Peek

BOOK REVIEW by Nell Farrell

Peek: Photographs from the Kinsey Institute

Other Pictures: Anonymous Photographs from the Thomas Walther Collection

So, this is why they don't show it all in Hollywood love scenes, I realized while reading through Peek: Photographs from the Kinsey Institute. And to be totally honest, I'm not sure if I wouldn't rather keep it that way. There is no lack of skin in this book (or genitals or action shots), but the very fact that this is almost overwhelming to the reader says a lot about the kind of images we are used to seeing-everywhere-of bodies and regarding sex; the kind of subconscious training we receive about what is sensual, what is erotic. Who declared half-covered to be sexier than bare? Semi-sheer more titillating than transparent? Not to mention beliefs about how the body itself should be shaped.

Peek is a sampling (125) of the 75,000 photographs that reside in the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University, founded by Alfred Kinsey, author of the notorious "Kinsey Reports." These two volumes, Sexual Behavior in the Human Male (1948) and Sexual Behavior in the Human Female (1953), became best sellers despite their questionable-to-some moral standing. In order to write his books, Kinsey and his team conducted personal interviews with 18,000 people, as well as collecting visual references (from stag films to a Picasso, from personal scrapbooks to an Egyptian terra-cotta from 3200 BC). As one might imagine, Kinsey was a controversial figure at the time of the books' publication-what is surprising is that the Institute remains in a crossfire of outrage, moral as well as regarding the question of taxpayer support. But besides questioning his right to collect and work, his methods do call one's attention. They were based on a belief in objectivity that no longer exists; that personal interviews could be pure data, for example. Additionally, it is somewhat unclear as to exactly how he hoped to include visuals in his scientific method.

The photographs in Peek span the twentieth century, with the vast majority from the early to middle-years. The few contemporary photographs are for the most part by fine-art photographers, and there are some from the 1800s. The bulk, though, are either homemade, often seeming to have been created for private consumption, or else sexy postcards and the like by professional photographers. Their very existence is proof to some interesting historical turns. It was the popularization of processing black and white film at home, and then later Polaroid, that allowed people to experiment with picturing erotica without the worry of legal repercussions. The preface makes the interesting suggestion that today "video and the Internet have supplanted silver-based still photography for the most contemporary depictions of human sexuality."

Of course this book counts on allure and promise of forbidden pleasure in order to hook its readers, but it also has an academic bent. It could serve the historian of art, media, science, or law (10,000 photographs in the collection were donated from police departments after confiscation) in a study of how sex has been visually represented over time. Or it could be a starting point for analyzing the phenomenon that is the Kinsey Institute itself. But strangely, in the context of this publication the photographs are stripped of their primary purpose in being collected. In terms of sex research, as biological specimens or testimony of sexual practices, they are revelations of the past. As a group, the images in this book were neither made nor gathered with the overt or singular intention of arousing their audience; viewed from the present, they are more than anything novelties. And seeing this grouping as a sampling of the Kinsey Institute dissipates the possibility of it having been aimed at a target audience (i.e. by sexual orientation, subcultural interests, etc.).

As a result, Peek is both intriguing and puzzling for the general public (with one interest or another in sex). It is as lush as any fine-art book: the preface states that "The Kinsey collection contains a large number of amateur 'homemade' photographs … a kind of folk art.…" But in Carol Squires' introductory essay she points out that "sexual pictures shouldn't be normalized as 'art' just so that they'll be considered fit to view…." Is it art? Is it erotica? How did it serve science? Who the heck would find these images exciting? Did the participants/creator of the photos think such show-all poses would appeal? The magnitude and diversity of sex-related imagery is testimony to humans' obsession with our physical selves. It is something that everyone lives with, but to actively recreate it, to consciously explore definitions and limitations, and most of all, to depict these journeys, is to make oneself vulnerable, as "improper" responses may result.

