Fused - Archive - Terry Richardson

Welcome to Terryworld, come on in.

He gets women to spread their legs, suck him and surrender themselves to his imagination. So what is it that Terry Richardson has in that bulging trouser leg? It's a camera, no less.

The accolade of enfant terrible of the photography world wouldn't hang well with him, although countless times does this get thrown into the debate. Admired by many and vilified by as many again, his forte is the graphic portrayal of women and men in sexually suggestive and erotic poses.   Welcome to Terryworld, where images are as provocative as they are beautiful.

Terry Richardson started life with a ticket to ride; growing up in affluence in New York, his pop was the photographer Bob Richardson and his Mum, Norma, was a dancer. Things were good until Bob had an affair with 17 year old Anjelica Houston.   Norma took Terry to Woodstock, changed her name to Annie (apparently this suited her better) and hippiedom set in. On to Hollywood, via London, and then to Los Angeles, where a damaging car accident changed the fortunes of Annie and the family. Aged 18, Terry got into the punk scene and started taking heroin. Stints in bands followed (the name of one, SSA, affectionately immortalised in a tattoo above his left nipple). Drugs were not cheap, so Richardson started assisting photographers and, attracted by the money-rich, women-rich lifestyle, he swapped shooting up for shooting images.

Richardson got back in touch with Bob and was taught the fine art of photography, making the duo a successful force indeed. After a breakaway moment, Terry got his own commissions and the rest, as they say, is explicit history.

Mixing trailer trash with Tinseltown, Richardson's stream of images depict the lustiness of desire and exhibitionism. The overt sexuality juxtaposed with the innocence of the point and flash (yes, none of these big lense contraptions) means the resulting shots retain a unique style of raw honesty and inhibition. Not wanting to ask his loyal subjects to do something he wouldn't do himself, his shoots often involve him getting naked and often getting involved; with the belief and subsequent proof that this breeds a come-as-you-are ethic, this mutton chopped superstar makes magic.

Having done fashion pieces for French Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, i-D, The Face and Another Magazine, he is at the helm of his field capturing collections for Katherine Hamnett, Gucci and a very-memorable contribution for Sisley. He's just as comfortable and enthusiastic clicking Kate Moss, Catherine Deneuve and Samuel L Jackson as he is pushing his personality and penis into pics of topless bombshells and spandex-clad assistants.

His images are both mainstream and voyeuristic, with the aesthetic feel coming from the willingness to show all, in character and/or bodily. This is not to say that nudity defines his work. Indeed, commercial constraints mean that often the suggestion of desire is more potent than overt and confrontational in-yer-face visions. Richardson's mini-retrospective coffee table book, Terryworld, has a merry mix of the famous, the refreshing and the outright outrageous. The energy and sex-appeal captured resets the traditional ideologies of the body - a grinning, naked and slightly scrawny Richardson seems right at home alongside pumped-up breasts and bottle blonde's bottoms.

Pornography, art or blatant self-obsession, call it what you will. Whichever way you look at it, you've got to admire his balls.

Terry World is out now by Taschen.

Gemma Pearson