Tag: female nude

Source unknown – Title unknown (XXXX)

In general, I’m not especially forgiving of tacky composition in erotic imagery.

At first glance–with the young woman’s left index finger and genitals positioned dead center–my gut reaction is to scream BULLSHIT.

That I’m not only willing to give it a pass but to actively engage it has less to do with my profound preoccupation with the politics of depicting masturbation and more to do with the fact that unlike the claims by Gregory Crewdson about his own work– the above is a narrative image (albeit a crude one).

Note: the active workspace, school uniform and skin pricked with sweat. I think we all can remember a time when the heat makes focusing on work impossible and high on hormones, the ache of lust is more than one can endure; so in assumed privacy, one pushes aside various clothing blocking unfettered sensual touch–oh but what that twist in her knickers inside her left ankle doesn’t make me shiver– and sets off in search of release (however temporary).

Things run a little deeper than that though. The room in which this occurs is–in the Japanese style–open to a courtyard which not only contributes a lush and verdant green to the proceedings it also insinuates questions of public vs. private that perhaps not completely but at least tangentially implies a cast aside explanation of the ridiculous framing: someone of whom the young woman is unaware is watching her. (This does raise questions w/r/t consent–invariably experiences in life where we can watch others unbeknownst to them occur and how one responds speaks to personal integrity; however, this is too posed, the lighting orchestrated for me to believe the young woman is entirely unaware of her audience.

What the image does exceedingly well is presenting a carefully manicured fiction that invites suspension of disbelief. Two things I notice is that their is a picture of what appears to be a pop star pinned over her desk. You can’t see enough to determine who that pop star might be. In my mind–always hungry to fill in the blanks–it’s a female pop star on whom she has a crush.

Also, the picture in her hand is tilted at an angle that reduces the glare for the camera but not for the young woman. I’d like to think it’s a picture of her and a girlfriend and that the angle is explained by the fact that she’s already orgasmed–the beaded sweat on her legs (which almost certainly is water from a spray mister)–and is exploring the mostly sated, hyper-sensitive perhaps a little horny again already ecstatic afterglow body high that comes with being young, alive and tragically longing for life, as it were, to begin.

The thing this does best is to show that using the frame edges to decapitate a body for the sake for the sake of preserving anonymity is the worst thing you can do. There is almost always a way to preserve anonymity in such a fashion so as not to disembody the subject.

Source: partialboner

Impossible Photos – Sailor Girl (2014)

The Stanford marshmallow experiment has been a leitmotif in my life of late, i.e. the notion of an immediate, cheap thrill vs. putting time and effort into something more gratifying down the line.

Mostly, I’ve been thinking about this spectrum in terms unrelated to photography/image making but I think it serves here.

Plenty of folks more brilliant than I have used a marshmallow now vs. two marshmallows later as a reference for the digital vs. analog divide. I am absolutely inclined to agree with this premise but it does suggest an interesting question with regards to instant films: is instant film a one marshmallow or two marshmallow sort of thing?

Although the question invites an either/or answer, I think it’s actually neither. Or perhaps, it’s marshmallows are fucking disgusting or no marshmallows or maybe three marshmallows after 2-3 minutes.

I mean the Polaroid aesthetic–the sort of mid-50s through 70s overexposed, soft-focus, yellow shifting tinge–has become so ubiquitous as to be monolithic. Yet, the thing that–for me at least–distinguished instant film formats was their near-immediacy.

Almost certainly the absence of middlemen and labs was why Polaroid has this sort of illicit connotation. It democratized porn making, in a way. Instead of consuming what porn purveyors sold, one could–in relative privacy–produce images specifically tailored to individual tastes. And I think for me, the aesthetic has a believability to it.

The thing artist were slow to realize is that even considering the limits of creative control, instant films offered skill and patience the most exquisite rewards.

…

I don’t think the above images are great or necessarily even good (excluding the one in the upper left hand corner–which while I object to the decapitation of the model by the top frame edge gives a very rich since of location, texture), but they are interesting if for nothing else than the lucious tones. Plus, the defects and fingerprints contribute a sense of character to what are artfully executed but ultimately one-dimensional rehash of tired heteronormative erotic tropes.

Source unknown – Title Unknown (20XX)

With the ubiquity of un-sexy Hollywood sex scenes, why can’t someone figure out how to make a film with a layered, nuanced, well-developed female protagonist with a relate-able, accessible and engaging story and put the above scene in it.

Excepting regressive and prudish attitudes towards female sexuality, there’s no reason this scene couldn’t be part of an awesome indie feature. Yeah, maybe she wouldn’t be completely naked but notice how in the throes of ecstasy even though her pose is cheated toward the viewer for maximum visibility, this scene–based on the what 60-something frames in this gif–is about her pleasure.

Source: girls-who-love-masturbation

vk-photography – Freshie Juice (2014)

The use of color in this is masterful. The avocado side-wall juxtaposed with the clementine skin back wall! The way the mulberry of the drapes and burgundy stain of the bed seem as if they are different phases of the same continuous spectrum. (This allows coaxes a flattering accent from the otherwise ugly brown heating fixture.)

