Ay! Bold!
So what would it take for me to pose with my bare bottom goose-bumped against the chilly October air? Only two things, really: trust and taste.
I could fantasize about some post-modern artiste lauded as “this generation’s Dali” creating a mural in my honor (never mind that the disproportionate body parts have nothing to do with surrealism), or serendipitously earning a few hours across the lenses of Mario Testino, fashion prime mover and photographer to the stars (Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow, Princess Diana, Kate Moss, and many more).
Talk about conversation headliners: a blown-up glossy canvas depicting my naked likeness, shot with Testino’s signature chic sensuality…a Versace print ad waiting to happen. “You have a nude portrait by Mario Testino!?” a friend might say. And I’d feign nonchalance with a simple “Oh that…yeah,” refusing to explain any further because, really, once you’ve reached muse status, how do you ever go back to conversing with mortals?
But much as I would want to share gallery space with Madonna and Gwyneth, I think I would have to say no to Sir Testino. For me, having a nude portrait of myself taken has to be about more than posterity in some state of undress. I suppose it has to also portray the real me, my character and personality in the buff, so to speak, in as much as that is possible on canvas, photo paper, or pixels.
And this is where trust comes in. Because as much as Vogue’s favorite shutterbug is venerated by an entire generation, as much as he is pursued by the creative lot, and as much as he has succeeded in bringing commerce into his photography while forever remaining a true artist, Mario Testino, to me, is still a stranger.
See, more important than renown, whoever takes my nude portrait has to be someone I trust, someone with whom I share solid history, someone who knows how to draw me out (especially because I’m no pro). It has to be someone who has seen the thousands of expressions my face can take on, and knows what joke to crack, what memory to evoke, what music track to play so that these come to the fore. Suffice it to say, it has to be someone in whose presence I can strip down without feeling like I’m in a Jojo Veloso wet dream.
Then there’s taste—the look, the aesthetic sensibility. First, I think I’d want to avoid being photographed in bed. Naked on the sheets—too trite, too obvious. Or at least, since bare skin is inherently sexual, I’d like for the shot to be sensual without my having to do anything sexual. Imagine: Shot A - black and white stolen shot against a sun-dappled window, with hair artfully disheveled, torso carefully angled to hide puson, and coffee mug in one hand to evoke that “sexy bagong gising” look; versus Shot B – colored shot, on bed, in lacy lingerie, stilets, looking straight at camera, with the same bated-breath smile you whip out when you’re perched on the sand with your bikini-clad Bora ‘kada. Do you really want your personal nude to resemble the set card of a GRO?
Anyway, here are a few pegs I found on the Net for my once and future nekkid shot!
I’ve always been partial to extremes. I love either black and whites, muted tones, or desaturated color—or all-out saturated high-def shots. These are a few B&Ws and color-drained images. I tweaked some, to make them either black and white or muted. Photo by Cristoph Gamper
Barring the crotchless knickers and stirrups, and soft-porn-style gratuitous beaver shot, I like the couch as setting. I also like that the shot’s taken from a high angle, such a fresh departure from shots usually taken directly in front of the couch. I could be reading a book here, or watching TV. Photo by Cristoph Gamper
Sleek “artsy fatartsy” shots…lots of skin without really showing a thing. Photos by Janusz Miller, Meghan Adriel, and Silver Work Studio, and Annie Leibovitz
I’d also love to take the shot outdoors. The beach would be perfect, since I do love the sea—though I don’t think I’d gun for something very Sports Illustrated-esque. Photos By Michal Podobycko and Patrick Shaw (last two)
Soul sister. I think I’ve found the one person whose personal taste and shooting style are a point-on-point match with how I’d like my nudy done. Photos by Meghan Adriel. Check out her stuff at http://www.flickr.com/photos/maggie_le_chat.
Of course, taste and tastefulness are relative. And I can’t say that sleaze has never made it to art exhibits, or that art has never made it to the pages of a laddy magazine. That’s the rub when you take skin instead of plain old landscape—whether it’s artfully done or just plain bomba happens at a fine line that is never permanently set at any given time. But I’ve managed a few crude measures: my nude portrait is art if it makes a guy take a look and his girlfriend think to herself “Ay, gusto ko rin magpaganyan…” It can make a guy ogle, sure, since it is skin, after all—but it SHOULD NOT EVER aid in any self-love sessions in the bathroom! You think Venus de Milo in all her unclothed, basa-sa-dagat splendor inspired any chicken-choking? …my point exactly.