Alina Cohen
Long before Peter
Hujar shot his black-and-white portraits of New York’s queer community, Robert
Mapplethorpe captured the city’s BDSM subculture, and Nan Goldin turned her
lens on downtown couples, a group called PaJaMa was taking sexy,
nostalgia-fueled photographs of their erotic exploits in Manhattan and on East
Coast beaches. Their pictures from throughout the 1930s and ’40s feature nude
men preening on the sand and indoor shots of lithe bodies and shadowy,
theatrical figures.
Painters Paul Cadmus
and husband-and-wife Jared French and Margaret Hoenig French comprised PaJaMa,
named for the first two letters of each of its founders’ names. The trio’s lifestyle and intimate photographs were daring for their day.
Their sexual politics were permissive and fluid—Jared and Cadmus were
lovers—and their frames reflect a sense of freedom that contemporary art
viewers hardly associate with their era. PaJaMa’s pictures are important
documents in the histories of art and photography, and their playful, queer
aesthetic still resonates in 2019.
PaJaMa’s oeuvre occupies a strange place in
the chronology of 20th-century art. The 1913 Armory Show in New York brought
European avant-garde art to the United States, gradually turning American
artists away from the Realist scenes they’d previously embraced. Surrealism hit
first, then non-representational art. In the 1930s and into the early ’40s, as
the Great Depression raged, many American artists turned to the government’s
Works Progress Administration for jobs. They collaborated on murals and illustrated
textbooks, forming artistic communities that eventually became codified groups
like the Abstract Expressionists.
In their painting
practices, however, Cadmus and the Frenches demonstrated continued interest in
the body and sexuality, despite the trend toward abstraction. In pictures of
soldiers and sailors, Cadmus alluded to homosexual pick-ups and illicit sexual
activity. His famously scandalous 1934 painting The Fleet’s In!, for example,
depicts drunken naval officers on leave. One seductively offers a cigarette to
a man with a red tie—at the time, a covert signifier of being gay. Jared, for
his part, designed campy ballet costumes, and Margaret once painted nude men
outside a beach house.
In the summer, the
trio brought this sense of liberty to the shore. And these artists summered.
Many photographs from the PaJaMa oeuvre document jaunts to Fire Island,
Nantucket, Provincetown, Saltaire, and Truro. They captured fellow artist
George Tooker vamping nude on the beach, holding a cow skull–shaped piece of wood
over his crotch. In another photo, men in tiny swimsuits eye
one another at the ocean’s edge. Publisher Monroe Wheeler appears in one shot
regally reclining, shirtless, on the sand beneath a piece of salvaged wood. These pictures revel
in their young, attractive subjects’ muscular physiques. Each figure becomes a
carefree character in a larger story of pleasure that altogether seems
classical rather than modern.
PaJaMa’s photographs
simultaneously glorify and demystify their creative subjects, depicting them in
all their beauty and youth. Even when they’re naked, the figures are more
self-possessed than vulnerable. Body shame and inhibitions have no part. This
uninhibited attitude wasn’t limited to the collective: One friend, Chuck
Howard, had a nude film career beyond PaJaMa’s frames. He participated in Dr.
Alfred Kinsey’s famous studies, performing sexual acts with poet Glenway
Wescott—another PaJaMa model—in front of the researchers’ camera.
This sense of erotic
play and theatricality persisted when PaJaMa went indoors. It’s easy to imagine
the group putting on plays, or giving dramatic readings as they entertained
themselves in New York and on vacation. Margaret French, Paul Cadmus,
Provincetown (ca. 1945) features the titular pair by a spotlit white curtain.
Margaret stands behind it, holding a leafy branch, her shadowy figure soft at
the edges. Cadmus appears to be draped in the curtain itself, his features even
darker and more mysterious than hers.
Indeed, back in the
city, the trio was immersed in the world of the New York cultural elite.They
were a part of the major philanthropist Lincoln Kirstein’s permissive,
progressive circle, and they rubbed shoulders with (and photographed naked) the
era’s greatest cultural minds. Their 1943 photograph of Tennessee Williams
shows the lauded playwright facing away from the viewer as he reclines nude on
a bed.
It’s easy to forget,
while looking at these joyful pictures, that they were made during and just
after a major world war. Sometimes, however, a moody sobriety did infiltrate
the work. Margaret French, George Tooker and Jared French, Nantucket (ca.
1946), for example, features Margaret lying in a white garment at the top of a
staircase that leads down to the ocean. One man sits on the stairs, while the other
looks off toward the distance. The composition conveys disconnect—three
characters in their own worlds in the face of the gray expanse of sky and sea.
Their bohemian
attitudes, no doubt,helped protect the sexually liberated trio and their
friends from significant danger and societal judgment. Around the country,
doctors were still lobotomizing homosexual patients in hopes of turning them
straight. Homosexuality itself was criminalized. Yet the PaJaMa trio hardly
squandered their privilege. Their photographs capture a safe space of their own
making: a tight-knit community of creative personalities in a place where they
could be fully themselves—or invent new selves altogether.
https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-pajamas-erotic-beach-photographs-capture-queer-life-1930s?utm_medium=email&utm_source=17334356-newsletter-editorial-daily-06-27-19&utm_campaign=editorial-rail&utm_content=st-V
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