COMES NATURALLY #112 (July 27, 2001)
Copyright © 2001 David Steinberg

PHOTOGRAPHING SEX

"Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned."
-- fortune cookie message

I have always thought of myself as a word person. I love
words. I love language. I love the ways that carefully chosen
language can communicate subtle nuances about everything
from objective logic to the most subjective of emotions.

But I have also always been fascinated by the visual world, by the eloquent power
images have to communicate complicated realities that words seem doomed to distort
them into jumbles. Particularly when it comes to sex, verbal description often misses
what I think of as the heart of the matter. There are some photos, on the other hand, that
go right to the subtleties and power of sexual connection, holding these up for all to see, ponder,
and appreciate.

Thirteen years ago, I collected and published 122 such photos in a book of erotic photography and
fiction, "Erotic by Nature A Celebration of Life, of Love, and of Our Wonderful Bodies." Since that
time, I have been the U.S. photo representative for Cupido magazine, an intelligent erotic journal
published in Norway and Denmark. Reviewing the erotic and sexual work of hundreds of
photographers over the years has impressed upon me just how articulate artistic images of sex can be,
and how many different perspectives on sex they can express. Even though sex has long been
neglected as a subject for fine art photography, there are now dozens of skilled, perceptive
photographers directing their artistic attentions to different aspects of sex and sexual behavior. Their
collective work offers a wonderful range of insight into sexual experience, perspectives that fall
completely outside the more familiar conventions of commercial pornography.

A year and a half ago, I decided that I wanted to try my own hand at photographing sex. Although I
knew little about the technical aspects of photography, I had a strong sense of what I wanted to see in
sexual photographs, and I had gotten tired of trying to persuade the sexual photographers who had
become my closest friends to incorporate my sexual sensibilities into their work. (Not surprisingly, they
wanted to photograph their sexual point of view, not mine.) I realized that if I wanted to see pictures
that embodied what was most important to me about sex, I would have to take them myself.

I began floating the idea of photographing couples having sex among the circle of sex writers, artists,
publishers, and general explorers that make up my community of fellow travelers in and around San
Francisco. To my delight, one couple that I knew through the network associated with the Bay Area's
Spectator magazine enthusiastically volunteered as guinea pigs. I borrowed some lights, bought lots of
film, and the three of us got together at their home one Wednesday afternoon to see what we could
come up with.

I couldn't have asked for a more ideal pair of subjects for my first sexual experiment behind the
camera. They were full of exuberant sexual energy, totally adoring of each other, and absolutely loved
having sex in front of a camera. They played and I took pictures all afternoon.

It was just about a perfect situation for me to find myself in. I've always enjoyed watching other people
be sexual, and the role of photographer gave me a context to watch people being sexual with
unapologetic intensity and minute attention to detail. Most of all, the challenge of translating the
emotional and sexual intensity of someone's sexuality into the language of still images merged sex and
creativity together in what was for me a very powerful combination.

I shuffled lights incessantly, climbed up and down my handy step ladder, searching instant by instant for
the moment, the look, the angle, the touch, that would communicate most strongly what I saw going on
between these two people. Fortunately, these particular subjects were completely comfortable having
sex in front of a third person, under hot lights, and while I did everything from standing over them on
their bed to holding my camera inches from their faces as they were coming to orgasm.

We went from one sexual time to another, from one set of clothes to another, for four exhilarating,
overheated hours before we admitted to exhaustion and stopped for dinner. After dinner, to my
complete surprise, my friends suggested they were ready for more if I was willing to continue and so
we continued for two hours more. By the time the session was over, I had shot an indulgent 19 rolls of
film, over 600 photos.

I went home excited by the experience of playing sexual photographer, but completely uncertain about
what I had or had not managed to get on film. The next day, as I poured all the film canisters onto the
counter of my friendly neighborhood photo lab, I also wondered what these people who had been
developing my snapshots for years would think of the images I was giving them to develop and
process. I decided it was best to openly put the sexual issue on the table.

"You should know that these are sexual pictures," I told the manager as he wrote up my order. "Is that
going to be a problem?"

