danish-principle:

foxphotoart

Fox Photo-Art – Glass Olive [from the Voyeurism Series] (2013)

Initially, I see the stone wall and sapling filtered, dappled light. All of it pulls up a step or two short of full blown flashback to strolling around Fort Tryon Park on a summer afternoon.

This feeling motivated me to look into Fox Photo-Art.

Le sigh. What is it with image makers bearing vulpine monikers and their privileged insistence upon producing self-important, creatively stunted dreck and deeming it ‘art’?

Usually, this attitude causes me to dismiss the work in totality; however, it somehow increases my appreciation of the above image even if there’s nothing especially inspired about it.

Yeah, the composition is solid: the angle of the ledge leads the eye to Glass Olive; her body is situated parallel to the focal plane so her legs can remain open toward the camera.

Unlike the more natural, obviously comfortable positioning of her legs, her upper body is rigidly posed in order to facilitate reflection of light from the bright white pages of Margot Mifflin’s Bodies of Subversion onto her face.

To my eye there’s a startlingly nuanced yet fraught conceptualization at work here: using Ms. Olive’s face to establish a counterpoint to the focus on her pubic area.

Glossing over the implications with regard to matters of heteronormative gaze and sexualization/objectification of female bodies, this strategy somewhat succeeds. Although, it should be pointed out this counterpoint unbalances the image; and only works due to the dimensionality contributed by the angle of Ms. Olive’s legs balanced against the essentially decorative negative space occupying the left third of the frame.

I am almost always appreciative of clever framing. But what fascinates me here is the degree to which the subject remains completely indifferent to being seen in spite of all the visual cues pointing to the precision with which the scene has been staged. The most obvious being that no matter how much you fidget, wiggle or kick, even given the audacity of sitting in such a way in a dress sans undergarments, dresses only fall like this as a result of being carefully arranged.

It’s like the Fox Photo-Art can’t decide whether he’s dealing in conventions of public nudity or upskirt shots.

Speaking of the latter: recently, I’ve seen some commendable efforts (like this) to recast an otherwise exploitative genre in a more consent-driven, body positive/sex positive manner.

Gasper Noé – Sky Ferreira’s Night Time, My Time album cover art (2013)

Despite my best efforts to present an erudite face to Tumblr, I’ll be the first to admit there are things about which I do not have the first fucking clue.

Roughly, such things fall into two categories: what I simply do not know and that about which I have every desire to remain clueless.

Sky Ferreira is a bit of column A, bit of column B.

On the other hand, I know all about Noé: I abhor his films to the point where no matter how hugely presumptuous, I consider him my arch-nemesis. (Irreversible being the only film to ever manage to make me violently ill.)

My revulsion makes me admittedly less than objective. Thus, I am interested in what my followers have to say about this image.

For example: Do you like it? Why/why not? Is it in keeping with Ms. Ferreira’s aesthetic? Overlooking the respective artists’ vast differences w/r/t the merit of their work: how does this image align/diverge from the hullabaloo surrounding Miley Cyrus posing for the despicable Terry Richardson?

Other observations, thoughts?

Source: skyferreira

kalkibodhi:

Easing into the scene

KalkiBodhi Archives

Source

I don’t usually post flat out porn but I find something about this impressive.

It’s not the composition. A full third of the frame has been cropped out and although I loathe cropping, in this case it’s a vast improvement.

Still, the best bokeh in the world can’t mask the dead light of a rented-for-the-day Hollywood Hills mansion.

What’s more the framing is too close to ground the participants in their environment and too far away to really get an eyeful of the action.

I won’t bother going into the relationship of proximity to the action–beyond a certain point the camera ceases to be independent from the action it’s recording. The trouble with that is the camera is fundamentally incapable of participating in the action. (Ask: were I standing at the distance the camera is would I be watching the proceedings or would I be a part of them.)

There’s the stereotypical absence of body hair–totally your choice if that’s how you are comfortable but, for my part, I resent the implication that smoothly shaved genitals and underarms are the norm.

Also, despite my ironic discovery that I am really into at least the notion of group sex, I am somewhat put off by threesomes. Excluding MMM and FFF (which I didn’t even know was a thing until last week), FMM and FFM threesomes tend toward degrees patriarchal heteronormativity and lipstick lesbianism that I like to convince myself don’t really exist.

