Category: Uncategorized

Chad Moore – [↑] Emma {pool} from the Bridge of Sighs series (2016); [←] Mollie & Ajax from Love is on the Dance Floor series (201X); [+] Ali {hickey} from Put the Book Back on the Shelf series (201X); [→] Untitled from Julia Montauk Hwy series (2016); [↓] Amy {sex} from I Studied You in History series (2014)

OK, so Chad Moore=my most recent photographer crush.

He cites Richard Avedon, Guy Bourdin and Nan Goldin as influences.

Those are all valid, even precocious influences. But there’s a couple things I’d like to point out: he gets closer to his subjects that Avedon, his palates are more naturalistic than Boudrin (skewing more towards the tonal or atmospheric a la infamous cinematographer Christopher Doyle) and while Goldin was also ostensibly interested in documenting counter culture–her impetus was more journalistic and driven by an existential imperative (seeing as proof of life, a document of that seeing as an ersatz memory established against the sting of time, the encroachment of death, a monument against the erosion of memory by seeking oblivion in any effort to feel a little bit alive again)–while his motivation seems more preciously nostalgic.

He apparently raced BMX bikes competitively as a teenager and between shooting fellow riders and people and places in his travels (with disposable cameras). In that way, he reminds me of Ryan McGinley. (Except his use of color is, unlike McGinley: more holistic; also: as much as Moore likes to refers to his work as that of a fly-on-the-wall perspective, he also dodges much of the criticism leveled–rightly–against McGinley with regard to fetishizing youth and beauty. His images inspire an emotional buy-in on the part of the viewer that can only happen if the photographer has invested in the proceedings with similar stakes.

Lastly, his color profiles are hugely reminiscent of Igor Mukhin’s exploration of transgressive youth culture in Russia.

I’m not accustomed to work this accomplished and nuanced with regards to interpersonal sensitivity from someone so bloody young. It’s damn impressive.

Source: chad-moore.com

lesbianartandartists:

Persimmon Blackbridge, from the Kiss and Tell Collective, Her Tongue on My Theory (Vancouver: Press Gang Publishers, 1994), 5.

With some premonition I sensed that [Monique Wittig’s The Lesbian Body] had an edge on all the other radical texts I had come across. Somehow I knew, even then, that to comprehend the meaning of this text, to approach this unknown world where a lesbian body existed, would require a definite separation from the world I knew. Witness the faint tremor in the hands, the thin veil of sweat starting to cover my body, my rapidly beating heart. Surely these symptoms were telling me something, something I can say now but couldn’t say then. That the very hands that held those texts were lesbian hands, that those legs, arms, breasts, cunt, feet, hips were lesbian, that the mind attached to that body was a lesbian mind, thinking lesbian thoughts, seditious and rebellious lesbian thoughts.

Susan Stewart, in Her Tongue on My Theory.

Edgar Degas – Two Women (1876-1877)

Most of the canonical oil painters from the mid-19th century onward can hardly be said to have produced entirely chaste work.

But what I find interesting is the extent to which sexuality is implicit in the quote-unquote masterpieces and explicit in their sketches, BTS experiments.

Seeing this sketch absolutely gives me a better grip on Degas’ work. (The feeling that I’ve always had that his bathers are prostitutes, washing up between clients–now seems far less preposterous and the so evocative rendering of his dancers suggests a fixation on sexuality associated with bodies and/or nudity.)

Gustav Klmit, Egon Schiele and Picasso all made v. similar sketches, actually. And the thought that suggests to me is that Schiele was probably the most honest about what he was up to–since there’s less discrepancy between what he exhibited publicly and what he mediated upon privately. Klimt and Degas were more interested in attempt to present sexuality organically within a proscribed context–one facet in a many faceted presentation. (And the Picasso drawing in the ambiguity of the depiction of the person performing oral sex on the woman preserves an undifferentiated, ambiguously gendered person that can serve as both signifier of a woman or a place holder for a man–which seems to be entirely in keeping with Picasso’s legendary misogyny.)

Source: dappledwithshadow

Teenager in action – Machen wir es mit Musik (1982)

Every once in a while I see a configuration of bodies in porn that strikes me as especially visually dynamic. This is one such example.

I’m not wild about the rest of it but the pose is nice. And it gets me brain spinning up about the tension between explication and implication, esp. in porn.

I mean this would be more visually arresting with more varied, naturalistic lighting. The dead white door as backdrop is a total non-starter.

But even as great as the position is, I kind of wonder if it wouldn’t be better if her right hand was braced against his chest with her fingers splayed. If it was in the center of his chest, then it would block the line of sight with the cleft of her backside (which is something a pornographer would feel was important visual information to include in the picture). On the other hand, it would almost certainly be more implicitly intriguing if her hand were pressed against his chest over his heart and she was squeezing her right nipple between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

Also: (and this is being super OCD about things) seeing her left leg at least enough of a hint of it to suggest it’s position would contribute something as well. There are two strategies that could be applied to allow for that. Her left knee could be brought up just enough to replicate the V of his thighs. Or, she could fully straddle his right thigh. This latter option would be more compelling from the standpoint of dimensionality–however, it would also further complicate the positioning of the hands.

