Wisdom from Z

Z wrote a comment on yesterday's blog. Here is an important part of what he wrote.

"Encouragement is rare because, I think, most people don't want to share any responsibility for you fucking your life up. I say make your art whatever it takes. The rest will take care of itself because it has to. You'll only inflict on yourself the pain you can bear."

I really appreciate your comment. This part is especially true. My parents grew up in the depression and my dad became a civil engineer and my mom became a nurse. Two very stable jobs that provided our family a good middle class life. The stability is crucial to them.

When I was in high school, I told them I wanted to be a musician. I remember them frowning and saying, "Don't make a hobby a career. You don't want your passion for it to be dependent on money. It will ruin it for you."

My parents believe that dreams are meant to be pursued in your off time. Work is for making money. I understand their view since they had been poor and didn't want me to struggle. So they wanted me to play it safe and reach for mediocrity.

I am tired of being half-assed at what I am doing. It is time to be something, even if it fails. Now I have to figure out the next steps.

Thanks Z(Check out his blog Any Fucking Day.)

Getting Torn in Two

DESPAIR.COM

I read Z's blog yesterday. He wrote about feeling like a fraud. That about sums up my feelings. I feel like I am living a "half-assed" life. I am in a good job that does important things, but I have almost no passion for it. I am middle-aged and feel like I have not achieved anything of importance.

I've been fortunate to have had an easy life. I make good money, have a reasonable mortgage, and could get by for a little while if I didn't work. I've gone to college a few times and have the degrees on the wall to show I attended.

I've also have a really screwed up marriage (both of our fault) that some stupid part of my brain or other body part wants to destroy by doing stupid things. I get enthused about something, then rarely finish it. You should see how many project piles exist in my home and in my life.

I have a lot of friends turning 40 this year. One is getting into marathons. One drank her birthday weekend away. Another refuses to talk about it. I know 40 is not old. I look at what Z and his wife are doing as well as Unbearable Lightness and am amazed at how they are younger in soul and spirit than me. While 40 is not "old", it is no longer "young" either.

Yeah, I know. Another balding guy (I prefer the term "too tall for my hair")with a mid-life crisis. You probably wonder:

• Will he get the Corvette to be young and fast? Yeah, I want one, but I know the exhiliration of speed would fade and I would want a faster, more expensive toy to fill a void.
• Will he have an affair? I've cheated, but affairs are too personal. I am fighting not to get in one now. My spouse had a deep love affair that I am not sure is over. My marriage and sex life is screwed up enough trying to figure out if Iam too old for some of the things I desire and should accept it.
• Will he get into drugs/alcohol? Not my style. I have tried and like some of those things, but one glass of wine will do 99% of the time.
• Will he find faith? Tried that when I was 31. I've failed that one pretty bad and don't feel I deserve (or maybe even desire) grace, forgiveness, compassion, and the strength of a higher being.
• Will he get into trying to recapture his youthful athletic prowess? WTF? I didn't have much of that back then. I was in good shape and was in sports, but I was not the star of any sport.
• Will he try to express his mid-life anguish through art, as cliche it could be? Maybe that is what I am doing with my photography and my blog. Are they last desperate calls for trying to hip, cool, and important?
• Will he stop whining and STFU (shut the fuck up)? I rarely, if ever discuss this with people through talking. If you talk to me in person, I will keep this stuff bottle up in me until I die. If you are reading this and you want me to STFU... hit the "Next Blog" at the top of the screen.

Ok, I've spent this whole post bitching. I am rarely a complainer, but sometimes it just is crushing. My existential angst of my meaningless existence. I feel this crushing despair, then I see people suffering from war, poverty, repression, and other horrible situations and I look around and see I have it alright. That makes me feel even more worthless. I don't have a reason to bitch except that it gives me a negative outlet.

Painting With Light

I am going to experiment with this over the next month, although I will change the approach. I am going to point the flashlight beam away from the camera to "paint" the surface of the subject. Eventually, I want to try this with a model after practicing on things around the house, after dark.

In other news, I am starting to get an itch to make a life change. I am still trying to define it, but I need to do it now. Sorry for the cryptic nature of this, but until I get my head sorted out a little bit, I don't want to say too much.

