Magdalena WosinskaLA, CA (201X)

Quite frankly, there’s a lot of entirely unmotivated nudity in so-called fine art photography. (Not to hate on nekkid folks–after all, I’m a fan.)

You hear a lot of talk about not wanting to have images tied to a particular historical epoch. Or, it’s insinuated that there’s some nebulous narrative impetus. (Only in both cases, those justifications are more get out of jail free card since the work to which they are applied barely/rarely supports them.)

That’s what I am in love with about Wosinska’s work: nudity in her work reads like it’s motivated by the same compulsion behind Walt Whitman’s sentiments early in Song of Myself:

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
    distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised
    and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

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