This paper offers a firsthand critical review of photographer and video artist Sam Taylor-Wood's 2004 exhibition "New Work" at the White Cube Gallery in London. The author examines the three main works on display: "Crying Men," a series of close-up photographs of weeping male celebrities; "Strings," a video installation featuring Royal Ballet dancer Ivan Putrov suspended by wires; and "Self-Portrait Suspended," a set of photographs in which Taylor-Wood appears to float in midair. The review considers the thematic coherence of suspension—literal and emotional—across all three works, addresses criticisms of celebrity enthrallment, and concludes that Taylor-Wood's art merits its recognition on its own terms.
In December 2004, I visited the White Cube Art Gallery in London with my art class to view an exhibition by photographer and video artist Sam Taylor-Wood. Her work combines elements of photography, film, and video installation. I knew little about Taylor-Wood other than that she was married to art dealer and White Cube Gallery owner Jay Jopling, and that a previous video installation of hers, "David" — named for footballer David Beckham — had featured a nine-minute video of Beckham sleeping and been shown at the National Portrait Gallery. I wondered, then, whether Taylor-Wood was in fact talented enough on her own to be so successful at such a young age, or whether her marriage to Jopling had hurried her art to the forefront. I approached the exhibition with a mixture of skepticism, curiosity, and suspense. As it turned out, "suspense" — in both its literal and figurative meanings — was a main motif.
The exhibition consists of three subjects. The first, "Crying Men," is a series of 28 close-up photographs of celebrities — including Paul Newman, Benicio del Toro, and Dustin Hoffman — weeping before the camera: that is, suspended in grief and self-absorption, in time and space, and between physical and emotional states. The pictures appear in both black-and-white and color.
By Taylor-Wood's own account, she did not inform the actors in advance what she would ask them to do during the shoot. After they agreed to be photographed, she met with each actor individually and, during the session, asked him to cry. Not all of them burst into tears on command — though they had likely been asked to do so hundreds of times before on film sets. Some took a while to weep; some resorted to artificial means; and one "almost started crying before taking the camera out." The result is a series that probes the boundary between public performance and private emotion, asking whether a celebrity's tears are ever truly unguarded.
"Artist appears to float; illness and body symbolism"
After seeing the exhibition, I concluded that, although Taylor-Wood — a 1990 graduate of art college — might not be as widely known today were it not for her marriage to Jopling, she deserves her success. According to Venus, Taylor-Wood has been accused of emotional contrivance in "Crying Men" (her subjects are all famous actors; are they truly crying or merely performing?) and of an enthrallment with celebrity culture for its own sake (as in both "Crying Men" and "David"). I feel, however, that Taylor-Wood is more genuinely interested in exploring the boundaries between public and private selves ("Crying Men"), between fantasy and reality ("Self-Portrait Suspended"), and between imagination and physical constraint ("Strings").
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