From the marble gods of antiquity to the chiaroscuro of contemporary fine art photography, the male nude has long served as a canvas for ideals—beauty, heroism, eroticism, even vulnerability. While fashions shift and aesthetics evolve, certain poses recur again and again across centuries, connecting ancient sculptors with modern photographers, and Renaissance artists with queer creators exploring body and identity. These poses are not random; they are visual codes, passed down like a secret language. Below are ten of the most iconic, from the classical to the contemporary.

Contrapposto — The Classical Stand

The contrapposto is perhaps the most recognizable pose in Western art. One leg bears weight while the other relaxes, creating a subtle S-curve in the spine and a naturalistic opposition of shoulders and hips. It suggests calm confidence, inner balance, and effortless beauty—a divine masculinity grounded in the human form. This pose remains a standard in fine art photography, particularly in black-and-white portraiture where tension and repose dance together in the frame.

The Heroic Nude

This pose stretches the body into exaggerated musculature—shoulders squared, stance wide, genitals often prominently displayed. In mythological sculptures and athletic statues, the heroic nude expressed power without armor, valor without shame. Modern echoes appear in Bruce Weber’s Calvin Klein ads or Tom of Finland’s hyper-masculine pinups, though with more erotic charge and often a wink of camp.

The Reclining Nude

Lying down, one arm behind the head, the other draped or trailing—the reclining male body exudes sensuality. Unlike the upright hero, the reclining nude invites the viewer in. It’s a pose of leisure, of trust, of soft exposure. In contemporary photography, it appears in the work of Robert Mapplethorpe and Herb Ritts, sometimes erotic, sometimes contemplative, but always intimate.

The Standing Frontal Nude

The fully frontal male nude remains one of the boldest artistic statements. It can convey power, but also deep vulnerability. With no turn of the hip or modest shadow, the body is presented in full—often rigid, symmetrical, and deliberately confronting the viewer. In photography, artists like George Platt Lynes and John Dugdale have used this pose to explore identity and embodiment with quiet boldness.

The Crouching Nude

Though more common with female nudes, the crouching pose has become a staple in expressive male photography—knees drawn up, torso folded inward, arms wrapped across chest or thighs. It signals protection, introspection, or erotic containment. Contemporary artists like Omar Z. Robles or Ren Hang have used this pose to convey psychological intimacy, even fragility.

The Twisted Torso

Tension defines this pose—one limb pulled back, the torso twisted, spine coiled like a spring. It’s dynamic and dramatic, revealing musculature in full stretch and flex. In photographs, this pose dramatizes motion and often captures the male body mid-action—whether in dance, sport, or erotic tension. Think of dancer-turned-models in chiaroscuro-lit poses by photographers like Rick Day or Clive Barker.

The Averted Gaze

This pose isn’t about the body so much as the gaze—or lack thereof. The male nude who looks away, whether shy, lost in thought, or caught in reverie, offers something emotionally elusive. In modern portraits, the averted gaze disarms the viewer: the nude isn’t performing for us, but existing despite us. It’s a favorite in modern queer portraiture, from artists like Duane Michals or Paul Freeman.

Arm Over Head — The Display of Strength and Vulnerability

An arm raised behind the head lengthens the body, stretching the torso and exposing the armpit—an often-erotic gesture in male imagery. Saint Sebastian, often portrayed in this pose, became a queer icon through his sensual vulnerability. Today, this pose appears in both fitness photography and erotic art, especially where strength and submission intertwine.

Memento Mori — The Nude and Mortality

This pose shows the male body entwined with symbols of death—a skull, a candle, a vacant stare. The man may be seated, leaning on one arm, lost in thought or grief. The erotic body meets existential dread. In contemporary queer art, this pose often reappears in AIDS-era photography—Peter Hujar and David Wojnarowicz come to mind—where the beauty of the body confronts its own impermanence.

The Mirror Pose

The male nude gazing at his reflection—either literally or metaphorically—carries a rich history of both vanity and self-awareness. In modern work, this pose has become a commentary on queer desire, identity, and self-recognition. Whether through mirrored images, doubled exposures, or paired models, the mirrored pose flirts with the erotic and the existential: Who do we see when we look at ourselves?

These poses, repeated across millennia, aren’t just about aesthetics—they’re about how we’ve viewed the male body and the roles it plays: protector, object of desire, thinker, vessel of strength or sorrow. And in queer art especially, these poses become subversive. They reclaim what was once coded and hidden, turning vulnerability into power and eroticism into expression.

Whether sculpted in marble, captured in monochrome, or filtered through a digital lens, the male nude continues to speak a visual language of longing, beauty, and identity. It’s a language many of us have learned to read—and some of us are still learning to write with our own bodies.

Some of you may know that my original academic passion—and the reason I first went to graduate school—was to study military history, with a particular focus on the First World War. Ever since I took my first undergraduate course on WWI, I’ve been captivated by the conflict: the way it reshaped nations, upended empires, and left cultural and emotional reverberations we still feel more than a century later. I’ve long been drawn to the poetry of the war, as well as the deeply human stories of the individuals and communities who lived through it.

