Many of my clients are art collectors, living in Palm Beach. They visit museums when they travel, work with art buyers, and take pride in the art they display in their home.
Yet, I still hear reservation when I speak to them about their session.
“I don’t know if I could hang a photograph of myself on my wall.”
“Isn’t that vain?”
“I don’t want to look at myself every day.”
“Do your other clients hang large prints of themselves? Is that normal?”
The ironic thing is the number of them who admire fine art photographers from the past. Photographers who photographed nudes or implied nudes.
Artists like Helmut Newton, Imogen Cunningham, or even our incredible local artist Nathan Coe.
I want to pose the question of, “Where is the disconnect?”
I want to start a discussion on art.
I want to dive into why we feel it “okay” to post other women on our walls and gawk at their beauty and bravery. Yet, when it’s our turn we call it by the name, “vain”.
Is it the vulnerability that scares us?
Is it owning our sexuality?
Is it worry of what others will call us if they see we’ve reclaimed what has always been ours? The fact that we’ve reclaimed our right to own our own bodies?
I want to pose the question of what happens when collectors become subjects of their own art?