Have a great day.

The Pleasures of Simple Moments

Simple pleasures, yes.
They surround and consume me
taste, touch, all senses

A warm evening out
outdoor cafe, the sun sinks
Sangria, warm breeze

You in my arms
Your legs around me, pulling me in
you deep.. we sigh

Dark, early morning
waking, feeling you so close
The silence so lush

Soft curve of your back
my fingers trace each smooth line
your hips, thighs and up

The shadows move up
your sleeping beauty, bathing
you in dark light

Geese flying on an
autumn evening, pointing south
together in travel

Deep dark chocolate
melting, mixing, with red wine
on your warm tongue.

Alone, together -
doesn't matter. They are all
sweet treasured beauty.

What are those simple moments that help make your life beautiful?

Got Hair?

In continuation to my "What The Fuck" post yesterday, I am dedicating today's post to women who choose/chose to keep their hair. Somebody wrote a rude comment about a model I photographed that did not shave her armpits or pubic hair. Here are some more photos I am sure commentor will not like, but I find are beautiful.

Unbearable Lightness mentioned a very famous photo of Tina Modotti in her comment. Heer is Tina photographed by Edward Weston. Tina was also a great photographer as well as writer, model, actress, activist and role model. She was also very beautiful.

Tina Modotti
Edward Weston

Edward Weston took a number of photos of his wife Charis. This very famous photo has some interesting history because her pubic hair. After the photo below was released, Edward and sons Cole and Brett were nervous about sending prints due to laws concerning obscenity sent through the mail. They took out a magnifying glass and had to see if any pubic hair was showing and if so how much due to the laws. If you look closely, she also has hair on her legs. I am glad Weston captured her beauty in this photo.

Nude, 1936
Edward Weston

So, I tip my hat to everyone who controls their bodies and how they choose to celebrate their beauty. If you are happy shaved, hairy (armpits, pubic, head, anywhere), tattooed, pierced, or any other form of free choice, I support you... and I would really like to photograph you to show how uniquely beautiful YOU are, not what the popular culture thinks is beautiful. Here is a blog entry about the resurgence of pubic hair due to the economic downturn. http://www.radicalleft.net/blog/_archives/2008/12/14/4017691.html

What the Fuck????

Katie 2 Au Natural

By SB

I just got a comment on my post about Katie. Some anonymous cowardly hack wrote:

"She needs to get a razor. Yuck!"

I almost didn't publish it because of how disrespectful it was to Katie. I decided to publish it because this type of ignorance / stupidity / ... grrr. I am running out of adjectives I am so mad. I understand if you have a critique about my photo, (too dark, too light, lousy composition, wrong model for the setting, bad exposure, wrong media, etc.) but what the fuck are you getting at?

Is your view of beauty only limited to women of Maxim and Playboy that do not have an extra hair anywhere and where they have hair, it is in the absolute perfect place?? While I appreciate those types of photos, they are not the only types of beauty in this world. You are missing out on seeing so many beautiful people if you feel this is the only type of beauty.

I think the trend for women to be completely shaven is one of choice. While it is the current trend, I find great beauty in shaven women as well as "natural" women. When did we get so narrow minded?? I am so pissed right now. I am going to go for a walk after posting this.

Are You a Superman or a Batman?

Ok, first of all, let's take gender out of the super hero name. My question has nothing to do with it. My question concerns how you view the world.

I just watched Kill Bill 2 again. If you have not seen either Kill Bill 1 or 2, here is a brief summary. Uma Thurman's character, Beatrix Kiddo, is a highly-trained mercenary assassin that works for Bill (David Carradine). Beatrix tries to secretly leave the assassin business after she finds out she is pregnant with Bill's baby. Bill and his assassins find her 9 months pregnant at her wedding rehearsal and guns her and the entire wedding party down. She survives and seeks revenge.

Now, how does that have any bearing on my question, are you a Superman or a Batman? Watch this clip and then let us discuss. One note, just before this clip, Bill has shot Beatrix with a truth-serum dart. You will understand while you watch it.

I find Bill's understanding of how Superman views humanity as a very interesting concept. Bruce Wayne is Bruce Wayne, but he becomes Batman as a super hero. Superman is Superman, but he becomes Clark Kent to fit into humanity.

