True Blood [Englisch] [Taschenbuch]

Charles Gatewood has made a name for himself in documenting so-called forbidden material. His photographs and video montages preoccupy themselves with subject matter that all seems to congress on the "fringes" of sexual behavior. You needn't be a rocket scientist to understand that our national attitude responds to the sight and subject of bodily fluids in a total state of panic. The advent of the AIDS epidemic as well as our own sense of self-preservation has compounded these fears to phobic proportions. Sexual awareness has become much less a matter of morality as it is a matter of survival. It is from this consensus that Gatewood and his subjects might draw their strategy in "True Blood", but I must admit that I am alotting too much credit in assuming such conclusions... and at the risk of making this project sound more interesting than it actually is. For one, Gatewood has always depended on his subject matter to rally an observer's curiosity. In this way he is drastically dissimilar to say, Robert Mapplethorp. Though both are perhaps equal in controversey for challenging the same social conventions, there is a difference. With Mapplethorp, the subject is brought to transcend its meaning in figuritive terms. The viewer's intuition is immeadiatly engaged to regard what one sees (textures, light/shadow, shape, perspective, dimention, etc.) The observer easily forgets that s/he is looking at a photograph of an uncircumsized, semi-erect penis when the mind is coaxed to regard it solely in terms of image, totally abscent of ASSOCIATIONS. Whereas the intitial thrust of Gatewood's work is contingent entirely on how easily the audience associates his subjects. In this respect, Gatewood's work assumes a personality more befitting a witness rather than a participant. In "True Blood" the photographer centers on blood-letting in the context of ritual in the S/M community. For the most part it depicts the deliberation of superficial injuries (via hypodermic needles fresh from their hermetic sealant, razor blades, barb-wire, etc.) by people donning rather ellaborate underwear under very CONTROLLED conditions. Some situations revolve around psuedo-vampirism (studio adience laughter) and occasional Satanic pretense. (More laughter.) Am I right in assuming that the audience is meant to regard these "deviants" as sexual dare-devils traversing the forbidden landscapes of sexual identity? If so, I see more actors than action. After all, one of the things that captivates our imagination about danger is that one is at the mercy of something one cannot predict or control. If the wound is superficial, the danger is falsified. Violence by its' very nature is incable of being put on a leash and domesticated at the behest of convenience. If you want to freak your parents out, this is a great book to have. Mom and Dad will have you in therapy in no time. Otherwise, skip it. There are certainly more CONVINCING transgressions to be seen in America's urban ghettos, federal prisons and Cambodia's killing fields than from a bunch of attention-starved clowns in shiny, black undergarments. Incidentally enough Gatewood had contributed to a collection of erotic fiction, essays and photographs titled, "Nerve - Literate Smut." There is a chapter on taboos that opens with a quote that reads thusly, "'I'm standing on a ponyskin rug in my first-ever pair of stiletto heels, trying to keep my balance while other partygoers jostle by. 'Isn't skinning a horse, like, a taboo?' says the guy I'm having a nonconversation with. '**** taboos - who needs 'em?' snorts a recent arrival, a heavily tattooed woman wearing a skull-and-crossbones nose ring and a t-shirt that says STILLBORN STILLWARM. 'Clearly, YOU do,' says the bald guy... it occurs to me that the bald guy has a point: if there were no taboos, this girl would have no schtick, no cause, no one but herself in the mirror to flip off every morning." (Page 81) This explains quite well what might be abscent from this book.

This is a great review of pleasure from anothers perspective. I especially loved the preamble by Danielle Willis. I am drawn to her and her work. Scan the web for more and you wont be disappointed.

Whew! I had to buy this book because it made me wince. Very good photography, good text--purply, 19th century Gothic, decadent "Carmilla" meets Rimbaud kind of writing--simply a must if you like the fringe. If it makes your friends leave the room, then you know you got the right book. Plumbs heretical yet primal and essential psychological depths--the allure of an otherworldy woman tinged with blood (hers? her last victim's? her baby's? God's?)... pain that touches transcendence.... Go ahead... Look. It can't hurt. Can it? --Shelve it with "Re/Search 12: Modern Primitives," "The Customized Body, " David Wood's "The Torture Garden" and your video of "Hellraiser." MM-MM good!