Bash Compactor: Ryan’s Lines

| 13 Aug 2014 | 03:45

    The same week that Terry Richardson’s handjob-gate broke all over the blogosphere, New York’s other nude-loving iconic hipster photographer debuted his new solo show.

    A line had already formed before the doors opened for Ryan McGinley’s show at Team Gallery, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere. The beautiful androgynous waifs smoking cigarettes and chatting on the sidewalk on Grand Street didn’t seem willing to kick up a stink about aggressive line-cutters, so I made my way to the front.

    A bald, middle-aged black man in an SUV drove by and shouted out his window, “What they giving out, welfare checks?” Suddenly, a blurred sea of skinny jeans and cardigans breezed passed me as the doors opened. I prayed for there to at least be a cheese spread at the gallery, but there was only Budweiser. Damn you, Team Gallery! Can’t you see these children need sustenance?!

    The gallery quickly filled up as hip young things poured in. McGinley’s photos, while jam-packed with dicks, boobs and tattoos, still convey an endearing sense of innocence and wholesomeness. It almost didn’t feel strange to see parents taking their children into the show. Almost.

    I ran into artist Michael Quattlebrown, who posed shirtless with his “Native Blood” tattoo in one of the more striking photos. Tattoos now covered by a paint-splattered blue shirt, he told me how he knew McGinley. “How can I say this appropriately,” he wondered. “We met at his party.” Did he feel nervous with all these people looking at his photo? “Well, my face is covered, so I feel pretty OK,” he laughed.  

    As to whether McGinley would ever try something similar to Richardson’s reported transgressions, Michael didn’t hesitate before answering. “Never,” he said, shaking his head. Air supply in the gallery slowly draining, I made my way outside. Half the street was blocked off, and McGinley hadn’t even arrived. Someone shot-gunned a beer on the sidewalk. A-Ron and some of the Irak crew blazed a path through the crowd. Photographer Erika Simonelli was enjoying the spectacle. I posed the same question as I had earlier.

    “Look at the pictures, he’s not intruding on anyone’s space,” she said. “I don’t think that Terry and Ryan fall into the same category.”

    I left before I had a chance to find out for myself.