Tag: bedroom

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Here’s an example of a vertical frame that isn’t #skinnyframebullshit.

Why? You ask, Isn’t it just echoing form of the subjects?

Well, it is doing that but in this case a landscape orientation contributes little additional context to the image. As it is we can tell it’s a small bedroom, demonstrating exactly how small it is–if anything–belabors an already clear representation.

The trick that makes a skinny frame work here is the narrow triangular form of the overexposed motion blur adorning his hands and her left side would–in a wider frame–be subject to de-emphasis. Further, the vertical framing draws attention to the discarded clothes piled on the bedside table and likely Russian electrical outlet.

Source: urbansexbrigade

Daniel Klaas – Joanna (2014)

The part of my brain that thrills in voyeurism enjoys portraiture. It’s a bit like a two-way mirror: I can watch without being seen.

But something about it is vaguely unsettling. I’ve been trying to work it out and I think it boils down to conceptual concerns over the negotiation of identity via depiction in visual representation.

That’s an annoyingly academic, overly verbose way of saying: at its most fundamental level portraiture establishes a thorny, four-way intersection between how the subject sees them self, how the subject wishes to be seen, how to photographer sees the subject and the how the photographer’s work is seen by the viewer.

Portraitists walk a razor wire tight rope between bearing witness and trading in what is effectively undeserved intimacy–i.e. the objectifying tradition of thinking I know because I have looked closely and seen.

Off the top of my head, Ryan Muirhead and Lynn Kasztanovics are the two photographers who manage to re-contextualize portraiture into something that testifies to the truth in the transaction of at once being, seeming, being seen and the politics of depiction while fostering subjects enigmatic non-object-ness. Muirhead does it with a mastery of craft and attention to the holy moments between defensive pretense and unguarded openness to the world; Kasztanovics collaborates with those she knows and trusts–her informality and the proximity to her subjects creates something not unlike the discomfort of someone sitting too close on public transit whom, contrary to all reason, you find yourself fighting the urge to reach out and caress their face.  (Lina Scheynius and Traci Matlock also fuck with portraiture in fascinating ways but both seem less interested in working within the form than transgressing it’s boundaries.)

Back to Klaas: he’s a Melbourne based photographer who favors analog photographic process. And I am not overly fond of his work but this image is quite unlike his typical milky exposures and rendering pose as contrived sculptural element. Instead, it reads as a sort of record of a moment in which the confluence in a body of subject and objective experiences of reality was quietly observed.

So there’s that. But also, there’s also fascinating technical considerations: the mid-tones are relegated to the background wall, couch and Joanna’s face. Everything is super contrasty with either deep, rich shadows or highlights pushed to the edge of blowing out.

Depth of field dictates the way the eye scans the image–It reminds me of mrchill, in that regard– and emphasizes her enigmatic expression, as if she is calm, comfortable, perhaps even a bit contemplative. (Note: the grace notes in her hand placement; probably my favorite part.)

Source: danielklaas.com

Chip Willis – Kelsey Dylan (2014)

I’m having one of those aha moments where the incandescent bulb over my head flickers, falters and then begins to glow bright.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, if you participate in the Tumblr art nude/erotic image community, then you know who the fuck Chip Willis is. The list of model with whom he has collaborated might as well be the Tumblr model A-list.

Honestly though, I’ve always felt meh-ish at best about his work. I mean, don’t get me wrong: it’s quality; it just hasn’t ever really moved me.

This image connects somehow. And I think it has to do with the fact that it features Kelsey Dylan.

The first image I ever saw of hers was the incredible Polaroid diptych by rabbits. This is one of those times where my thoughts don’t align all that well with language. But the aforementioned photos resonate with an unnerving curation of representational identity–looking at them my body has this strange psuedo-synesthetic response where I physically itch in a way that is half mosquito bite, half throbbing erogenous arousal. It’s an experience that bypasses critical/conceptual academnification via an impossible, coup de grace killshot, the bullet lodging in the liminal space between the thinking mind and the feeling brain.

It’s not just the Polaroid diptych, the majority of Dylan’s work seems to have a similar effect on me.

Therein lays the bait. But by the time I’ve realized it, the hook is set–or more accurate Willis’ image becomes something of a labyrinth I must now learn to navigate because I have found myself unexpectedly at its center.

If you know you’re in a maze, you just pick either the wall to your left or right and you as long as you follow that wall without deviation, you will eventually find your way out.

This image provides two clues as to how it is to be interpreted–and looking back over Willis’ work, these seem to hold true throughout:

  1. The image maker is aware of the voyeuristic slant the content contributes to the image,
  2. The image represents an effort to sublimate tropes and tableaux customarily relegated to the realm of pornography by employing methods associated with Art practice.

I suspect Mr. Willis would probably object to the second point. He might contend that he’s interested in presenting a narrative. But as with every image maker who uses an image’s potential to convey a story, the truth is: indubitably narrative images tend to be the exception not the rule.

What possible narrative could this image entail? What reason is there for such a pose? Is Dylan being fucked by the light pouring in through the open window? Hardly.

The futon is positioned with more a mind to mise en scene than interior design and the framing of the doorway imposes a sense of voyeurism on the proceedings. That it is a wide shot–presenting a more or less complete context–shifts it away from its pornographic trappings and towards a mediation on representation of physical identity, sexuality and objectification.