Whenever I watch this scene, I can see myself as Superman then think about it and I am Batman then back to Superman. Who am I? I often wonder if I become something I am not just to blend in. I become the nice quiet "good" guy that helps others, does his job well (enough).

When I get a camera in my hand, a blog on my computer, or get into the right group of people or very special person, I am not as much of a "good" guy. I don't hurt people, but I can be very selfish, demanding, and wanting. On the other hand, am I the nice quiet guy, but I become the other side of me (kind like the Hulk)? Which one is truly me because they are very different lives?

Remember when albums and cassettes had a Side "B"? It was the music you did not hear because the popular songs were on the other side. Some feel that this music was garbage used to fill up the album. These songs were usually darker and rarely appreciated for their unique music and stories the musician was telling. I feel this music was better since the musician was not trying to make a "hit" out of every song. They wrote and sang what their mind, soul, and spirit wanted to express. We all have a side "b". For me it is the dark side. It is not an evil side, just not as naive or innocent as I am most of the time. (It could also be a mid-life crisis coming on?!) My Side "B" is the part of me that not many people get to see. It would shock some, scare others, make some laugh, and seduce a few. This side has lots to offer to art, yet would not go well with my Side "A" life and art. After thinking about who I am, I created the SB nickname I use here. SB stands for Side B.

So am I Side A (Batman) or Side B (Superman/SB)? Maybe I am both. I have no idea.

In an earlier post, I wrote about the disguises my wife and I wore (and probably still wear). To quote a section of Bruce Springsteen's song Brilliant Disguise,
"I'll play the faithful man
But just don't look too close
into the palm of my hand...
... So when you look at me
you better look hard and look twice
Is that me baby
or just a brilliant disguise"

What do you do to fit in with humanity? Are you something else, but due to what society and culture demands, you put on a disguise that is not you? Are you a Superman?

On the other hand, are you a Batman? Are you yourself, but at times put on a disguise to be something beyond what you are that allows you to do things you can not do otherwise? What are those things that it allows you to do?

As Unbearable Lightness wrote in a comment to my earlier post:
It's true, we all wear disguises, and not always the same one every day. Maybe it's a necessary thing.

Working With Katie - A Cold Day... for California

Lines to Her Heart

Katie

I found Katie’s ad on Craigslist. It read, “Eager nude model. I am an experienced model specializing in artistic nude and fetish modeling. I am a 20 yr old starving college student at Cal. I love modeling and you love taking photos. Lets meet. Email - .......”

There was something about her direct ad that intrigued me. I wrote to Katie and sent a few of my photos from my portfolio that showed what I was looking for in a photo shoot. I listed some possible dates and the location of a studio I was going rent for a day.

In an hour I had a response back. It had links to a couple of photographers’ sites featuring her, and some questions. I looked at her work and was wondering about her short ad. Her photos were amazing (I give great credit to the photographers too) and she obviously either had lots of experience, was directed very well, had an innate ability to model or all three. Her questions asked for more details about my ideas for the shoot and what I wanted. After seeing her photos, I changed my mind about what I wanted.

Katie has beautiful creamy Irish skin and light blonde/red hair. I knew I wanted to experiment with contrast since her skin is so light. I wrote to her that I would be using dark backgrounds with her well lit by angular lights, creating harsh shadows. She was wrote back and said she was all for it. She also wrote, “ I have a natural look.. I don’t shave down there or my armpits.” Since I had seen that in her other photos, I knew it and looked forward to working with someone with a unique look.

The night before we were to meet, she called me and wanted to meet at a coffee shop, plan out the shoot, and then head to the studio. I think she also wanted to see if I was a psycho. I got my camera gear ready to go.

On Saturday morning, I woke up to a sunny November day. The light was angular and beautiful. On the way to Berkeley to meet Katie at Jump’n Java Coffee House, my cell phone rang. I listened to the other person for a minute, swore, apologized, they apologized, and then said “goodbye.” The studio manager had called to cancel because he had double-booked the studio and even though I had booked it first, the other photographer was already there and was going to use it all day compared to my two hours. “Fuck.” was my response. I told him I was heading to meet the model and this was rude to her and me. I also told him I would have to pay her something since she held up her end. He offered me to use the studio in a month for half cost as an apology. I thought about it and decided to accept it. By this time I was trying to find parking on the street by the coffee shop..

