On presence, borrowed poses and the work behind the image
I came across a story about Marilyn Monroe. A journalist, so the story goes, had claimed that she owed her beauty entirely to her expensive clothes. Monroe responded by putting on a potato sack and having herself photographed in it. A magnificent answer. The fabric could hardly be expected to contribute much; its usual job, after all, was to keep potatoes together. Marilyn looked stunning nonetheless. The photographs are wonderful, the point is made, and one could have left it at that with a satisfied grin. Had I not been a photographer. Because what interests me about images like these is less where the sack came from than why the woman wearing it has such an effect.
So I did some research. First, the story had to surrender a little of its pleasing neatness. The familiar version cannot be reliably substantiated as it stands. What is documented is criticism of Monroe’s wardrobe in 1952, to which her studio responded with a potato-sack photograph. There are also earlier photographs that get mixed up with this story. Reality, apparently, had once again declined to accommodate the needs of a good anecdote. And the sack itself deserves a second look: in the photograph published in 1952, it has become a figure-hugging dress, complemented by jewellery, high heels and a carefully considered pose. The styling had by no means disappeared. It had merely changed suppliers.
Yet the question remains. What creates that effect? Her figure? Her face? Her gaze? The knowledge that we are looking at Marilyn Monroe? That last factor, in particular, should probably not be underestimated: we are not seeing an unknown woman in an odd dress, but an icon whose impact has been announced to us long in advance. For me, though, that does not settle the matter. Women come to my studio who neither look like Marilyn nor possess her seemingly effortless presence in front of a camera. They want a classical nude, boudoir photographs, or an image that allows them to see themselves differently from the usual everyday snapshots. I can hardly make a successful Hollywood career a prerequisite for booking a session.
What We Call Presence
Some people walk into a room and command attention without visibly asking for it. Others are beautiful, impeccably dressed, and yet remain curiously unremarkable. I encounter a similar distinction in photographs: a face may correspond perfectly to my idea of beauty and still leave me cold. Another may contradict it and hold my gaze. “Presence,” we say. A useful word. It names, with remarkable assurance, something we subsequently find remarkably difficult to explain.
My search also led me to psychological research. The answer is less mysterious than the word aura might suggest: our effect on others depends not only on appearance, but also on how we look at people, move, carry ourselves and respond to them. Aspects of this can be named and studied. People can be asked to judge how commanding, attractive or approachable someone seems, and those judgements can be compared. What is being measured, however, is an impression under particular conditions, not a fixed quantity of personal magnetism. A reliable charisma indicator beside shutter speed and aperture is not on the horizon.
Two findings particularly interest me. Different photographs of the same person can create strikingly different impressions. And certain ways of making an impression can be learnt. The relevant training studies concern areas such as public speaking and leadership, not boudoir photography; we cannot turn them into a scientifically validated course in sensuality. But for my question, the initial insight is enough: presence is neither exclusively a matter of pleasing proportions nor an immutable gift bestowed at birth on some and withheld from others. This is where things become photographically interesting. Because whatever can change gives us something to work with.
That does not mean I want to declare every reserved woman another Marilyn. That would merely be the kinder version of the same lack of imagination. A quiet presence can be just as compelling as an overt play to the camera. A serious expression need not be repaired with a smile. At Artis Umbrae, I am also interested in reserve, resistance, and the kind of tension that does not readily resolve itself. An image is allowed to make demands on its viewer. It need not look as though the body has just passed a course in customer service.
A Pose Is Not Yet an Expression
There is now a convenient repertoire of gestures for almost every photographic intention. Hand in hair, back arched, lips parted, finger in mouth. We know the routine. A finger in the mouth, however, initially proves only that the anatomical requirements for the exercise have been met. Sensuality has yet to be established. Sometimes a photograph makes it perfectly clear that someone wishes to appear seductive, and equally clear that the seduction has not quite arrived. The vocabulary is there. The sentence refuses to come together.
The problem is not that a gesture is used deliberately. Good models and actresses naturally work with learnt means of expression. They need not actually be in love, in despair or filled with desire to convey those states convincingly. What matters is how the elements work together: does the gaze belong with the posture? Is the hand saying something, or has it merely been parked? Is the body holding tension while the face is already waiting for the next instruction? A single sign does not make an image. Nor does a collection of familiar poses amount to a photographic personality.
Of course there are differences in ability. Some models have a finely developed awareness of their bodies, turn small suggestions into useful variations, and can sustain an expression without freezing into it. Others are considerably less at ease in front of the camera. We are allowed to acknowledge this. Professionalism, after all, is not merely something one claims in a profile. But I do not expect that repertoire from a woman having her first photographic session. She is booking my work, not an audition. Nor does one weak photograph justify a lifelong verdict on her presence. It tells us, first of all, that this particular image does not work. A photographer may occasionally have had something to do with its creation, too.
