Source unknown – Title unknown (201X)
Tag: dildo
Source unknown – Title unknown (XXXX)
The feels this image instigates are hell of conflicting.
Technically, it’s rubbish (#skinnyframebullshit-ery, bizzare vignette-ish blurring and the fact that the image maker assumes a shared cis-male heteronormativity from his audience–suggested by not only the depilated vulva but the fact that the camera’s perspective is slightly elevated and looking down on this young woman.)
Further, I do not enjoy anal play–although I admittedly dabble with it on roughly the same schedule as blue moons occur.
Two things about it appeal to me: First, I appreciate how the intensity of her experience undermines the hegemony of the male gaze; in other words, it’s very difficult to read the dildo here as even an implicit ersatz cock; instead, this is very much a document of–what in my limited experience–appears to be an entirely unfeigned response to physical stimulus. Second, this reminds me of the first time I apprehensively explored my self in a similar fashion.
EDIT: an awesome follower steered me in the direction of what is at least a better quality (if not the original) version of this image.
Plume Heters Tannenbaum – [↖] Je serai un combat; [↗] Je serai tes yeux; [↙] Je serai ton intérieur; [↘] Je serai tout ton amor featuring Misungui from GenderNoGender Room Series (2015)
GenderNoGender Room includes 30 images. It positively crackles with fascinating ideas. However, there is a very real sense that everything is a little too muddy, too abortively realized, too goddamn fucking frantic.
When it manages to remain still long enough to act with deliberation, it’s nothing short of spectacular. The problem is: it only really does that in maybe 1 out of every 5 images.
The seemingly random reframing of other images to create diptychs comes across as either arbitrary or so knee-jerk and lacking in subtlety as to be lazily feckless.
Yes, the conceptualization could be more tightly twined to the material but it’s not the improvised nature that irks me–there’s sort of a charming punk rock playful desperation to it which I find ridiculously charming. It’s really the presentation that dissimulates. The project as a whole needs to either make the throw everything at the wall to see what sticks approach more interpenetrative–it seems like there is supposed to be a notion of continuous physical space which is not at all supported by the work; or, the presentation needs to abide a more minimal approach.
This edit I’ve put together attempts to imply a sense of continuous physical space while attempting to invoke a minimalism in-line with Beatrix Mira.
I need to look at Tannenbaum’s work more closely but if it suggests as much raw potential as these images do, then she could easily become one of those artists I follow with something not unlike religious devotion.
Source unknown – Title unknown (20XX)
Given that this looks as if it perpetuates the extraordinarily problematic trope in hentai where consent is gained through sexual coercion, I am probably guilty of bad faith by posting it.
But… :::avoiding eye contact::: I’m not sure how but independent of context this depicts not only something uncomfortably close to what I experience both physically and emotionally when someone brings me to orgasm, it also conveys what I feel when I bring my partner to orgasm.
The fact that they are both women that present varying degrees of femme-ness is crucial. As is the fact that the third woman down the alley has been alerted to their actions. I think I probably could explain why the third party contributes to the concreteness of this feeling, but I’m not sure if perhaps that’s maybe too personal for this venue. (Those of you who’ve been following for a while can probably venture some prescient guesses though…)
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If it moves, Igor Mukhin likely shoots it; if it doesn’t, he’ll still take aim.
With nearly 5000 images—split between B&W film scans and Leica AG M9 captures, amassed over 6.5 years—perusing his photostream is like mainlining a hyper-distilled, chaotic mélange of interesting, occasionally ingenious work.
My head doesn’t wrap around such profligate excess easily—limitation is too central a feature in my own process. (Read: I am poor.) But I can let that slide. What I fail to fathom is how Mukhin’s haphazard, throw-it-at-the-wall-to-see-what-sticks curatorial approach works at all, let alone results in such jaw-dropping examples of all that photography should embody.
(To avoid unnecessary disappointment, skip his staid personal website.)
If I had I been born a decade earlier I would have lived on New York’s Lower East Side and died (of heroin or AIDS).
For better or worse, that ship sailed without me—more often than not I think it’s the latter.
I know Danny Fields as the first manager of punk icons The Ramones as well as the guy who signed both The Stooges and MC5 on the same day.
And, as Karley Sciortino over at Slutever—awesome name—points out, he was also a prolific pornographer, snapping a metric fuckton illicit Polaroids over the years.
No one is surprised I dig these images except old, toothless Stevie, who lives in a shotgun shack on the outskirts of Duluth and is surprised by everything.
But what surprises me is that I do find something off-putting about these images. I am not entirely sure what it is, so let’s go over the obvious stuff it’s not first:
- Fields’ Polaroids feature prostitutes paid $40 to do whatever he wanted. Yes, that’s totally sketchy; but, I am the last person who is going to denounce sex work; further objecting to the use of prostitutes as models means you object, by dint, to the entire western art historical canon. So yeah, bring on the whores.
- It doesn’t bother me that Fields admits these boys were loaded to the gills with drugs during sessions. Hell, it was the eighties who wasn’t?
- I do not even mind the graphic display of gay kink. Hell, if watching people who really want to fuck each other is what one needs to get off, then one would do well to skip over hetero porn completely.
- And I do dig the images– especially the one I’ve posted.
What feels off to me, I think, isn’t a result of anything intrinsic to the images; it’s reading Fields ideas with regard to sex:
I just think it’s best to fuck whores. I’ve never been in a situation where being emotionally involved with a person has made the sex better. While I’m fucking someone I care about them, and that’s enough for me—that’s where it means something. I want sex to be so intense that I’m not thinking about anything else. The loving part is distracting: who’s going to pay the rent, who didn’t clean the bathroom, that kind of stuff. After I cum I just want a trap door to open and whoever I’m with to fall through the floor.
I can’t relate this notion of intimacy but hey different strokes for different folks. But when this disposition is coupled with situations involving heavy drug use, sexual charged interacts and money changing hands, it’s all too easy for things to turn coercive and the imperative for explicit consent to become muddied.
Fields’ preempts accusations of exploitation by stating the images were produced prior to the Internet; a bullshit dodge since the Internet exists and sure enough the images are on it. Therefore the original intent is less certain than that he understood that any future right to privacy was forfeited when he paid the $40 fee.
I am not necessarily condemning the man—passing judgement on ethical matters is the last thing I am qualified to do.
Aesthetically, I think the images are great—they feature exactly the sort openness and permissive immediacy that will always be a quintessential turn on.
Unfortunately, they suffer under critical inspection. And not due exploitative elements or Fields insistence on that intimacy is essentially disposable. It’s their conjunction and Fields implicit nonchalance to it that is problematic. That does not make him a terrible person so much as intellectually disingenuous.
And isn’t disingenuity,the most un-punk thing ever?
Acetylene Eyes 