I pulled up to the coffee shop and walked in with my notebook, portfolio, and a sad face. A few minutes later a beautiful blonde sped by in her car, found a parking spot and came rushing over. She was only a minute late, yet apologized. We went in and got some hot beverages. As we sat down, I finally was calm enough to tell her about the studio. I told her I would pay her for an hour and would want to book with her again.

Katie was silent for almost a minute. She smiled and looked me in the eyes and said, “Graveyard or nature.” I looked puzzled at her. “I’ve worked at two places near here, an old graveyard and a natural, secluded park.”

I didn’t want to work in a graveyard on a sunny day, so I decided on the park. I looked at the sun. It was 11am and the sun was directly overhead. I looked at her and really wanted to photograph because there was something so alluring about her and I wanted her then (in both an artistic sense and a carnal way, but I kept my to my ethics.)

She said, “Follow me.” We got in our cars and I kept up. We drove up to the hills outside of Berkeley and she pulled off onto the side of the road in the middle of no where. She helped me with my camera, tripod, and other gear. I left my Hasselblad and big gear in favor of my Nikon and all of my Ilford 125 and 100 since it was so bright.

We walked up a trail that had grown over with grass and were about 40 yards in when she said, “We’re here.” I looked around. We were just a minute from the road yet so secluded. I realized how cold it was and asked, “It is only 50 degrees out. Are you sure?” She looked at me and started undressing. I was really aroused both artistically and sexually. I come from a cold place (Montana), so it is a part of my core-being. I later learned she was from Minnesota and knew what cold was as well. We both liked it.

We would shoot a roll of 36, then she would put on her sweats to warm up or go lay in the sun. Hell, I was cold, but she truly stepped-up and worked hard. We worked under the shade trees, in the direct overhead sun, and in dappled settings. Her body was so sensual laying along the logs, stretched out. Sometimes I would just stare for a minute, then get back to shooting. I needed that time to truly soak in her beauty and figure out how to capture it better.

For her part, Katie listened to my ideas and helped me evolve them into something better than either of us had thought of. I was amazed with our synergy to create things. It is a rare gift to click with a model and feel like "one" artist trying to create beauty.

Our photos were very artistic, yet erotic. After an hour, I had to get more film from my car. Katie sat on a log and laid back, watching me walk away. As I walked back a few minutes, her eyes were closed and she was slowly massaging her breasts. I think she was doing more than trying to keep warm. She heard me, stopped for a few seconds and then slowly continued doing it.

We shot another couple of rolls with me trying to keep my mind on art, not on my desires. After about an hour and forty-five minutes, I was about worn out and she was too. I watched her get dressed as I packed up my gear. It is so sexy to watch a woman dress, whether we had just made love, or she was getting ready to start her day, or she is a model at the end of the shoot.

We walked to the car. I gave her an envelope with the cash for the two hours, plus a little extra for finding a great location. I also gave her my card. She took them and smiled, gave me a big hug, and I felt the body I had just seen naked for almost two hours.

I rushed home, took a hot shower and relived the experience how my id had wanted it to go. Later that evening, with a glass of red wine, I went into the darkroom to develop film. I was very pleased with the shots.

I never got to work with her again. Katie transferred to UCLA the next semester. I sent her some prints and she liked what we had created. I am very thankful for the time we shared. I still get excited, aroused, and filled with ideas for photo shoots when I look at our contact sheets and prints. I think Katie was as close to a muse as I have ever had.

Happy Valentines Day and Lessons From an Entrepreneur

Happy Valentines Day. I love this day, when I have someone to be with and share it. When I don't, it can be a bit depressing. To get over the depression, I usually rent a guy movie, like Die Hard (which I don't literally want to do), or Iron Man (another reference to something hard) or ... gee, every movie I can think of has a double entendre as something either phallic or sexual. I guess it is normal to think about sex on Valentines day.

