Luxurious and difficult at the same time, Carolyn Drake’s latest book photobook, Men Untitled is an exorcism of male power. One of the first photographs in the book is an arresting image of Drake in men’s clothing. This is drag that performs a blue-collar man, but also the male artist and his model on a platform, who holds forth an object for examination. The object appears to be the lumpy backside of a plaster mold. Is this the unformed mud of man before the garden? The round shape hides the face of the artist. But her eyes, and her ideas burn into the back of it, filling the cup of the face and offering it to us.
Drake is in charge—but the men she photographs are mostly willing participants, eager, even: hanging from their feet, or somersaulting, ass in the air, or crawling on logs with shoes on their hands. Others present only their most tender parts. “I really wanted to expose the body and demean it and play with the idea of seeing how far I could push men, even if they didn’t want to,” she says.
Over two years working in Mississippi and California, Drake explored masculinity in portraits, object studies and nudes. Initially, it was difficult to photograph naked men, but she kept at it until it became normalized and no longer threatening. The earliest nudes show men far away, full frame, but eventually moved to tighter detail shots of the body. “I realized that it was also a healing exercise for my psyche. I channeled a lot of pent-up anger to make the work, drawing from repeated dealings with misogyny in life and politics, including the restriction of women’s rights to abortion, over which I had no control.”
What gives men the entitlement to rage, destroy, coerce, demand—and then blame women for the same rage and violence? Where does patriarchal privilege come from? Does it derive from the roll of flesh that hangs between the legs or somewhere else? In Men Untitled, Drake pokes around for the source: breaking open plaster molds and recasting mythological symbols of male power—horses, satyrs, guns, swords. There are charred phallic effigies, and disembodied female forms, busts and ponytails. But there are also tools, artifacts and the traditions needed to maintain the structure: the cogs of the machine, photography itself and Sisyphean effort. The burned and flaming objects denote destruction but also renewal—when something burns it changes states.
In the book’s central images—the hanging man centerfold and the artist in drag—an exchange of roles takes place between the photographer and her model, Wallace. Drake let him photograph her in his clothes, and she photographed him in hers. “I actually loved wearing Wallace’s clothes—they fit me. I felt very comfortable in them. I didn’t feel like I was in male drag because I wear clothes kind of like that.” Wallace felt that some of her poses in his clothes were stereotypical. Drake says: “There’s a whole universe to acting which takes attention and empathy, I realized in that moment. For acting that feels real and human, it’s not that simple.”
Lovingly detailed images of male flesh punctuate the book, reminders of fragility. One of Drake’s favorite images is a closeup of a man’s clavicle and neck. “It sets the stage that there’s some love and empathy in the book,” she says. Mirrors reflect at us, offering surreal invitations to our own participation. The centerfold is a literal inversion—a man hanging upside down in his garage papered with Playboy magazines. It’s as if the secrets to power could fall from his pockets in a shower of loose change.
In the delicately printed epilogue nestled inside the back jacket, the white text threatens to disappear. But the words and meaning are clear. Drake’s experiences echo my own and those of countless women who have been assaulted both casually and violently. The lingering pain and confusion of these assaults’ bleeds into self-perception and a world view that encourages female self-doubt and silence. Men Untitled exists despite the odds; a triumph over deadly silence.
The luxurious part of the book is not the most obvious: the gorgeous offset printed images in rich tones that switch from shades of gray to colors both otherworldly and distinctly real, and the 3D embossed cover. It is in the drape of flesh, the clay of skin, and our awkward performance as humans playing out on soft folds of fabric and stained garage floors, aping animals in the forest, emerging from the mud, transformed.
Editor’s note: An exhibition of Men Untitled is currently on view at Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson in Paris until January 24, 2024.
Men Untitled
by Carolyn Drake
Publisher: TBW Books
ISBN: 978-1-942953-60-9