"Consenting adults?" he asked.

"Definitely."

"No problem, then," he shrugged. I hadn't expected a problem, but I was palpably relieved.

"How sensible," I laughed, sending the two of us into a long mutual rant about chain store labs like
Long's, Walgreens, or Costco that consistently refuse to print even sexy photos of nude individuals, not
to mention photos of people actually having sex.

A day later I carried home a heavy box full of folder after folder of 4x6 prints. As I looked through
them, I was delighted to find first one, then another, then another, that I thought might have some real
potential. Choosing about 25 that I liked the most, I spent hours going over them with L-shaped
cutouts of black paper, deciding how each image should best be cropped to bring out what was
happening in the picture, and to present it with the greatest visual appeal. It felt like an almost magical
process. Over and over again, there was one particular cropping that made all the elements of a given
picture fall into place. It was like having a musical instrument come into precise tuning, like placing a
picture on a wall in just the right place. Ah yes, that's it, that's it right there. In a world full of
imperfection and compromise, It was remarkably satisfying to find one little thing that could be made
just exactly right or , more accurately, just the way I wanted it to be.

Knowing next to nothing about darkroom technique, I sent my meticulously cropped images out to a
local photo lab that had been recommended for its quality work and for being completely comfortable
with this sort of sexual material. As I went over proof after proof with the woman behind the counter, I
was delighted to be treated with complete respect and professionalism. And a week later, when I
picked up the finished prints, I was even more surprised and delighted with what I saw.

The lab had transformed my awkward, harsh machine proofs into finished images that struck me as real
and even beautiful, both emotionally and visually. Looking at them made me feel warm and happy --
happy with what I was seeing in the pictures, and happy to have somehow channeled these people's
experience into static images that, it seemed, could now be seen and appreciated by other people. For
the first time I felt that, despite my photographic ignorance, I might just be onto something useful. On
the other hand, it occurred to me that I might very well just be projecting my delight at taking the
photos onto my perception of the prints. The fact that they spoke to me didn't necessarily mean that
they would say anything significant to anyone else. It was time to see what other people would make of
them.

A week or so later, I nervously passed the pictures among a dozen or so people at what we call the
Spectator salon, a monthly gathering of people loosely related to Spectator magazine. The response
was enthusiastic. Two couples asked me on the spot if I would photograph them next. One couple
wanted to buy copies of some prints to add to their collection of erotic photography. Hoping for a little
positive encouragement, I came away with more response than I knew how to absorb. I'm not a
photographer, I kept saying in my head; I'm a writer. But a new creative outlet was clearly rearing its
seductive head, calling me in a way that I could hardly ignore.

I photographed both of the new couples who volunteered at the salon, two photo sessions that were
very different from the first, but each with its own special feel and magic. Again, I was pleased with the
results, as were the people who I had photographed. With an expanding portfolio to show prospective
subjects, other couples turned up who also wanted to be recorded on film. Friends began
recommending me to friends. Importantly, Cupido, the magazine I work for in Norway, began
publishing many of my photos (they even put me on the cover of one issue), providing a way for me to
finance the $500-1000 cost of each shoot. In some cases, I even managed to earn something over and
above expenses.

As clichéd as it may sound, it is absolutely true that the power of any work of this kind is completely
dependent on the people being photographed. It is they who choose to be real, to be vulnerable, to
reveal so much of themselves to me and to the camera that it becomes possible to make worthwhile
images from that raw material. I am always touched when people welcome me and publicity of a
camera into what is essentially the intensely personal, vulnerable, traditionally private world of their real
sexual feelings. What I can offer them in return is the experience of the session itself and, most
significantly, a set of prints that give them an opportunity to see something about themselves that really
cannot be seen in any other way -- not by looking in the mirror during sex, not by setting up a
camcorder to impersonally record some sexual act or encounter. Before I ever thought of taking sexual
photographs myself, I had the experience of being photographed with several different partners, by
several different photographers, and I know how deeply I cherish each of the images I now have that
came out of those sessions.

