Ten years ago, if you got around much in the clubs and artists' spaces of downtown Manhattan, you might have found yourself at one of Nan Goldin's slide shows. Tattooed loveboys, innocents abroad, women on the verge of a nervous breakdown--in her slides they drank and smoked and coupled, or just deployed themselves gravely across the staging grounds of East Village life. Goldin had been taking pictures of herself and her friends since the early 1970s, first around Boston, where she was a student at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, then in the lofts and hangouts of New...
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