The image exudes torture and pain, but this is not the extent of the photographer's ambition for it. He envisions a huge scale; the print will be the largest he can make because he has mapped a grand conception, and, after more than forty years as a photographer, arrived at a place of understanding more lucid than he has ever before achieved. With his vanitas he establishes an erotic territory of majestic sacrifice and sacrament, the meaning of which, for him, lies somewhere between the unspeakable suffering of the crucified Christ and that of the Jews under Hitler.
Joel-Peter Witkin is an American photographer who lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico. His work often deals with such themes as death, corpses (and sometimes dismembered portions thereof), and various outsiders such as dwarfs, transsexuals, hermaphrodites, and physically deformed people. Witkin's complex tableaux often recall religious episodes or famous classical paintings.
If you could manipulate death and life as if clay, photograph these images and then through some kind of alchemical magick have them embody the beauty of the grotesque, then you would have Witkin's work.
Joel-Peter Witkin, The Bone House (Twin Palms, 2000)
Witkin is best known outside the world of avant-garde art for being one of those whose work was scrutinized during the whole "art or pedophilia?" craze that followed the hullabaloo surrounding Robert Mapplethorpe getting an NEA grant (not that those two things are related, except in the diseased minds of those who decided that all "deviance" is necessarily related.) Which is too bad, because Witkin creates photographs of a singularly disturbing atmosphere, a combination of beauty and brutality perhaps last imagined by Bosch and Bruegel hundreds of years ago.
Witkin is (and he admits this readily in his introduction to this collection) thoroughly obsessed with death, mutilation, violence, the erotic, and how they all intertwine. His photographs, which he calls portraits, do not capture the portrait per se but what Witkin sees as the true soul, the symbol of the person or people involved; the photographic equivalent of Bacon's famous study of Velasquez' Pope Innocent X. His photos are not for the faint of heart, but it seems to me that even the most squeamish will find a rare attractive power in Witkin's work. I strongly suggest, however, that the more squeamish not read the end essay (which starts with a description of how Witkin composed and photographed the photo "Feast of Fools," a description which may cause even less sensitive stomachs to roll).
These photographs are disturbing, repulsive, above all beautiful; one thinks, though, it would take a truly diseased mind to find anything of the pedophilic in the photographs presented here. With all the many layers to be studied in these compositions, it seems like the work of a revisionist historian, or someone with the Jesse Helms "I don't know how to define pornography, but I know it when I see it" mentality, to overlay something onto them that simplifies and erroneously categorizes them. We see what's there through our own filters; photography, especially of this sort, is interpreted by what we bring to the table ourselves. Those who crow most loudly about such things in the future may want to remember this. "Do not gaze long into the abyss..." **** ½
Judging even from the photographs alone, Joel-Peter Witkin is one disturbed man. His art is a carnival of visceral horrors and sublime mutations, the deformed lifted up to become the subjects of a new type of baroque portraiture - like the revealing of the inner state of the minds of those privileged royalty depicted by Rembrandt, Velazquez, or Caravaggio - twisted, half-formed and depraved. His nudes are augmented by strange black growths that obscure and deform the silhouettes of his subjects' bodies, the faces are covered by veils or masks made from reference paintings or painted oblong shapes of cardboard with eyes stuck to them. His still lifes intermingle the traditional fruits and foodstuff with severed corpse parts: feet, heads and dead babies. His classical female nudes, triumphant and confident with that vague shade of sexual desire read on the face that sucks you in, almost all have penises. His subjects seem to be undergoing a stress so powerful that it radiates out onto the viewer - a sublime suffering. It's like someone decided to dress up the corpses on a battlefield and make them beautiful once more. At once disturbing and fascinating, and his print-making technique is extremely interesting: it transforms the images into things wholly separated from time, free-floating art objects not tethered to any earthly realm that could have been formed any time in the past two hundred years.
I don't really know how one would go about reviewing someone as multidimensional as Witkin. Most peoples' initial reaction to his work is that of shock and disgust. However, if time is taken to move past the surface value of his images one can quickly discern masterful works of art that transcend traditional printmaking.
Witkin's images are usually highly modified, both pre- and post-print. Distressing, scraping, and cutting are just a few of the modifications one usually sees in his images. This is not to say that he uses these techniques to cover up or disguise his prints. The quality of his prints are quite amazing. He frequently uses elaborate tableaux to recreate classic works of art. The difference is that his props usually involve cadavers, taxidermied animals, people with physical deformities, sex acts, skeletons, and various body parts.
At the very least his images challenge our perceptions. I have yet to meet anyone who, upon viewing a Witkin image, withholds an opinion about it.