What Can Be Learnt — and What I Must Contribute
In the studio, I therefore translate the grand question of presence into smaller, practical tasks. Can someone release her shoulders without losing her posture? Move a hand without immediately turning it into a performance? Change her gaze without contorting her face into a mask? Such possibilities can be explored, compared and practised. Becoming more familiar with how one appears in photographs gives one greater freedom. This does not mean everyone will become equally accomplished, or that an afternoon will remove every insecurity. It means we have more to work with than the fatalistic verdict: she either has it or she does not.
For that to happen, my directions need to be useful. “Be sexy” is about as helpful as “Cook something good.” The wish is understandable; the actual work has been elegantly passed on to someone else. A specific scenario can prompt more: someone wants to come closer, and you have not yet decided whether to let them. Or we work with movement: turning towards someone, pausing, looking back. Not every prompt suits every person. If a direction produces nothing but embarrassment, I must change it. Repeating a bad idea more loudly rarely improves it.
This also requires a setting in which no one has to play along with an idea that does not suit her. With nude and boudoir photography in particular, I want to know how a woman wishes to be portrayed and where her boundaries lie. Trust is not an extra prop to be placed beside the chair when required. It develops through working together: through clear agreements, attention, and the experience that saying no will ruin neither the atmosphere nor the session. None of this guarantees a strong photograph. But it gives us room to try something, rather than dutifully act out somebody else’s idea.
And then there is my responsibility as a photographer. I decide on light, viewpoint, framing and timing. I can reveal a gaze or lose it in the wrong shadow. I can give a hand meaning or leave it dangling in the frame like a forgotten tool. Sometimes the best photograph happens between two poses, when the effort briefly subsides. I have to notice. The camera is no divining rod for hidden sensuality. It still requires decisions, however expensive it was.
No Marilyn Required
These questions accompany both my personal projects and commissioned work, though the aims differ. In the classical nude, I am interested in form, posture and elegance. A difficult contortion is not, in itself, an achievement of the image; sometimes a slight turn says more. Boudoir brings in a personal understanding of sensuality. It may be playful, quiet, self-assured or almost incidental. Lingerie is welcome to assist. It does not do the expressive work, even if its price occasionally encourages other expectations. What interests me is which portrayal works for this particular woman — not how faithfully she can imitate another woman’s gestures.
With low-key bodyscapes, the question shifts again. When the face remains in shadow or outside the frame altogether, the body’s lines, its tension, the light and the composition interact differently. A shoulder can convey calm, a back resistance, a narrow contour of light can hold the eye. Not all of this is the woman’s personal presence; much of it emerges through the photographic treatment. That is precisely why I should be clear about what she contributes in front of the camera and what I make of her appearance. Otherwise I end up attributing my good photographs to her charisma and my bad ones to its regrettable absence.
A woman who comes to me for photographs need not arrive with the fully developed presence of a film star. What she brings and what she hopes for are our starting point. From there, we develop the image. Dear reader, you need not even resemble Marilyn. An unsuccessful copy would be a rather modest ambition for a photograph of you. The more interesting question is whether we can find an expression that does not hide you behind borrowed gestures — and that still holds its own once the decorative aids have done their bit.
Perhaps that is the most useful question Marilyn’s potato sack has left me with. Not: would every woman look like that in it? Of course not. But: what remains when I strip back the styling, and how do I make an image from it? Marilyn knew how to play with her appearance. Her photographers knew something about staging an image. The agricultural packaging played a remarkable supporting role. What the studio needs first is attention, an idea, and someone who is not merely parked in front of the camera. The sack can wait.
Research Notes
Editorial appendix — not part of the blog post. References are retained for follow-up questions; the essay itself contains neither researchers’ names nor citation numbers.
[1] April VeVea: Marilyn’s Potato Sack Dress, 3 January 2024. Historical account including reproductions of excerpts from the Los Angeles Mirror of 18 and 23 February 1952. View source
[2] Getty Images: Marilyn Monroe Portrait Session. Earl Theisen Collection, image 162873459; archive date: 1951. View source
[3] Friedman, H. S., Riggio, R. E. & Casella, D. F. (1988): Nonverbal Skill, Personal Charisma, and Initial Attraction. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 14(1), 203–211. View source
[4] Tskhay, K. O., Zhu, R., Zou, C. & Rule, N. O. (2018): Charisma in Everyday Life: Conceptualization and Validation of the General Charisma Inventory. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 114(1), 131–152. View source
[5] Todorov, A. & Porter, J. M. (2014): Misleading First Impressions: Different for Different Facial Images of the Same Person. Psychological Science, 25(7), 1404–1417. View source
[7] Antonakis, J., Fenley, M. & Liechti, S. (2011): Can Charisma Be Taught? Tests of Two Interventions. Academy of Management Learning & Education, 10(3), 374–396. View source
The studies concern first impressions, everyday charisma and trained presentation skills. Their application to studio practice is a photographic interpretation, not scientific evidence for the effectiveness of boudoir sessions.
Image-use note: public-domain status has not been reliably established for the potato-sack photographs. Usage rights for the specific image selected must be clarified before publication.