i remember reading a large article in the nytimes when i was a teenager about the photographer sally mann. we like to remember the 90s as a progressive, rebellious, political, hopeful, fertile time coming out of the coma of the 80s but it was still stymied and conservative and the n.e.a. struggled and artists were censored and men like jesse helms got too much air-time. the activist-in-training that i was at that age was fervent about anti-censorship and the similar plight of others but it was when i saw more of her work that i became truly captivated. there is something so singular about sally mann’s photography, both her technique & style, and her subjects. they are undeniably beautiful and immediate and timeless–almost eerily so–but there is an intimacy and emotion that is so striking it almost supersedes her talent. i eagerly await her opening at the gagosian gallery this fall, to hear her speak (in her southern, no bullshit, this is just what i do manner) and see these works: husband as muse, a favorite subject for the last 40 years.