PRINT April 1995

Bruce Hainley

This was going to be a snug précis on how Bruce Weber has changed the way men look and on the ahistorical quality of nakedness, or on how dogs are always there, bare, curious, and wanting to be touched, and how in bed a man and his dog are always better than a man and his dogma, until I noticed how everyone, or almost everyone, makes Weber’s work into a soggy affair and quickly, nervously, leads it away from whatever they think it isn’t, when it would be more intriguing really to situate Weber’s work alongside that of someone quite different, say Larry Clark or Christopher Makos, demonstrating despite the contrast the conceptual nature of male beauty, its dependence on repetition, and the intellectual rigors of obsession, and then I thought, I don’t think so, Hon.

Ric Arango makes me tango, Ric Arango makes me sigh, Ric Arango arranges a fandango, Ric Arango makes me wonder how and why.

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