That’s why, when I came across a set of nude photographs taken of New Zealand soldier Lieutenant Edgar Henry Garland, I was immediately intrigued. The images are striking—not just for their artistic composition, but for the questions they raise about masculinity, memory, and identity during wartime. This week’s art history post centers on three rare and intimate photographs of a single soldier. There may have been others like them, but this particular case remains one of the most compelling and well-known examples of its kind.

Uncovering the Man Behind the Uniform: Art, Intimacy, and Queer Visibility in a WWI Portrait

In the archives of New Zealand’s photographic history lies a haunting and striking series of images: nude portraits of Lieutenant Edgar Henry Garland, a World War I soldier, posed with classical grace and remarkable vulnerability. Captured by the studio of S. P. Andrew Ltd., these images raise fascinating questions about art, masculinity, and queer subtext in the early 20th century.

At first glance, Garland might seem like any young officer from the Great War—handsome, lithe, a product of Edwardian values and imperial loyalty. But his story is far more remarkable.

Born in 1895, Edgar Henry Garland served with distinction in the New Zealand Expeditionary Force during World War I. He fought on the Western Front and was captured by German forces, becoming a prisoner of war. What set Garland apart was not just his courage in combat, but his extraordinary persistence in trying to escape captivity. He attempted to escape seven times from various POW camps—an astonishing feat that earned him admiration both during and after the war. His repeated escapes were acts of daring and defiance that turned him into a kind of folk hero in New Zealand military lore. By war’s end, he was among the most celebrated escapees in New Zealand’s wartime record.

And yet, tucked away behind this legacy of bravery is a quieter, more intimate chapter—one not written in medals or official commendations, but in a series of photographs that strip away the uniform and expose the man beneath.

These nude images were taken by S. P. Andrew Ltd., one of the most respected portrait studios in New Zealand. Founded by Samuel Paul Andrew, the Wellington-based studio was renowned for its official portraits of governors-general, judges, and prime ministers. It specialized in formal, large-format images meant to convey dignity, authority, and professionalism. That such a prestigious studio would also produce a set of male nudes—posed with artistry and elegance—speaks volumes about the complexity of photographic culture at the time.

So why were these photographs taken?

At one level, they reflect the influence of classical artistic ideals. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the nude male form was seen—at least within certain artistic circles—as a symbol of strength, youth, and aesthetic perfection. Garland’s poses recall ancient Greek statuary, suggesting a deliberate invocation of heroism and beauty. For a young man who had survived war and captivity, these images may have served as a personal monument—an assertion of vitality, resilience, and self-possession.

But there are other possibilities too.

The photographs may have been taken as private keepsakes, either for Garland himself or for someone close to him. Garland never married, and little is known about his private relationships. The possibility that these images were intended for a romantic or intimate partner—perhaps even a male lover—has been raised by queer historians who see in the photographs a coded form of homoerotic expression. The tenderness of the poses, the elegance of the lighting, and the sheer vulnerability on display all hint at a relationship between photographer and subject that goes beyond documentation.

Indeed, these photographs function within a long tradition of discreet queer representation. In an era when homosexuality was criminalized and forbidden by military and civil law, photography could serve as a silent language of desire. Studios like S. P. Andrew—though publicly respectable—may have discreetly permitted or even participated in the creation of such images for trusted clients. This wasn’t pornography; it was art. But it was art with layers of subtext—subtext that speaks volumes to those willing to see it.

Whether these photographs were meant as aesthetic studies, personal mementos, or secret love letters, they offer a rare and poignant glimpse into the inner life of a man whose public legacy is defined by heroism. In these images, we see not just the soldier who escaped seven times, but the human being who posed—naked, unguarded, and beautiful—for reasons we may never fully know.

A Note on Queer Visibility in WWI Remembrance Culture

Photographs of nude soldiers—while rarely publicized—have existed across multiple conflicts, including World War I and World War II. Often taken in private or semi-artistic contexts, these images captured the male form not only as a symbol of strength and youth, but sometimes as an intimate keepsake, a personal act of vulnerability, or even a quiet expression of queer desire. Though such photographs were uncommon, they remind us that behind every uniform was a body, a story, and a complex humanity often left out of official histories.

Stories like Edgar Garland’s remind us how queer history often survives in the margins—in photographs, in letters, in quiet acts of defiance and longing. Mainstream remembrance of World War I tends to focus on duty, sacrifice, and masculine honor, but it rarely makes space for the hidden lives of queer soldiers. Yet they were there: loving, grieving, and serving alongside their comrades. For some, like Garland, a single photograph may be the closest we get to that truth.

As we commemorate the soldiers of the Great War, it is vital to recognize that their humanity was not confined to the battlefield. Some found intimacy in silence. Some left behind coded artifacts. And some, like Garland, posed for a camera and dared to be seen—fully, tenderly, and without shame.