "Naked Since 1950"
demonstrates with the profane beauty of its collection.

Even if none of this theory matters or makes sense to you, one
only needs eyes to appreciate "Naked Since 1950" at C&M
Arts. The diversity of the pieces in this show is extraordinary. The
fact that they are all representations of nakedness, that Picasso is
in the same room as Cindy Sherman, and Andy Warhol is next to
Giacometti, creates a context wherein works such as these can be
compared and appreciated. "Naked Since 1950" presents
questions that linger and evokes appreciation not only for art (for
which this show makes me, again, extremely thankful) but also for
bodies, however exquisite or grotesque they may be. I'll even admit
I looked at walking buttocks all the way home.

"Naked Since 1950" will be at C&M Arts, located at 45 E.
78th St. (just east of Madison Ave.), through Dec.
8.