A few years ago, I opened a business with two friends who had not met each other before we started the business, but I had been friends with both individually for years, James and Melody. We opened a high end health/beauty spa and art gallery. It may seem weird to combine the two, but it worked. While the clients waited for their beauty spa treatment, they could luxuriate in a beautiful art gallery representing local artists. Once every month or two we would host an exhibit opening, auction, or some other little art soiree. I was in charge of the gallery, Melody had the spa, and Jim had the accounting and advertising.

I learned a few important things from that venture.

1. Don't go into business with two middle-aged single people that are going to get together, break up, get back together, break up really badly, then repeat again, while trying to run a business.
2. Don't go into business unless you have a deep passion for the heart of it. I love art, I love creating it, I love artists, I love making love to artists, but artists (including myself) can be the biggest pains in the ass to work with in commercial endeavors. Some have no business sense. Some have to control every atom inside the gallery. Others show up to their exhibit opening stoned, drunk, un-showered, or just out of a fist fight. You have to love the business and be willing to pour all of yourself into it, or as I very crudely call it, "going balls deep." I lost that level of passion after a few years.
   
3. The importance of Valentines Day. After Christmas, the business really slows down. We wanted to have an event and promotion for Valentines Day. It went well. The reason it did was that Melody, James, and I sat down over coffee and she told us why it is important. "Valentines Day is the only holiday meant for women. Men can enjoy it, but it is the day where women get loved, spoiled, made-love with, and treated with the romantic eros she deserves and deeply desires." After I heard that, I wondered why we gave all those stupid valentines at school. I understood what she was saying though and agree with it.
   

So, to all the lovely ladies (and romantics at heart) who read this, Happy Valentines Day. I love you all, wish I could love you more, and hope your special day gives you a smile, a laugh, a flush of sensuality, a sigh, a moan, and all the other special feelings of eros. If it doesn't, you can join me in watching Top Gun.

SB

PS- I sold my part of the business in 2007 and broke even. I am happy I did it, sold it when I did, and moved on.

Icky Feeling Gone... and a photo

Leila

I took the advice of others and got out. I ran. Then I helped a neighbor figure out her computer problems (not enough free space on her hard drive). I then cleaned my office, cleaned my camera gear, took a nap, and finally played in Adobe Light Room with an old photo of Leila. I am experimenting with light room and like it so far.

Maybe my icky feeling was telling me to do something with my day. Maybe I still need to be alert, or maybe I should just kick and watch some mindless TV.

So this was kind of a pointless entry, but it is an excuse to show you my work on an old photo of Leila.

SB

He remembered. Nostalgia is a dangerous thing.

He took it from her and flipped through it. "Man," he said, "I haven't seen a copy of this in a long time."
He remembered. Nostalgia is a dangerous thing.
--- Ten Little Indians by Sherman Alexie


Last month I was rummaging through some old stuff in my garage and I found some kept-things from high school. In an old envelope I found something that knocked me on my ass. It was Laura's obituary.

In the fall of 1984, I was a sophomore in high school. I was shy, tall, and awkward. On the first day of school, I walked into my third period biology class and sat by a beautiful girl. On that morning, my crush for Laura sprouted.

She had long, dark blond hair with loose curls in it which framed her young beautiful face. I felt so bashful. Laura was the first to say "hi." I stammered out, "Hi." back. We then listened to the teacher start telling us about the class, grading, and other classroom items. I only caught half of what he was saying. Our lab table sat perpendicular to the teacher, so I had to look past Laura to see him. I could not help but look at her.

Over the semester we sat by each other every day for one hour. My teacher never changed the seating arrangement and I was thankful for that. One of my favorite memories was dissecting an earthworm with her. Dissections did not phase her. We joked during it, especially when I mangled the worm with my first attempt using the scalpel.

Laura was the quiet smart type. I was amazed by her dedication to school. She took all her books home every night to study. She helped me with my algebra homework if I got stuck. I loved reading her beautiful writing. Her penmanship was perfect, like reading music manuscript. Her writing style was flowing. I always have had an attraction for smart women starting with Laura. They are so attractive.

After class, we would head to lunch. On a few occasions we would sit together and talk. One day, my heart sank during a lunch chat. She mentioned that she and her boyfriend from another high school had gone to see a movie over the weekend. I could feel my crush turn into pulp. I guess I had to settle for the oh-so-familiar "being friends."