For example: dude bros high-fiving over some young woman’s back, the it’s not gay as long as our dicks don’t touch mentalities or the way FFM fantasies are inextricably embedded in the weave of patriarchy.

If women could bring strap-ons to the party or a boy would eat a dick or take it in the ass, I would be all over threesomes. (Although I admit I despise slut-shaming so overwhelmingly that a part of me really digs that FMM pairings result in a +2 partners for the woman; while each boy only gets a +1.)

All that notwithstanding, the sex portrayed here avoids the appearance of mechanization. Note: how the boy on bottom’s mouth hangs open–already beginning to recite baseball statistics in his head; his eyes open only enough to trace his erection from its based until it disappears below the cleft in young woman’s ass. For her part, she looks as if she actually really wants to give head to this muscle-y gent–she uses her hands to stroke his shaft and tug on his testicles.

This lacks the rote performance of pleasure as result of mechanical repetition that ruins 90% of porn for me. And while it does occur to me that it is unlikely the scene ends in mutual pleasure for all parties, what strikes me is in spite of the pornographic trappings, there is a a feeling that at the least this woman is respected by these men; they may even acknowledge her as capable of deriving pleasure from this exchange.

I am not sure I could articulate how I jumped to such a conclusion. Yet, I do find it interesting that–not that it is degrading for a woman to have a man ejaculate on her face if that’s something she wants–but if you look at the other sample images from this scene the muscle bound guy pulls out and comes on the her stomach while the other boy spills himself onto her breasts.

Source: st8guy4mf

toutdroitaller:

Mark James

(Note: I can neither confirm nor deny tout  droit aller’s attribution.) EDIT: The source listed (fallinglondon) is run by Mark James. (Sincere thanks to the anon who took the time to point out what should’ve been obvious right off)

This image is a train wreck.

Although the left frame edge is more or less in-line with the vertical of the tile grouting, the lens’ wide angle focal length, the rightward pan and slight up-tilt, the tile’s verticals are distractingly misaligned against the right frame edge.

Given the obvious motion blur along the bridge of her nose, I would be thinking the camera was hand-held, except there is an awful lot of illumination in a fairly tight space. I’m thinking more screen capture from a video than slow shutter speed.

And that’s really a goddamn shame because despite of the sloppy composition, there are some ingenious accidents.

Either a knee or shoulder extends beyond the edge of the tub at the lower left corner of the frame; it doesn’t especially matter which because either speak to the presence of another person in this cramped bathroom.

There’s also the young woman’s exquisitely unselfconscious pose, stooped slightly forward to slide her black panties down, the image freezes her in the moment just before she reveals the top edge of her pubic fringe. The too bright light accentuates the musculature of her hips and abdomen. The angle of her shoulders in relation to her hips causes a down tilt in her breasts, emphasizing her erect nipples against her own skin and the door behind her.

Her expression is loaded–a mix of playfulness, anxiety and maybe something not unlike hunger.

And though I am against employing the upper frame edge as a tool to preserve anonymity, in this case an additional point of tension is established between what is seen and what remains hidden.

While in Amsterdam, I happened upon this billboard proclaiming Maika Elan‘s 2013 Pride Photo Award win under the documentary category for The Pink Choice (2012).

I nearly walked right by it as I was stoned, ravenously hungry and reasonably well on my way to getting drunk–not to mention it being tucked away in the plaza abutting the Heineken brewery.

Somehow, the bare legs of the young woman balanced on roller blades snagged the corner of my eye from across the street.

Upon closer inspection, my first thought was this belongs on my blog. I retrieved my phone and snapped several images of it.

Two months later, I don’t question my instinct to share this: it belongs alongside the other images on this blog. Still, I am hesitant to post it. Why?

My initial thought was including the image would provide a great occasion for a sex positive, yay-for-gay post. Now this strikes me as a naive notion at best and more likely disingenuous, lazy and intellectually dishonest.

Issues of sexual orientation certainly overlap with issues of sexuality but the two are not interchangeable.

Being ostensibly a sex blog  I don’t think it’s a good precedent to take the path of least resistance especially when to do so overlooks the fact that what initially fired my curiosity about this image was essentially libidinous– a young woman in her underwear.