Then there is the skin tone. Seriously, I encourage you to stop reading now and enlarge this. (See: how the mattress is pushed slightly to the side to reveal particle board that is sort of a control tone distinct from the skin tone range that actually causes the skin tone to pop even more–that’s some Mike Portnoy level show boating, right there.)

Other little details are just too exquisite to pass over unnoticed: the precision with which the drape pull is aligned with the left vertical frame edge. The corner and the light fixture above the bed are skewed slightly but even once you notice it, it’s hard to actually see it. I also adore that there’s a cord plugged into the socket directly underneath and behind Ms. Juice that then stretches back toward the camera.

Really, all the above would play like a super technical jerk off session, if it were for Freshie’s perhaps slightly stoned, vaguely judging expression taken together with the provocative coyness of her pose is fatherfucking perfect.

This is one of those rare images that I am going to beat myself up for the next year for not having been one of the geniuses involved in making it.

Source: vk-photography

Source unknown – Title unknown (19XX)

I tried to draw attention to this series a few posts back but on the grounds of quality of craft, i.e. adept handling of a diverse tonal range and unimpeachable attention to skin tone/texture.

Yes, some of the framing is awkward but I feel that’s more than counter balanced by the fact that the camera remains at enough of a remove that it remains voyeur instead of becoming an ersatz participant in the liaison.

(And my Wittgensteinian side thrills in the fact that the action–haphazardly framed or not–is firmly grounded in the context of a background equal parts Ostra Studios and anticipating Saudek.

Source: robotromis221168

Source unknown – Title unknown (20XX)

Images like this give me a feeling like maybe I’m not irrevocably broken.

I’m not sure I can explain why and I’m even less certain such feelings are a good thing…

Touch is such a goddamn minefield for me. Generally, if I don’t know someone and they touch me–something as little as their coat brushing against me as they walk by me on a subway platform can be downright unnerving. Extroverted people who throw their hands about when they laugh to collide and rest briefly on my shoulder, arm or thigh make me shudder and have brought on full blown panic attacks.

I’m split as far as how to respond to such incidents–half the time I snarl get the fuck off me, the other half I bite down hard and try to swallow the discomfort.

When it comes to acquaintances and friends, I try–and admittedly fail more than I succeed–to follow the other persons lead. Any contact will make me uncomfortable but it feels like that’s just the price of admission.

The weird thing I’ve found is that closeness isn’t prescriptive when it comes to touch. I know people who’ve insisted on hugging me upon our first introduction and I’ve been fine. Whereas, it makes me feel all squirmy inside when one of my oldest friends wraps her arms around me by way of greeting.

And here’s the rub of it: those people who can touch me with a seeming impunity to negative reaction–to a one, I would sleep with them without so much as a second thought if there was a mutual desire and clearly articulated consent.

The decision to do so would be based less on desperation (even though I have been sexually inactive for 5.5 years at this point) and more motivated by curiosity.

I don’t for a second believe I am entitled to sexual gratification from anyone simply because a random, proverbial dice throw by the universe reconciled my instinctive response their body. But I do feel–and much more often than I am willing to openly admit–that there is a disconnect between the frequency with which I experience attraction and the infrequency with which I express to those for whom I feel it.

People just don’t respond well to such admissions (from me). I just wish things in my life could be more like two of my close friends in college–both female and straight–who after a wild night woke up in bed together and although hungover one admitted to being extremely horny and the other admitted to always wanting to go down on her.

After neither was embarrassed or ashamed and they are still dear friends to this day.

To me this image not only conveys an intoxicating post-coital afterglow, it also resonates with the calmness of knowing how to ask a question so that it is not only heard but in no way presupposes any sort of response. (And I believe the entirety of my sexuality is encapsulated within that sentiment.)

Lastly, it must be noted that no matter how much this image resonates with me, it is textbook #skinnyframebullshit.

Prue Stent – selections from Pink series (201X)

choomathy:

soulsandfishbowls:

7knotwind:

Prue Stent is a 20 year old photo student from Melbourne. The themes of her photography center around femininity and the struggle of identity in women. The color pink is used to represent femininity either physically or emotionally throughout her work.

Her Pink series explores feminine beauty. Stent uses the element of color to raise questions about society’s standard of beauty; breasts, buttocks, and lips are slathered with pink paint to illustrate these commodities are a woman’s own.

found via: http://www.ignant.de/

love it

If this is the future of fine art photography, then Bring. It. On.

Prue Stent = Pure Genius.

Source unknown – Title Unknown (198X)

I consider it a damn shame that I can’t trace exact attribution for this image. All I know is that it seems to have been a popular set shot in Russia circa the 1980s.

Its #skinnyframebullshit is so egregious it’s laughable. However, setting that point aside this and the rest of the images from the aforementioned set are disarmingly charming.

I love how he’s naked and she’s clothed. Her exposed labia are a little too dimly lit to comply with porn expectations–instead I read it as reading as the boy going down on her prior to the scene in the above image (which appears to be supported by the set).

I love how he’s stroking her hair and her visual preoccupation to the proceedings in the majority of photos from the set.

Taken together the set suggests a curiosity the mirrors the rapt, passionate explorations of the couples. Nothing about it feels staged, artificial or contrived.