The Cook, Second Place, Spring Salon 2009, Springville Art Museum


From the amethyst robes of the ancient Etruscan kings to the towering wigs of
eighteenth-century French nobility to Coco Chanel’s infamous ‘little black dress’,
fashion has functioned as more than an expression of personality or individuality,
but as a symbol of power, social values, and even religious beliefs. Culture trains us
from childhood to read visual imagery and to interpret signs and
symbols—something we do every time we flip through a magazine, gaze at a
painting, or simply look at the people around us. With little conscious effort, we
decipher the connotation of clothing styles, facial expressions, and bodily gestures.
But what do we do when the message is obscured, when visual cues do not
necessarily illuminate meaning? In her current series, Role Playing: Postures and
Masquerades, fashion photographer Laura Trinnaman does just that.
Without a doubt, Trinnaman’s photographs are visually engaging. Eloquently
composed and expertly arranged, the images pop with color and vitality, almost
making the viewer forget the puzzling position of female sitters amid strongly
gendered spaces. By deconstructing stereotypical roles—like the cook, the hunter,
or the mechanic—the
artist’s works suggest the duality of contemporary and historical gender roles. The
question then becomes—is it Trinnaman’s intention to be complementary or
derisive? Or is she merely reacting to the contradictory nature of modern life?
Historically, the female form has been an object of visual scrutiny, both positive
and negative. In canvas after canvas from the Renaissance onward, voluptuous
Venuses and striking odalisques lounge on decorative chaises, their eyes turned
modestly away from the viewer, who cannot help but gaze even more intently.
Whether the artist was the Neoclassical Ingres or the modernist Matisse, the female
body has been treated like a decorative form to be posed within an equally
decorative setting, as if she was merely an object or a symbol, rather than an
individual.
Trinnaman updates female imagery into a modern, almost timeless setting. It
cannot be ignored, however, that her models are young, beautiful, and idealized to
the point of artificiality. Is the artist making a statement about the modern
conception of female beauty and gender roles? Is she referencing feminist “gaze”
theory, which confronts the psychology behind images that transform women into
passive objects for the gratification of the active male gaze? Perhaps that is the
artist’s intention, or perhaps her works are less of a social reaction, and more of a
reflection of art historical convention. Indeed, by juxtaposing her subjects with
highly charged symbols and situations, Trinnaman appears to be embracing the
age-old tradition of character play.
Before the Sun King Louis XIV showed off his white-stocking-clad legs and
crimson high-heels, before eighteenth-century grand tourists were painted
strutting in front of the Coliseum or the Pantheon, historical heavy-hitters like the
Roman emperor Augustus had cemented the practice of character play into art
historical tradition. In the so-called Augustus of Primaporta, the legendary ruler
could not resist being depicted not just as Rome’s first emperor, but also a general
with godly ancestry. Idealized to Greek classical perfection, Augustus’s portrait
seems to be the equivalent of a celebrity fashion pictorial—a standard that no real
human could actually achieve, including Augustus himself.
Since the ancient world, character play has been a beloved tool of artists and
patrons seeking to employ visual expression as a powerful form communication.
Perhaps Trinnaman’s images belong in this realm of the character study. Although
she does not use specific, identifiable individuals, she captures specific types of
individuals—even the paradoxes that exist within the roles we play in our own
lives.
Indeed, we are the lead characters in our own personal dramas and comedies.
Perhaps that is why Trinnaman’s works speak so powerfully to their
audience—they remind us of our own dual natures, paradoxes, and even
hypocrisies. What we see in her images might even be a reflection of what we
perceive in our own lives—illusion and fantasy, equality and independence,
capability and competence. But whatever Laura Trinnaman’s images ultimately
represent, one thing can be certain—they exude style.