I've seen references to this project several places, and one thing strikes me about all of them: they all seem to think it's somehow amazing that men cry. That's not precisely what I mean, but it's hard to conceptualize the reaction in clear words:
[Photographer Sam] Taylor-Wood explains, "Some of the men cried before I even finished loading the camera, but others found it really difficult. People can decide for themselves which they think are the authentic tears and which they think are fake. It's about the idea of taking these big, masculine men and showing a different side."
It's the subversion of the masculine ideal, destructive as it is, that engenders the reaction, I guess, and our apparent lack of being able to deal with that subversion. I'll readily confess that I'm subject to tears, but I tend to run close to the surface anyway, and it's not a constant: for most of my life I've been the prototypical long, cool drink of water.
It would be interesting to know how Taylor-Wood got these men to cry, or how they got themselves to do it. Music works for me, every time -- want to see me turn into Niagara Falls? Put the "Heilige Dankgesang" from Beethoven's Fifteenth String Quartet on, or Steve Perry singing "Faithfully." That'll do it. The cat died? That's good for tears, but quietly, in private, because they come before I'm ready to share my grief.
Some truly beautiful pictures in that group -- take the time to look at them, and follow the link to the 10 others he put up.
Break's over -- back to work. I may try to post a couple of them here later. Check back.
No comments:
Post a Comment