Over time it did become a friendship. I remember before we left for Christmas break, Laura gave me a candy cane with a simple note (which I still have) saying,
"K.,
Thanks.
Love,
Laura."

I smiled and told her, "Thanks." I was confused, but I was also 15, so confusion ran my life.

School started again on January 2nd, 1985. I sat by Laura at lunch and she was kind of quiet, but we had light chit-chat about Christmas break. After school, I was walking to my truck and I saw her walking out to the icy parking lot to her car. She wasn't carrying anything. I said hey and smiled and continued on to my truck. I don't remember what her response was.

The next day I went into biology and noticed her chair empty. After taking roll, the teacher said, "If any you have seen Laura since lunch yesterday, please go see the dean." I was worried and told the teacher I had to go.

I walked into the dean's office. Mrs. B was a middle-aged woman who cared about the students, yet could be very strict when times warranted it. She asked, "May I help you?"

"I saw Laura Steffanich at lunch and going to her car." I stammered out. I was so nervous because I knew something was wrong.

"Who sent you down?" she asked.

"Mr. K. I sit by Laura in class" I stuttered again.

From this point I remember every microsecond. I remember the angular winter sunlight pouring into her office and bathing her desk. The air in the office was dead still. I could smell the old must from the seventy year old building. I remember she touched my arm and directed me to a seat and shut the door.

Mrs B quietly sighed and looked down at her feet and then said with a soft voice, speaking slowly and enunciating each syllable, ."Laura killed herself yesterday. She jumped off the rims. They just found her body." I almost threw up. Other than my grandfather (who I had met once, when I was four ), I had never been so close to the death of someone I cared for. In fact Laura was the first person of my age that I knew who died.

"Was Laura acting funny at all?" she asked in a concerned voice. I was silent for an eternity.

"Are you ok?" she asked, resting her hand on my shoulder.

"Um... she didn't have her books after school." That was all I could think of.

After explaining why I said that, Mrs B. asked me to tell Mr. K. I walked the the long hall, up two flights of stairs in a deep haze. My mind could not think. I was in shock. The hallways stretched and dimmed into greyness. I shivered the whole walk, rubbing my arms unconsciously. I walked into the class and they were working on a lab exercise.

The class saw me enter and I must have looked like death myself. They were silent. Mr. K walked over and before he could ask, I stammered out, "She's dead. She killed her.." I could not finish the sentence. Those sitting in the front of the class heard me. A few gasped, a few screamed, and some started crying. All I can remember after that moment was Mr. K made a quick call to the counseling center and he and the counselor talked to us for the remainder of class.

After class, I went to Mr. K and tried to talk to him. He was rummaging through his papers and dug out Laura's last lab report she had written the day before. It looked like chicken scratch. The sentences were short, or just single words. It was not like her. I guess Laura already knew that it did not matter.

After school that day, I drove home taking the road through and over the rims. The rims are yellow sandstone cliffs overlooking the city. At one point, I saw where she had walked off her life. I could tell she died below there. The police tape was up and there was still a county sheriff's Ford Bronco parked by it. I was finally able to cry at that moment.

The next day I walked into class. The tables were in a completely different order and I was sitting by somebody else. That was the beginning of the fading of Laura.

Laura was the first student to kill herself that year. Two more followed within four months. By the time I graduated, another three classmates joined her.

Before writing this blog entry, I typed Laura's name into Google. The very first entry was this listing of Montana deaths in the 1980s. It was the only place her name came up. If you scroll down, you will find her. It says:

This is about all that remains of her for the world. One line in a genealogy website listing her date of death, and code numbers for her county and case file. I still remember her face and her sweetness. Sadly, even many of my memories of her have faded away.

It has been twenty-four years since that cold sunny day. When I saw the faded newspaper obituary for her last month, I felt that same feeling I had walking back to class. I didn't understand it back then and still don't. I thought people were supposed to die for a reason, a cause, a lesson... something with meaning. I guess some of us just die.

Hey Pretty

Life has its many little coincidental moments. Last year, I was visiting a friend in Los Angeles. One warm winter evening, I was driving around Mulholland Drive and the song, Hey Pretty (Drive-by Mix 2001) by Poe started playing on my IPOD through the random shuffle. I pulled over at the next scenic view point, started the song over and let the words settle in me.

