Body double: borrowing a conceit from Goya, photographer Timothy Greenfield-Sanders depicts the same subjects twice—once clothed, once not—in his recent series of porn-star portraits

Art in America, April, 2005 by Sarah Valdez

From rock stars to presidents, literary figures to actors, not to mention pretty much everyone of consequence in the blue-chip art world, Timothy Greenfield-Sanders has for some three decades now photographed celebrities, in the process institutionalizing himself as one. Ever a fan of the big negative's capacity for crisply rendering minutiae larger than life, Greenfield-Sanders has made a formidable career out of satisfying the public's desire to scrutinize ordinary aspects of extraordinary people, at once acknowledging and confirming their iconic status. He has captured, for instance, the young David Bowie, transformed with a goatee and feathery earring; Warhol wringing his hands, for once caught unawares by the camera; Hillary Clinton with that impeccable blonde bob; Agnes Martin in an adorable black cardigan, gold buttons done up to the top; Robert Mapplethorpe wide-eyed in his boodle.

Like school portraits, set consistently against solid backdrops, Greenfield-Sanders's portraits possess a reassuring sameness, encouraging scientific scrutiny--all the while bestowing on his sitters a cultural legitimacy of which they cannot help but be aware. His latest exhibition did no less, chronicling celebrities of the adult-film industry. "XXX: 30 Porn Star Portraits" consisted of a series of 30 photographic diptychs showing his muses posed more or less the same way twice, once with street clothes on and then with them off. But the project also included an ambitious number of spinoffs: a catalogue (with essays by 16 well-known figures, among them Gore Vidal, John Waters, Karen Finley, JT LeRoy and Salman Rushdie, as well as bios written by each of the porn stars he photographed), a Greenfield-Sanders-directed and -produced documentary on the making of the porn-star photographs (aired by HBO) and a slick soundtrack for the documentary (including music by the Velvet Underground, Peaches, Felix da Housecat and Rabbit in the Moon, among others).

In the choppy documentary, GreenfieldSanders appears here and there, but reveals little about his motivation for undertaking "XXX," mostly allowing his models and catalogue essayists to speak, one after another, as if to an omniscient interviewer. All amicably hold forth on porn and sex, plus a little about life in general. We meet a few self-proclaimed born exhibitionists, who explain that they got into the industry with verve and on purpose. Others, of course, found themselves compelled by cash. Characters become endearing as we gain knowledge of their personal lives. A strapping, square-jawed Russian, for instance, explains that he's proud to have earned enough to bring his whole family to this country. Porn legend Nina Hartley and her husband cheerfully show off the elaborate dungeon in their home. We see some stars on location, driving around or sitting on lawns, explaining that they're actually attending college or pursuing careers as artists or tappers: porn as means to an end.

Models unselfconsciously mill about Greenfield-Sanders's studio in the buff and tell life stories while having their makeup done. Somebody's small dog makes a cameo. Some porn stars confess to having been shunned by parents for their choice of career; one or two describe families proud or at least accepting of their accomplishments. We learn that Greenfield-Sanders got the idea of doing double portraits of the same person, clothed and nude, from Goya, whose La Maja Vestida and La Maja Desnuda offer clear prototypes. But despite this information, and especially given the number of radically solipsistic perspectives that constitute the "XXX" extravaganza, the artist's intent or point of view, if he has one, remains uncertain.

Oddly, this doesn't matter much. And perhaps Greenfield-Sanders's knack for seeming not to be there is exactly what makes him such a compelling photographer. The porn-star portraits themselves, best at their largest--nearly 5 by 4 feet (but also printed smaller and sold in editions of six)--hold more interest than whatever base sensationalism inheres in the concept "porn star" (or, for that matter, in such porn/art hybrids as Andrea Fraser's 2003 video showing her having sex with a collector of her work). First of all, Greenfield-Sanders's images have a powerful impact both close up and far away. Standing in the middle of the gallery, the viewer had the sensation of being stared down by a small army of defiant, extreme-looking people, half of them naked, most posing with hands on hips or arms crossed in front of chests. Like Max Beckmann's meticulously rendered paintings of naked, surly, midlife malcontents, Greenfield-Sanders's models look directly at viewers. But, rather than being pissed off at also being the subject of the gaze, the porn stars seem unabashedly pleased with what they have to offer. They meet our eyes, while we, naturally, want to look elsewhere.

And no denying it, there was some spectacular anatomy on view. Chad Hunt, for instance, stands with arms akimbo, letting what he identifies in his bio as his "eleven-by-seven-inch cut cock" hang loose. Preternaturally large breasts overwhelm the torsos of all but a few of the females. Physiques run the gamut, from the supple, super-sleek, reallife couple Jeremy Jordan and Jason Hawke, pictured together, to the slightly graying Ron Jeremy, who reports having appeared in more than 1,750 films. Jeremy also turned up recently as a character on VHI's farcical "Surreal World" and hasn't a worry about letting us see his substantial paunch. Heather Hunter, African-American porn pioneer, stands on the tips of her toes, arms outstretched, palms out, striking a pose at once classical and confrontational.