You’d think that a collection of photographs featuring toned, young, handsome, athletic, striking (I could go on . . . ) - not to mention naked - men would send most of campus charging into Cantor. And maybe now that I’ve let the cat out of the bag, they will. But viewers will be sorely disappointed if an array of erotic poses of former Stanford athletes is what they were expecting. Yes, some are former Stanford athletes; some are 1950s San Francisco body builders, but none of the images were taken for the erotic pleasure of the scrutinizing public.

Simply look at the eyes - everybody knows seduction and lust loom in the depths of the eyes and not the creases of the abs (okay, maybe not everybody knows that, but it’s the truth) - and you will see that there is something much deeper, much more profoundly artistic in these images. In fact, the eyes literally reflect the artist, Dave Martin, himself. In the few images that do gaze back at the viewers, such as “Dale Wesson” (the only image with clothes) and Randy Sanders (covered in netting), there is no indication of ownership, of rapture or even of playfulness. Furthermore, the remainders of the images that do not show their eyes to the camera offer no sense of humiliation; they exude such indifference and confidence that they could, in fact, be just as naturally pictured wearing clothing.

So humor me for a little while when I say that it is not necessarily about sex, despite the whisperings that these images and their corresponding fitness magazines validate an underground homoerotic culture of the 1950s. At least these photographs are not solely defined by the growing homoerotic movement, and asking the question of whether the artist or models or intended viewers are homosexual is as entirely irrelevant as asking whether the artist or models or intended audiences are heterosexual. This is not to say that there were no elements of sex that manifest from the conception of these images and that the initiation of the movement wasn’t extremely significant, but there are other interpretations. So, although our culture is inexplicably obsessed with the determination of gay versus straight . . . forget about it, at least for a little while. After all, would this be the main discussion in photographing current Stanford athletes in the nude?

Instead, try looking at the bodies as shapes. They are beautiful, finely tuned mechanisms of collected shapes that the artist has manipulated into elegant photographic composition. This geometric breakdown essentially nullifies the absurd warning for long-lost social decorum at the entry of the gallery that reads, “Images in this gallery are not suitable for young visitors.” There is such an attention to composition and dialogue between model and scenery that one is not confronted with the nudity. For example, “Wilber ‘Bud’ Counts” stands on the rocks at the shore with his body positioned in a semi-backward arch. As a result, his body becomes the wave that one would expect from the encroaching ocean.

Also, “Roy Lang” proudly poses in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, which suggests another underlying theme in Dave Martin’s photography. Perhaps he draws on the parallel that this body - this combination of geographic shapes and tension - is responsible for the feats of humanity. We oftentimes forget that everything we know is derived from and revolves around the corporeal body. Its muscles, its organs, its microscopic blood cells - this all is what conceived the Golden Gate Bridge. This is quite a powerful concept to be able to capture within a photograph, and, if for nothing else, Dave Martin should be lauded for his incredibly strategic composition and utilization of light and shadow to convey this idea.

As for the actual curating (the head curator is Stanford student Michele Kraus), I have to say, well done. It’s one thing to gather a collection, organize it and successfully arrange it with the guidance of the artist, but to do so while the artist breathes negative words about his own work down your neck is another. The unadorned room, the “masculine” musky blue colors, and the simple layout of images collectively downplay the popular “playboy” associations that taint the genuinely artistic nature of the photographs. Although the text on the wall panels continuously refers to the homoeroticism that seems to dominate Martin’s work, the placement of images and arrangement of the small gallery do not bind the viewer to this interpretation for the entire exhibit, thus allowing for the contextual freedom for which

every gallery strives.

As an aside: This is my own personal critique and interpretation of the “Beefcake” gallery. According to someone else, it could be totally and utterly wrong. In fact, it probably contradicts most of the information written about Dave Martin’s photography. So go see for yourself. Oh yeah, and please don’t snicker. It just gets annoying.