For all of the vulnerability, silliness, and sexiness, every reader will find at least a few images that resonate. In her essay, Jennifer Pearson Yamashiro asks, "Can eroticism ever really be visible in a photograph or do photographs merely have the ability to stimulate arousal in some viewers?" Some of the images may shock you, some may bore you, and some may turn you on, but these responses are deeply individual. And that's what is interesting about this book. It's a book of sex photographs that may or may not be all that sexy. In their uniqueness and their variety, one cannot help but observe and ponder one's own responses.


Untitled, nd [pre-1955]. Copyright © Arena Editions, from Peek: Photographs from the Kinsey Institute.		"that’s me in a dive after a few sets of tennis, thanksgiving day, usa, november 28, 1946." From Other Pictures: Anonymous Photographs from the Thomas Walther Collection, Twin Palms Publishers, 2000. www.twinpalms.com, telephone: 505.988.5717

On page 24 of Peek: Photographs from the Kinsey Institute, appears a naked woman in a bedroom doing a backbend. She is at a 45-degree angle to the camera and the picture centers on her crotch. "[T]he eroticism is difficult to locate." (Squires on another amateur shot.) And, on page 28 of Other Pictures appears a naked woman in a bedroom doing a backbend. She is at a 45-degree angle to the camera and the picture centers on her crotch. "[T]he eroticism is difficult to locate." Or see the two photos that illustrate this review. They come from two books with different themes but similar sources. They are both selections from archives, meant to be a representation of people doing their thing. At the same time, they are both packaged as an art book. While Peek remains ambiguous in its purpose, Other Pictures succeeds in this balance--allowing a bit of genius to flow through chance.

Time free falls. Amid this rush, we experience precious moments of actual freedom, and every now and then, someone happens to photograph it.

Other Pictures is a collection of those photographs. Random moments represent entire lives; every detail of every image is imbued with significance. The nostalgia would be heavy, if people didn't look so damn silly half the time. Many of the "other pictures" are snapshots recovered from who knows where, but many are the belabored creations of amateur photographers: the enactment of an obsession, the desire to communicate an idea, the drive to record one's life. They are the photographs that get left out of the family photo album (too sexy, too everyday, too introspective) and those that are too naive for the art gallery. These photographs are visual records of what everyday life looks like through the human brain.

Blurry, off-kilter, candid. Bodies without heads. Heads without bodies. Falls, awkward poses, quirks. Double-exposures, over-exposures, experiments. Here is a visual manifestation of what everyone knows deep down about being normal--nobody is, and really, it doesn't exist. The Joneses here prove themselves to be scathingly intelligent, slyly humorous, profoundly endearing, and not a little bit mysterious. They are also very aware of the passage of time. That unrecorded moments pass fast into oblivion. That beauty fades. That a photograph is proof; of possession (be it a car or a girl), of experience, of achievement.

Back then anyway. The photographs in Other Pictures are from the 1910s through the 1960s. Most of the people pictured smiling, gallivanting, and showing off are now either grandparents or have passed away. The era in which these photos were taken aids greatly in their success now. As the perceptive essay by Mia Fineman points out, it was "certainly the golden age of the black and white snapshot but also, and not coincidentally, the era when photography came into its own as an art form uniquely suited for capturing the texture and spirit of modern life." The struggle of human vs. machine depicted repeatedly seems innocent and at times comical. Although individuals are often pictured alone, one can imagine the photographer there, and that they will laugh at their escapades when they pick up the photos from the drugstore. Today, photography has changed, the public's relationship to images has changed, and our attitude towards being portrayed has changed. The power of representation is now recognized as existing on all levels.

This collection represents the one good picture every non-professional photographer made in his or her life, with an almost exclusive emphasis on those that the very photographer probably thought were trash. Although not in the way that they were originally intended, they are exquisitely expressive, and are edited here to bring out their most interesting elements. As Twin Palms is good at, this is a beautiful and elegant book, unafraid of presenting the frill-less essence.

There is no Artist and there is no oeuvre, but there is passion, sense, and transcendence, proving that ordinary and genius can cross paths. And although it may be by accident, there is aesthetic integrity and pleasure, showing that profundity is inherent in our visual experience. Despite each image's overtly personal context, these "other pictures" are art.