Tuesday, November 25, 2014
I've been feeling a deep affinity with Egon Schiele lately, an early twentieth century Viennese artist. His world was not the glittering & decadent world usually depicted by his contemporaries- but rather instead a grubby, base & seedy world. Schiele's erotic art is not as sensuous as that produced by his mentor, Gustav Klimt, nor is it as erotic. As with all Schiele's work, his erotic figures are twisted and distorted. His pictures convey the idea of sexual experimentation, often tinged with disappointment or regret. His work is not easily defined by any single artistic movement. He was a unique talent who created a truly unusual style, decades ahead of its time.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
We live in sucession, in division, in part, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty; to which every part and particle is equally related; the eternal ONE. And this deep power in which we exist, and whose whole beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Friday, October 31, 2014
Sunday, October 19, 2014
I've always tried to maintain a strong lock onto the eyes. Normally, there is a natural rhythm of looking at people and looking away. When it feels right, we can hold our gaze a little longer, relishing a simple moment of human connection. We are naturally drawn into images by eye contact. There is nothing like that feeling of a tie bound by an invisible thread, as in sharing a unique moment with them. It’s very hard to articulate and explain in words that feeling that connects you to a subject, either in the viewfinder or on the printed page. When that connection is there, its obvious – and doesn’t need words to explain it, we feel it.
Monday, October 13, 2014
One of my all time favorite photo books (and biggest guilty pleasure) is Revenge by Ellen Von Unwerth. It's a little (6 x 8 inches) limited edition book, bound in black linen. I don't like to judge books by their cover- but just looking at this cover, you know that it's going to be a treat inside. While there is a general narrative arc (taken as "excerpts" from the diaries of the nubile young heroines), Von Unwerth primarily uses stylized black and white photography (think Helmut Newton meets Man Ray) to tell the story of how the Baroness "disciplines" her newly orphaned nieces. It is not a very original story, but Revenge is really not about the story. What little narrative there is, is executed with a tongue-in-cheek panache that sets the winkingly saucy tone of the book. And the eroticism in Revenge really does have panache. The models are gorgeous, the clothes (when there are clothes) are gorgeous, the set (a glorious mansion and its extensive grounds) is gorgeous - all in the style of the lovely pornography of early 20th century France and Italy. The sado-masochistic elements tend less towards real pain and suffering and more towards the discomforts of dominance and submission in a campy, Paris Vogue sort of way. You can't help but laugh, but you also can't put it down - it's just too damn pretty. Though I find the pleasure of reading Revenge to be more aesthetic than erotic, I certainly can't deny that it's definitely pleasure all the same. Revenge is a sexy little volume, all the more so because it doesn't take it so too terribly seriously. If a book could wink, this one would.
Friday, October 10, 2014
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
This is from a series that remind me of old-timey boardwalk photographs- except that they more resemble actual vintage images, rather than being campy or hokey. I find it interesting there is such a fine line between being genuine versus stereotypical, and I like trying to walk that tight rope...
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
For anyone remotely interested in Henry Miller but have been put off by the intense tangent-rambling in the Tropic books, I would suggest picking up a lesser-known edition- Quiet Days at Clichy. Miller, in his masterful way, gives us an account of Paris like it once was. Far from the visual clichés of a saccharine city as portrayed in fairy tales like "Amelie", "Quiet Days at Clichy mingles the picturesque with the down-and-out for a portrait that would have pleased Emile Zola. Whores and cafes, breakfasts of Roquefort and white wine, poetry and squalid prose, Miller dissects Paris in the brilliant way Roman Payne writes about Paris in the novel Crepuscule, the way Zola writes in Therese Raquin... presenting a city that is a filthy beast deserving not less than all our love and praise. It's straightforward, hilarious- and at times shocking, but undoubtedly it will continue to be an inspiration to those who long to live life to the fullest. I've been a big Henry Miller fan since I was a teenager, but his infamous and banned books (the Cancer and Capricorn ones) are not my favorites. I far prefer this one, along with The Colossus of Maroussi and Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch. Quiet Days in Clichy is a memoir, a nostalgic love story of life in Paris before WW II, a celebration of the Bohemian life Miller lived when he was a poor unknown writer. It's wonderful, rollicking, hysterical, and introduces fans to a whole cast of characters who became Miller's lifelong friends, people who influenced his writing and his art forever.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
I shot this in a cold, dirty, and actually very unexceptional basement space. Yet it doesn't look much different than my usual "spiffy" studio shoots. I've always said, since I starting photographing twenty years ago, that I could probably shoot anywhere and make it look striking. I tend to get very close in on people, so the only thing that matters are a couple of small details of the background- fancy settings tend to go to waste.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Granny panties are awesome. Personally, I can't understand why anyone might think that they are "uncool" or "not sexy", or "ew". Frankly, I think that thongs look stupid and cheesy- why would someone wear a rope up their butt? It doesn't serve a purpose; you might as well wear nothing...