motion blur – Acetylene Eyes

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.

I have tried to source this but neither Google Image search or TinEye are coming up with anything conclusive.

This uncertainty exacerbates my polar reactions to it. Most of the time, the muddiness is reminiscent of Duane Michals early-ish work, particularlly a moment of perfection.

But there are also times–like writing this–where the position way his arms are positioned and his motion blurred face feel more like a horror film, a sort of E. Elias Merhige’s Begotten-esque haunted house where the ghost seduces then strangles the amorous.

I don’t know what to make of it. Not in an I don’t give fuck one about it, though. It’s so true what is said about the distance between what we love and hate is much less than the disparity separating love from apathy.

There something else rattling around in my head about the body as a house haunted by a soul, but language and I are having another one of our frequent sullen tiffs. Besides, any time it starts to feel like the only thing I have ever known, I start to forget how the stories go.