As much as that is a problem–the cultural prerogative of sexualizing the female body–it isn’t the image’s problem; if anything, Elan succeeds by offering the viewer so many diverse avenues of approach: attraction, narrative, absurdist humor (seriously, wtf is up with blow drying the cat + who roller blades in doors), inversion of the mundane (aka whimsy) as well as a sense of authentic experience.

And it’s not really something I know how to other than to point out that despite what drew me to the image when I finally turned and lopped south, away from Marie Heinekenplein, I was struck by two realizations: first, I was now just as attracted to the second woman as the one wearing the roller blades– or perhaps more accurately attraction had blossomed into curiosity about them, the nature of their relationship, how they interact with one another, etc.; second, as a terminally unrequited individual, I am frequently and bitterly jealous of ‘happy’ couples, but while this image did make me feel a little sad, it also made me strangely grateful to be alive in a world where love is possible.

knitphilia:

gaywitches:

Lesbian Beds by Tammy Rae Carland

Gaaaaaaah!

Despite the recognition of William Eggleston, Stephen Shore, Joel Sternfeld and Jeff Wall–photographers work work either predominantly or exclusively in color–there is nothing approaching consensus on the purpose and/or role color plays in image making.

Admittedly, I am only familiar with the proceedings in a manner similar to the way the geek table in a high school cafeteria is privy to the latest scuttlebutt at the popular kids table. Best as I can tell, it centers on whether or not color is intrinsic to the raison d’etre of the image; or, is it instead, merely a decorative addition.

As someone who prefers B&W to color and whose use of color is usually governed by whim rather than reason, I don’t feel effectively equipped to interrogate questions over the use of color in a work.

However, I do suspect this work might well be considered in such conversation.

Moving away from considerations of color–difficult to do as the work hinges on color–the conceptual underpinning of this work is fucking stellar. With so much of the bigotry LGBTQQAI folk facing being unduly fixated on what happens in beds, behind closed doors; Carland counters this fetishization by remind us that just like us lesbian couples also share beds for the purpose of sleeping–a thoroughly normal, human activity.

There’s are touches of personal identity, yet everything still remains anonymous. The work stands on its own, presenting its perspective in a straight-forward, face value manner that leaves only one question: why these beds? A question answered in turn by the title.

Astute, exciting work.

***

This image was reblogged from knitphilia. I don’t want to embarass her or gush in too sploosh-y a fashion but I adore her blog. A-goddamn-fucking-DORE. Her curation is over-the-moon superb. Please follow her if you aren’t already and for the love of all that is good: check out her pretty masculinity and handsome femininity tags.

Source: gaywitches

Struggling to regain momentum

Dear Followers,

First, thank you for bothering with what I try to do with this humble Tumblr. I appreciate each one of your time and consideration more than I can articulate.

Second, you will finally–for real this time–start seeing some new posts again. It’s probably going to be sporadic at first and honestly things are likely to be erratic and all over the fucking place for a bit. I apologize in advance. I have worked aggressively over nearly the last year to ensure that I never “phone it in”. However, it seems at a certain point: anything is better than nothing.

Lastly, if I am honest with myself, I am really not doing so well on any level that wellness is measured. I understand if you feel the need to part ways with this blog.

Be well.

Source: The first instance of this image seems to have been posted by Chelsea Lee. Another image from the same shoot, suggests it’s Ms. Lee with her wrists bound to her ankles here.

Right off, the murky exposure in concert with the positioning of the five women standing around Ms. Lee’s prone body vignette the frame in a way more than a little reminiscent of the Polaroids hidden away in a burnt out abandoned house littered with pornography a showed me back in back in junior high.

It reminds me of this image, too.

I could reiterate points made previously; however, looking at this I am realizing something about my relationship with BDSM imagery: when such imagery is divorced–as this is–from perform the expected heteronormative gender roles (male=dominant; female=submissive), I am rather fond of it.

In my experience, there is a vitality to being completely at the mercy of another. Yes, I prefer such experiences sans restraints. Yet, there is something about rope as a symbol enabling something of trust and surrender to be brought to bear on exchanges that might otherwise remain ambiguous.

Source: porn4ladies