I am not sure of the legend or history of the song, but from what I've learned it is performed by Poe and her brother Mark. Mark wrote the poem/story and reads it in the song and Poe does the singing.

This song is so sexual and powerful for me. Listening to it lets me remember sensual parts of my life yet starts an itch in my thoughts, my body, all of me to do it again.

For some reason, these lines haunt me and distills these sexual moments to its barest essence.

We never even kissed, or looked into each other's eyes, our lips just
Trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears,
Filled them with the private music of wicked words
Hers in many languages, mine in the off-color of my only tongue,
Too bad dark languages rarely survive..."

Here are the full lyrics.

Hey Pretty(Drive-by 2001 Mix)
by Poe

Mark:
Kyrie suggested we go for a drive in her new 2-door BMW coupe
In the parking lot, we slipped into her bucket seats
Kyrie took over from there.
At nearly 90 miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge
Known to some as Mullholland, that sinuous road running the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains
Where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of turns
Sometimes dropping down to 50 miles per hour, only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again
Fast, slow, fast fast slow
Sometime a wide turn sometimes a quick one she preferred the tighter ones
The sharp controlled jerks, swinging left to right before driving back to the right
Only so she could do it all over again until after enough speed, and
enough wind, and more distance than I had been prepared to expect
Taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of and never visit...

Poe:
Hey pretty
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
Through my world

Hey pretty
Don't you wanna kick and slide
Through my world

Mark:
I can't remember the inane things I started babbling about then, I know it didn't really matter, she wasn't listening
She just yanked up on the emergency brake, dropped her seat back, and told me to lie on top of her
On top of those leather pants of hers, extremely expensive leather pants
mind you, her hands immediately guiding mine over those soft, slightly oily folds
Positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tab, small and round, like a tear
Then murmuring a murmur so inaudible that even though I could feel her
lips tremble against my ear, she seemed far, far away
Pinch it, she said, which I did, lightly, until she also said pull it,
which I also did, gently parting the teeth, one at a time, down under
and beneath, the longest unzipping of my life...

Poe:
Hey pretty
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
Through my world

Hey pretty
Don't you wanna kick and slide
Through my world

Hey pretty
My pretty baby
Rock it through my world (through my world)

Hey pretty (Hey pretty)
My pretty baby
Rock it through my world (my world)

Mark:
We never even kissed, or looked into each other's eyes, our lips just
Trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears,
Filled them with the private music of wicked words
Hers in many languages, mine in the off-color of my only tongue,
Too bad dark languages rarely survive..."


Sadly, the video does not capture the spirit of the song. It also leaves out Mark's whole last part of the song ending with "Too bad dark languages rarely survive..." At least you will get a flavor of the song.

We Create the Sex Music (with my photo)

There
Photo by SB - Model Leila Swan

We create the sex music
each performance a little
different from the previous

It always starts soft
an exhale then a soft, "mmmm"
I wait for the next

The sound of my hand
slowly running down your skin
almost without sound

You hear my breathing
as I kiss, nip, and lick all of you
I hear a sensual sigh

My lips, my hands, all
move in rhythm to your sighs
a cue to your pleasure

My fingers move down
the sex sound of your wetness
as I push deep in

You moan, louder, full
I feel your moan fill me deep
I want you, your moan

Lips move to your sounds
my tongue moves to your breathing
deep moans, so sexual

My fingers and lips
taste all of you, following
what your sighs direct

I hear the tension
each breath faster, each moan louder
my fingers move deep

Your lips open to give
release to the inner sex voice
the sound of release

Your hips move in rhythm
to each moan, each groan, each sigh
each scream of pleasure

The music grows softer
slower as the decrescendo
declines into silence

We only hear our
breathing, a soft moan, and our hearts
We created the sex music


SB


(EDIT NOTE - I originally published this with an unattributed photo I found in Google Images. I then remembered I had a better one with Leila (and you can see Hana's nose if you look really hard) that I would rather share.)

Sorry for the short blogs, but...