In the last year and a half I have had the opportunity to photograph twenty different couples being
sexual. Each session has been unique, but all have been remarkable experiences, both for me and for
the people I have photographed. Happily, everyone I've worked with to date has been able to
transcend any initial reluctance or nervousness and to thoroughly enjoy both the experience of the
session and the photos that came from them. Many have said that being photographed in this way has
been an important confirmation for them about both their physical appearance and their feelings about
themselves as sexual people. One woman, confronting deep issues of how she felt about her body,
even called the experience of the photo session one of the most important days of her life.

The bottom line of a successful sexual photo session, I believe, is that the people in it somehow come
to feel comfortable with me and comfortable with the idea of being photographed while they are having
sex. Only then can they possibly feel free to be their real sexual selves in front of the camera. Toward
that end, I always meet with people, separate from the photo session, so that we can get to know each
other, talk about what the session might be like, and go over any questions people may have that will
help put them at ease. I ask people to let go of any notions they have about sexual performance, about
whether or not they are conventionally attractive, about anything remotely related to glamour. What I'm
looking for is not some preconceived notion of beauty or "sexiness" but a sense of real connection
between lovers.

I make a point of acknowledging without apology that taking sexual photos is a sexually exciting
experience for me. But I also make very clear that I there is no way I would ever try to insinuate my
sexual feelings into a photo session in any way. I want the people I am working with to feel safe,
sexually and emotionally, to know that they will be able to set whatever boundaries they want as the
session proceeds. I encourage people to tell me immediately if I do anything that makes them
uncomfortable, if I get closer to them than they want me to be, if they want me to stop taking pictures
for a while, even if they want me to leave them completely alone for some time. I ask everyone, myself
included, to try to leave all expectations at the door, to treat the session as a complete experiment, a
venture into the unknown and the unknowable. Most of all, I put out he hope that we are all going to
simply have fun with the entire experience.

Some sessions have been warm and cuddly, some hot and passionate. Some have wandered all over
the emotional map. Sessions have lasted all day, or been as short as 45 minutes. Some people are
openly exhibitionistic and find the presence of the camera to be an instant turn-on rather than an
inhibition they have to overcome. Others begin feeling shy and awkward, unsure where or how to
begin -- although even the most tentative people I've worked with have very quickly gotten past their
uncertainty once we get started. Some people go into the cocoon their sexual world and ignore me
almost completely. Others remain highly conscious of the camera and openly interact with me
throughout the session. Half the fun for me is seeing how each session finds its own rhythm and spirit
and watching how that energy shifts and changes over time.

In general, I prefer to follow the energy of the people I'm photographing rather than trying to lead or
direct it. Sometimes I ask people to shift position so I can see them better; sometimes I suggest that
they do something new. But mostly I try to leave people alone so they can show me who they are
rather than having them try to fulfill any notion they may have of who they think I want them to be.

I'm constantly amazed at how intimate people are willing to be in my presence and in the presence of
the camera. It's not just that they're willing to have sex in front of me, but that they're willing to be
sexual in such open, honest, unpretentious, and unprotected ways. I've watched people show love for
each other in ways that never happen in social gatherings, even among the best of friends. I've seen
people with their masks off, their public personas completely dissolved. I've heard them
unselfconsciously call each other and their body parts the most personal pet names. Each time people
do this, they are trusting me to understand, honor, and honestly represent aspects of themselves that
would be easy for an outsider to distort, manipulate, or misinterpret. I find this level of trust humbling,
to say the least, and do my best to respond with respect for each person's precious individuality.

What started as a casual experiment with sexual photography has now become as central to my work
of affirming and speaking honestly about sex as my writing has been for many years. I have
photographed people ranging in age from 25 to 65, heavy as well as thin, disabled as well as
able-bodied. I almost exclusively work with people who are in loving, long-term relationships, and
photograph them in the familiarity of their own homes. I am always looking for new subjects -- people
of all genders, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and sexual tastes. I feel fortunate to have found this work
that is fun, exciting, creative, and performs a useful function in the world, and am anxious to see where
this path will lead from here.

For more information about David Steinberg, his writings, and on other writers of thought
on sexuality, visit Sexuality.org...