Skip to main contentErik Palmer and Bryan Grimes are both boyish thirtysomethings who take off their lens caps after their subjects have taken off, well, everything. But that's where the similarities end. To contrast what the two accomplish--and how they do it--within the same form is to strip the creative process bare, if you will.
Palmer, who was a photojournalist in Austin, Texas, before moving to Portland in 1995, began exploring the possibilities of the human form while doing shoots for Oregon Ballet Theater. He thought it would be intriguing, as well as "really fun and cool," to take his explorations a step further by turning the camera on friends and acquaintances who were willing to pose nude. The result was a series called, descriptively enough, Naked People. "I told them it's OK to be nervous," Palmer recalls, noting that "women tend to stay jittery a little longer, which makes for more animation in the photos. Guys tend to be more poised and contemplative." The series, with its flat lighting and white backgrounds, is as interesting and varied as any grouping of nude dudes and gals could be.
Seeing your friends and neighbors in the altogether satisfies the sometimes morbid curiosity we all harbor, the ruthless, instinctive need to compare other people's parts with our own. Palmer's straightforward style allowed his subjects' personalities to project beyond their privates, although the series suffers a bit from comparisons to Richard Avedon, who wrote the book on the plain white background, and Greg Friedler, whose Naked New York, Naked L.A., and Naked London explore in greater diversity the intersection of flat lighting and unadorned flesh.
Perhaps realizing this on some level, and feeling increasingly anchored to his studio and
cumbersome light kit, Palmer decided to embark on a project that would take him and his
models out into Oregon's deep, dark old growth. For inspiration
he turned to the comic books he'd loved as a kid, updating them
into a serial of his own, which he
christened Bang Comics.
During shoots, Palmer ventures into the woods with a group of friends, finds a suitably private spot and lays down his camera, setting the shutter to click every two to five seconds. At this point his friends strip and commence what can only be described as a bacchanal: wailing and dancing, leaping over the camera, striking ritualistic poses and letting their freak flags (and assorted appendages) fly. Taken, as they are, from an ant's-eye view and backlit by the dappled sunlight overhead, the photos transform the players into towering silhouettes--gods and giants, archetypes whose rites evoke a sense of mystery missing from Palmer's earlier work.
With their odd blend of Wagnerian romance and postmodern blur, the series caught the eye of Bruce Guenther, sole curator of Portland Art Museum's Oregon Biennial 2003. Impressed by the photographer's "examination and subversion of the construct of the mytho-heroic comic-book hero," Guenther picked two photos from the series for inclusion in the upcoming Biennial. He was also intrigued by the novelty of Palmer's method: capturing whatever was happening at the intervals at which the shutter clicked. Says Palmer, "What came out of that spontaneity was more interesting than anything I could have posed."
Whereas Palmer relies on an element of chance, Bryan Grimes works in the more meticulous tradition of the classic studio nude. But Grimes' first passion, sculpture, adds an extra dimension to his photos. An Oregon native, Grimes spends months crafting sculptures from common and exotic woods such as walnut, birch, mahogany and purple heart. In his studio, filled with band saws, grinders and sanding discs,
he smooths the woods into organic forms that resemble bones, vertebrae, ribbons and scythes, making no attempt to conceal the pieces' joinery or variations in grain.
"It all adds to the visual texture of the work," he says.
When the sculptures are finished, Grimes is not. He hires nude models (primarily women), whom he poses with the woodworks with seemingly inexhaustible invention--fitting the sculptures like puzzle pieces into the crook of an arm, the nape of a neck, along the long line of a leg. The resulting photos, which Grimes says sell far more readily than the sculptures themselves, highlight the sensuality of both wood and flesh, suggesting connections between nature and the human form. Such metaphoric ties, however, are not the artist's professed aim. "It's not necessarily that this is some kind of statement," he says. "I'm just trying to make some beautiful things that people will enjoy."
See Erik Palmer's photographs online at www.BangComics.com and at the Oregon Biennial 2003 beginning June 28.
See Bryan Grimes' photography and sculpture online at www.GrimesArt.com and at Belinki & DuPrey Gallery (1224 SW Broadway, 227-1242) through April 30.
This month, Portland plays host to Photo Americas. See Visual Arts listings for participating galleries.
WWeek 2015