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the Timothy Greenfield-Sanders exhibit at the Mary Boone gallery
by Caitlin Reilly

It's pouring outside, but that doesn't matter. Had the Pacific Ocean fallen from heaven it would've done nothing but evaporate on my red cheeks. Will Cotton's nudes ain't got nothing on these babies.

It's funny how the sterile white walls of the Mary Boone gallery can make you feel so small and awkward, especially when they're proudly displaying the ping-pong table-sized photographs of Timothy Greenfield-Sanders porn stars. These thirty shameless pairs of portraits have a Jekyll and Hyde personality complex. On the left: a nice, average-looking person. Well groomed. On the right: same person. Maybe a little more makeup. Teased hair. Oh yes, and the person is completely naked. Naked. It's definitely not those vibrant colors catching your eye. Who'd of thought a watermelon-sized pair of breasts staring you in the face could so dramatically affect your social skills. Suddenly, the elderly woman standing next to you can read your mind. Oh no! Did she see me looking? Where did she think I was looking? The floor! There's nothing on the floor! Look there!

Then, while concentrating so intently on your swagger-surface, looking for a hole to crawl into, you start to hear things. The clearing of throats. The stifled laughter. Little giggles. Greenfield-Sanders has definitely unlocked the fortress door, or rather, beat it open with a sledgehammer. A naked sledgehammer.

Anything that can so blatantly "put it out there," that can make me feel as jittery and uncomfortable as I did, that can force people to come face-to-face, or rather, face-to-butt, with something so basic as the human body, is doing society a great service. We've all seen people naked. We came into this world naked. Now we have to deal with it. Never had the question of tastefulness (or tastelessness) entered my mind. Quite the contrary, I would go so far as to say these photographs are a perverse teaching-tool of self- confidence. I leave to face the world with a little more boldness, a little less modesty, a little more spring in my step, as I walk out of a room as steamy as my cheeks.