Tag: braids

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

A couple of posts back I mentioned about how in unselfconscious moments, no one really gives a second thought to accepted notions of public decorum. We pick our noses, scratch our asses and just generally give in to the entropy of personal comfort.

As such, this is clever insofar as the pose–although leaving little to the imagination–is actually not salacious. I mean, if a young woman riding her bike nude down a picturesque country road were to question whether or not she had a flat-tire, it might look something like this.

Yes, the camera is positioned ever so carefully to offer the audience the best view. But I do like the sense of scale, perspective and other than the dead flowering weed that just seems to float in the foreground, it’s actually a pretty damn decent composition.

(And, yes, anyone who was a seasoned bike rider would probably stop, straddle the bike and lean over the handle bars to check the tire–but that would be far less coy.)

With these type of images I always encourage people to ask: why is the subject naked? In this case, that’s not a question I think to ask. (I may not have ever had a chance to go skinny dipping in my life but I’ve damn well ridden a bike naked on dozens of occasions.)

But what I don’t understand is the damn umbrella strapped to the back of the bike? I mean, she doesn’t appear to need to wear glasses, she’s rocking the bedhead straight to braids look so it’s not like impending showers are going to muss her look and it’s warm enough for her to be riding her bike naked down a deserted country road…it seems to me an umbrella just doesn’t make a goddamn lick of sense.

Because riding a bike naked is great and all but running around without a stitch in the summer rain is bloody transcendent.

Source: nudepageant

Alexander Talyuka – *** (2016)

You know how there’s a statistically relevant correlation between being a fan of Smash Mouth and being a Douche Bro?

I’m here to suggest a similar relationship between white cis men who identify as ‘fashion & nude photographers’ and shitty, quasi-exploitative imagery.

Talyuka is a sterling example.

However, much like the infinite monkey theorem suggests, even a douche-y bro can sometimes stumble upon a good picture–consider the above.

And it’s not even necessarily good. First and foremost, there is no compelling reason for this to be a vertical composition. Second, I’m going to take a wild stab and suggest that it was shot on some sort of full manual, setting. This would’ve been an image that would’ve benefited from an extremely shallow depth of field as her knees and hands contribute decidedly towards creating a foreground and the wall behind her is an obvious background. Rendering both bokehlicious, could have accentuated her expression–somewhere between coy and perhaps deflective of unwanted insinuation.

But really, I’m all about the mussed hair. It’s like she just pulled a wool jumper over her head and her hair is all wild with static electricity. It flies in the face of the prerogative for perfection in fashion moded work and her it at a cute, down-to-earthness to the image that renders it palatable.

CAH – Cam Damage (2015)

camdamage is an artist. Full fucking stop.

I mean she’s disarmingly pretty and if she’s taken a bad picture, I either missed it or have lost track amidst her steady stream of effing stellar work.

Still, I feel like commenting on her appearance misses more than half the point. It’s like Jon Stewart’s on fleek insight into the media response to Caitlyn Jenner’s transition: Caitlyn when you were a man we could talk about your athleticism, your business acumen…now you’re a woman and your looks are the only thing we care about.

What makes her beautiful is more than just her appearance. If you follow her–which if you don’t then real talk you are abso-fucking-lutely doing Tumblr wrong–you know she is a wickedly intelligent and kind individual, with a sarcasm setting that isn’t just a louder 10 but goes all the way to 11.

At risk of using a meaningless cliche, she’s down-to-earth. Not in that she makes an effort to be some with whom everyone can relate– but that she presents herself as someone who tries really hard but fails what feels like far too many times to justify the investment of time and painstaking effort. She stumbles, admits them, gets back up and tries to roll that giant fucking rock up ye olde hill of impossible climbing once again.

Her work to grow and evolve as an individual, her courage and uncompromising determination shine through in her work in a way for which I know of no precedent with which to compare it.

The saying goes: talent hits the target no one else can; genius hits a target no one else can see.

By that token, Cam’s work signals her as a genius.

(Oh, and this picture is stunning: the vague vignetting effect of the strobe and the way it casts just enough of a shadow to cause her to pop from the background. The skin tone is both natural and gorgeously accentuates muscle tone. The unraveling braids, armband tattoo and perfectly executed eye light are all artifacts of high-end glossy fashion editorial methods in service of presenting something closer to a candid portrait. Just goddamn fucking killer!)

Source: randomstuffitookpicsof

youarecordiallyinvitedtopissoff:

Jessica Silversaga

171.

The dreamy ethereality of Jessica Silversaga’s work compliments her affection for fairy tales.

Despite their suffused light and idyllic innocence, her images have nothing in common with the ubiquitous Disney versions except the subject of beauty. But where the mass market films reify the notion that goodness always carry the day, Silversaga’s images employ the mechanism of the original materials—wherein the brutality of cruel, pricking thorns frame the delicate rose, rendering it all the more beautiful as a result of sinister intentions.

The brilliant white of tiles and tub, the few clinging strands of wet hair escaping thin braids at her neck and her averted face are replete with beauty.

But why is she turned away. I question whether she has a face– perhaps there is nothing but ragged skin lining the edges of a gaping black void.

Maybe such a response is a result of having seen too many horror movies. (Although I do not think I am entirely off base… she is after all turning left and as the eye enters the frame and passes left to right over it it becomes clear there is nothing she can be looking at. Interestingly, if this image were flipped and she was looking to her right, I think the singular thought would be she was merely turned away.)

It does not matter whether she has a face or not, what matters is her knowing what it is to hold chaos in one’s palm because like us all she too has a body.

By knowing this, we also know she is not another dime a dozen damsel waiting for deliverance from distress.

She is the thorn and the rose. As are we all.

Source: Flickr / silversaga