Anyway, the above picture comes from @musorka‘s blog. And I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. The sheer quantity of work posted over there on the daily is mind-boggling to me. The quality isn’t always there but there are definitely some real gems mixed in with all the dreck. (And remember, engaging with the dreck isn’t without value. Thinking about what works, what doesn’t and what you would do differently if given the chance is actually a valuable exercise for your creative brain. After all, invariably when you’re making something you get to a point where you feel like you’ve screwed it all up and you have to find a way to keep going and to fix it.)

Source: musorka

Source unknown – Title unknown (19XX)

I’m not 100% sure the framing works here–both his legs and here right shin are amputated in awkward places. While there is very much a sense of context–i.e. a boudoir, there’s a flatness to the print that does no one any favors.

On the plus side: I’ve never seen the above position enacted in porn prior to viewing this–it’s rather charming; emphasizing giving over receiving and I simply adore they way their lazily holding hands and caressing each other.

Also, that Cheshire smile she’s wearing would’ve been enough on its own to convince me to post this.

Source: oldtimepleasure

#1300

Running what essentially boils down to an arty, pretentious sex blog is a privilege. I mean I have the resources (monetary, leisure time, a decent computer and internet access) and an overpriced (but dearly treasured) liberal arts education.

This realization isn’t something I take lightly. Thus: every fiftieth post I take time out to firmly re-contextualize the arguably frivolous nature of what I do here within the broader geopolitical reality of current events.

To be entirely honest: I’ve been avoiding keeping track of the news and current events of late–between my chronic struggles with mental health, my pervasive sense of alienation/aloneness, feelings of uncertainty, insecurity and desperation at not only my life but the growing sense of doomed despair I derive as a direct result of engaging with the news is overwhelming.

To say it like that sounds melodramatic but the current president of the country of which I am a citizen claims without a shred of evidence that the previous president wiretapped him. The same man who continues to claim that the truth is a lies and that lies are the truth; who also maintains that sexual assault is a good way to pick up women when you’re rich and famous. Now pretend you’re a girl who was forced to perform oral sex and have oral sex performed on her at the direction of the pastor of your parents’ church with his son and daughter–all while he pleasured himself to the proceedings.

Imagine enduring this persistent gaslighting when for your entire life, those people who have told you they loved you have used those words as both a carrot and a stick but never as anything else.

Imagine realizing you’re a non-binary trans girl with no desire to medically transition at the same time that both the right and left are throwing trans people under the bus.

Consider what it’s like to spend the better part of a year–so sick that any process with more than three steps, you’ll forget whether you were on the second or third step and have to start over again. Then to find out almost by accident that marijuana makes it so you can go from 15% functionality back to 85% functionality. Thrill as the tide of the country you live in turns in favor of legalization. And then a racist ass white piece of shit takes over as attorney general and thinks that marijuana is actually worse then heroin. (Add the guilt of knowing that despite not being white, knowing you pass and because of that face little if any recriminations for acquiring and using marijuana illegally–as opposed to PoC who probably are struggling with the same conditions and who would benefit from pot but stand very real and damaging reactions if they are caught using or in possession.)

Think about how my countries Vice-President believes it’s inappropriate for a married man to have dinner with a woman he isn’t married to. And what it’s like to be a woman in a world where decisions regarding your health care are made in a room that looks like this.

Cross reference with the fact that your abusive shit hell of a father just had a “massive and devastating” stroke is on his death bed and the hospital is calling your mother because there’s no one left in his life to make medical decisions. Despite the fact that your mother has been divorced from him for 20 years. (They’ll let her make decisions based on having once been married but gay and lesbian couples won’t be allowed to visit their partner in the hospital?)

Be dealing with the fact that although your father is a terrible person, he’s one of those people who believes he’s a good person. Think about how you’ve lived your life convinced that you’re a terrible person and be constantly trying to do the right thing, to be supportive and helpful of those you love for fear of doing great harm to others in much the same way it was done to you. Know that your father had the stroke and then lay on the floor of his shitty apartment for 3-5 days before anyone found him. Realize that despite living your life in a completely different fashion, that your fate will probably be the same. That in death there is no distinction between monsters and the angels of our better natures.

Realize that when he passes–and at this point its only a matter of time–that your mom doesn’t make enough to support herself without his monthly alimony payments. And that with the shift that will have to be made, that you can only support yourself for 4 more months before everything collapses. Watch everything you’ve worked for for years–photography, getting out of tech support, moving to California. None of it is going to happen now.

Have your ex–who has attempted to commit suicide four times in the last eight months–confide in you that because her parents watch Fox News believe that the librulls are coming for your guns, buy a semi-automatic pistol that they keep loaded and accessible in their house, she attempted to kill herself. She only survived because there wasn’t a round chambered and after the first trigger pull and dull click without a report, the second attempt somehow resulted in a misfire. Now she’s convinced that it was a sign and she wants to live, to get the help she needs and to figure out how to get back together with you. Despite the lies, gaslighting, manipulation and abuse. But she’s the only one whose ever wanted you. Even if she persistently misgenders you and treats you like a glorified fixer.

And watch video of Syrian civilians including children suffocating and dying agonizing deaths due to deployment of chemical weapons.

It’s Tuesday. Early afternoon. Sunny. This is the most helpless and hopeless I have ever felt in my life but it feels like that point on a roller coaster right before the bottom falls out.

EDIT: It’s Friday. Early morning. The incompetent idiot fuck who banned refugees is now (ironically) upset that they’ve been gassed and has essentially declared war on Syria–while completely oblivious to the complex situation on the ground. This is a nightmare.