Source: therealchipwillis

Oles Romanyuk – Title Unknown (2014)

This is a wonderful reminder that making great work sometimes demands saying: ideal, schmideal.

For example: this is probably a stop and a half overexposed and shifts her skin tone so that it echos the wall’s magenta.

Her body is emphasized; yet, unlike a lesser image, emphasis does not entail isolation–the wood paneled whatever at the left frame edge, the balloons and the pistachio green blanket all jump up off the picture plane. With the subtle bokeh, a convincing dimensionality manifests.

No matter how killer the colors or compelling the presentation of space, what gets me is the way the image focuses my attention on the feelings this work illicit.

I have a very strong sense that this young woman belongs here–this is her space.

The feeling is something that while I am sure there regardless; but without the nudge, I likely wouldn’t have paused with it long enough to tease out how to articulate it.

I think that is crucial, actually; given the young woman’s posture/expression–crossed arms, head tilted slightly, eye contact–she appears a little uncomfortable.

If she were separate from her surroundings, her discomfort would entail all sort of unsettling implications given her nudity.

Her belonging in this space colors the discomfort with a playfulness. As if the photographer–who is also her lover–begs her to pose nude and despite lingering misgivings, she agrees.

Source: shuka4-blog

nymphoninjas:

nymphoninjas:

“And it will be more like a song, and less like its math

If you pull on my hair and bite me like that.” (Bright Eyes)

I used to submit my self shots, but now I have few reasons for submitting some I took of my partner.. first of all, there aren’t that many male submissions here usually and I don’t like this difference. this is quite generic view only. most personal is that I enjoy watching my partner playing with himself and it really turns me on. this time I took some pictures of the action..

It was a great Saturday afternoon and we had sex straight after this little shoot and few times later. different places, different intensity but all these were a real pleasure.

Absolutely gorgeous photo, I like everything about it from his sweet purple pants to her knees in the corner. Glad to hear you two are showing off for each other and documenting it, watching your partner get themselves off is pretty much the best way to learn about what they like and how to get them off. Sounds like you two had an amazing day, I’m quite jealous. I hope you two come back to share with us again, thanks again great job A+. 

This and Knitphilia’s Rape isn’t sexy, but being a survivor is are far-and-a-fucking-way my favorite Nympho Ninjas’ Submission Sunday contributions. (An aside: while I am guardedly supportive of the community surrounding NN it does–as an Asian-American–bother me the way ‘ninja’ is so casually appropriated.)

I don’t think this is an objectively good image. Further, pairing it with Conor Oberst’s self-important ravings borders on intolerable.  But, for all its flaws, it has something many more technically adept work lack: truthfulness–the frayed rag rug, messy hair, kick ass pants, beautiful light on the back of his right hand and knees jutting into the frame.

This is the first time in my life I have actually wished a depiction of male-bodied desire was of me–I almost globally identify with female-bodied depictions of desire. Here, I think it’s due to a mistaken notion that if I looked like this there’d might be a slightly better than impossible odds someone would find me attractive.

rawpix:

May21s†♥mirror/†he…mind(Daniel Schaefer)★

Roulé

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This interior—with its Spartan-with-Bohemian-pretenses—is reminiscent of my shitty, first-post college apartment in NYC.

What’s more startling is the resemblance of the young woman to the lover with whom I shared much of my time in that apartment. She, who in the pauses between our lovemaking, would crawl kneel o check the message on her phone she’d leave charging on the floor just like this.

The composition has an imprecise, snapshot immediacy which would almost certainly have appeared stale and uninspired were it not for the mirror’s reflection adding some much needed depth. Yet, what this image nails is presenting an ideal scale for everything the image contains.

Although she is kneeling, the frame is only slightly taller than she would be if she were standing. If she stood, the frame would have to move in order to contain her. In other words, she is the frame’s anchor—not vice versa; she agency in inhabit a space with implicit instead of merely appearing as an ancillary decoration.

Source: outlierimagery

chichispalabanda:

Artfully depicting masturbation is not an easy feat.

The act is private, sequestered. Thus, the question of how one came to be able to witness such goings on becomes a central—is it voyeurism, exhibitionism or a bit of both?

The more voyeuristic the image, the less intentional it appears and the more it relies upon the reputation of the image maker to supplement its ‘artistic’ merit.

The more exhibitionist the image, the less artful it appears. Exhibitionism being rooted in self-consciousness; the efficacy of the work of art being so frequently measured on its ability to dissolve notions of self and other.

These clips of a larger piece suggest an altogether ingenuous way of subverting this dichotomy: fuck with the distinction between subject and object. What’s the easiest way to do that? Point the camera at a mirror. (And I do not mean any of this teen-girl-shooting-her-reflection-in-the-bathroom-mirror Tumblr noise. I fucking HATE that shit!)

Now, I will not for a second argue that she is unaware of the camera—I am almost certain she is. But is she looking at it or looking at herself in the mirror? This becomes about the spectator watching her watch herself cause and experience her own pleasure.

For me it also has the effect of focusing me on her growing arousal—which while certainly mirroring my own is continually refocused on hers.

Source: tiendadeabarrotes.blogspot.com