I've been eavesdropping in on and writing huge comments on another blog that is bringing up much more interesting topics than I have here. We are discussing in one post the merits (or lack of) bondage photography. In another, we are discussing the taboo of photographing the penis.

I really recommend you go check out "What We Saw Today" and "Any Fucking Day" to explore these points. I will write more in this blog over the weekend.

Oops. Do not criticize Anne Geddes.

At my class tonight, one of my fellow students asked me what I thought of Anne Geddes' photos, I answered before thinking. I looked at her and said, "Umm.. she uses colors well and has good exposures... and ..." then I shut up. I could tell that she reveres Geddes work. By her, and her friend's expressions, you would think I had insulted their mothers.

If you don't know who Anne Geddes is, here is her site. She is famous for taking photos of babies in unique settings. I will admit I thought her work was interesting when it first came out, but I feel she turned herself into a cliche that she keeps churning out with each new baby photo. I do salute her business savvy though. I wonder if she still enjoys photography as an art, or just a big fat sentimental paycheck. Maybe if I had kids I would like her photos more. I guess if her work inspires people to become photographers, that might be a good thing.

I usually post a photo with each blog post, but I could not bring myself to put one of her photos on my blog. Anyway, my lesson for the evening is to tread lightly when criticizing her work. I haven't been in this much trouble since I told a republican friend that I don't see why he and his friends idolize Ronald Reagan. I had better watch out what I say about Oprah as well.

Your Scent

Photo title and photographer unknown

Breathe in your perfume
sensual scent which invites
inviting me closer

Nuzzling your neck
smelling deep your hair,your skin
Our breaths grow rapid

I kiss down your body
your scents blending into lust
Your scent of lust fills me

Breathing sustains life
Your scent nourishes my desire
each breath makes me want

Your scent consumes me
today, tomorrow, 'til I die
your scent lives in me

SB

The Skin Feels

My skin feels it all
the warmth of her breasts on me
her soft skin with mine

I feel her breathing
I feel her contractions grow
I feel her wet release

My skin doesn't lie
but it can confuse what's real
and what is sensed

My skin remembers
My skin still feels it - years later
I then remember.

SB

Exaltation and Denial

Peace
SB

"Art is the activity that exalts and denies simultaneously" - Albert Camus

This quote is very powerful to me. Whenever I create, view, or experience art that moves me I feel these two emotions, exaltation and denial. I can feel myself live in the art, yet I am denied actually living in it since art represents or conjures other things. In ways art is creative voyeurism/exhibitionism. We are peeking into another person's thoughts, feelings, visions, music, etc. If I am the artist, I am putting myself out on exhibit, but maybe only as an abstraction of what I am trying to share.

I think part of this was eluded to in this posting in the "What We Saw Today" blog titled "Crushes". In this post, the author talks about how, as a model, she has to deal with viewers and others developing a crush, fantasies, or strong emotional feelings for her. Art is so personal and by our sharing it with strangers, it gives them a feeling of intimacy that is only one way. In that way, they feel the exaltation and denial at the same time when we can not reciprocate their feelings.

Ouch, my head hurts. I think I am getting too philosophical tonight. I really need to photograph a model.

Art and Censorship

Albert Camus

Over the past week, a few blog friends have all related stories and opinions about censorship and art. I read their articles (listed here, here, and here) and commented on a few of them. Some were dealing with the high level issue of it and some had been censored.

I found a quote I wrote in my "idea" notebook I carry around to capture anything that strikes my fancy. I saw this quote by Albert Camus at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art a few months ago. I just reread it today and decided to research Camus and found a few more quotes by him and others as well. I am not an eloquent writer, so I will share what others have said about art and censorship.

"Without freedom, no art; art lives only on the restraints it imposes on itself, and dies of all others." - Albert Camus

"The aim of art, the aim of a life can only be to increase the sum of freedom and responsibility to be found in every man and in the world. It cannot, under any circumstances, be to reduce or suppress that freedom, even temporarily. No great work has ever been based on hatred and contempt. On the contrary, there is not a single true work of art that has not in the end added to the inner freedom of each person who has known and loved it." -Albert Camus

"Sex and creativity are often seen by dictators as subversive activities." - Erica Jong

All I can say is - as long as art stirs our hearts, it will be hated by some who can not understand it.