Daniel Maidman on the censoring of Spencer Tunick.
Spencer Tunick is an internationally-recognized artist-photographer, best known for his large-scale installations of nudes. Dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of volunteers gather in striking public locations, strip, and arrange themselves as he directs. To my eye, his photographs have an anxiety-inducing, vibrating double meaning. On the one hand, they are dazzlingly conceived and beautifully composed. Without prejudice or judgment, they invite participants and viewers of all shapes and sizes into their community. They celebrate without restraint the fleshly quality of human life on Earth. And on the other hand, the vast scale of Mr. Tunick’s installations has a frightening, totalitarian edge. His distant camera and giant cast of characters liquefies his people, in a sense, into an amorphous human paste. In his hands, the population of a city becomes a machine expressing the will of a single mind. This unresolved tension generates, for me, much of the strange, dangerous glamor of his work
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