Alexander Gonzalez DelgadoUntitled feat. eddgein2 from somewhere in my head series (2018)

I like that this is analog. I like that the depth of field is such that the point of focus is actually somewhere behind Alice’s body but above the floor.

I also like the way the milk trailing down her body trails back to the bowl–due to the DoF, it’s all but devoid of texture (which adds to the sense of flowing liquidity.)

However, the way Alice’s body is dismembered by the frame edges–double amputation mid-thigh and having the top of her body removed feels like coded misogynistic essentialism (i.e. a woman’s body exists solely for the gratification of male sexual pleasure).

Also, I’m just really super not here for the whole milk bowl/cat/pussy riffing. (Several cat lovers have informed me that cats are by and large lactose intolerant.)

At the same time this feels of a kind with Marat Safin and I’d argue more honest than his in embracing the work’s fundamental depravity (in a value judgment-less sense…)

nymphoninjas:

We have been a huge fan of your blog for some time now, and never submitted. But as my time as a mother fills my days, I look fondly at how my body was during pregnancy, and it is a bittersweet feeling knowing this was the last time I will carry someone within me. My husband could not take enough photos, and I wanted to share some of them with you, and your wonderful community. 

Wow, thank you so much for sharing this incredible portrait. The colours of your tattoos look so nice in the sunlight, and you are radiant and beautiful. It’s amazing you have these photos to look back on and reflect about that time in your life. And I really appreciate you contributing to Submission Sunday for the very first time. 

“Mother is the word for God on the lips and hearts of all children.”

Ian ReidAmanda Marie & Molly Ace (2017)

There are about 15 different things about this image that leave me with questions. Foremost: yes, clearly the focus is what’s going on in the foreground but what I notice and what keeps claiming my attention is the reflection of the script tattoo across the Ace’s upper back.

Backing up: I didn’t know who any of the folks in this image were upon first encountering it. I knew I’d seen Ace before in an image by @vk-photography and another by @crosxsover. I followed model mayhem through a series of defunct Instagram aliases to an actual Twitter account back to an Instagram (linked above) that is–at the time of this writing–active.

All that was a bit more work than I was expecting just to you know offer proper attribution. However, then things really took an unexpected turn: as far as I can tell there’s not a picture anywhere that has the entirety of the tattoo visible and in sharp focus. (And let me just cut off any objections ahead–given the above resolution, which is the highest res version available… the ubiquitous police procedural motif of enhancing a digital image infinitely just doesn’t work here.)

So then I pulled out a fine tooth comb and went through the pictures I could find. The bit on the right shoulder is easy enough–there are several snaps with it in sharp focus. It reads: ‘these been’

Also the script on the other shoulder is relatively clear in a couple of shots: ‘Quid a’

The middle of it is the problem. In one picture you can make out ‘insolitus’ and something that I’m pretty sure is ‘trinus’.  In another shot at another angle it’s Quid a p-something?

By using Google and Google translate to attempt to reverse engineer something I realized that there is a fish called the Mangarahara cichlid, or Ptychochromis insolitus. They are critically endangered and were thought to be on the verge of extinction when one at the Berlin Zoo was killed while attempting to mate. Later, a small school was discovered in the wild.

Looking back though it’s definitely ‘quid a p(o- or e-something) so no dice on an elaborate Douglas Adams joke.

Best I can tell it reads ‘Quid a po-(something illegible) insolitus trinus is these been’

It’s weird because ‘is these been’ is not Latin. The rest is more or less a way of saying ‘what a long strange trip its been’ but in a way that is not the standard way of translating the Grateful Dead title into Latin–so I suspect there’s some kind of pun I’m too dumb to understand.

Anyway, this was not the direction I wanted to go with this post. I’d originally intended to find out what the tattoo said and then use one of those online tools that mirrors text so that you can post text backwards and just post that.

But I guess now you’ve at least got a wacky story to go along with a really goddamn interesting picture.

Anonymous – Submission to NNSS July 28 (2013)

OMFG. I had a dream about this triptych!

A former employee was sitting on floor with her dress forming a perfect circle around her, her bare, unshaved legs sticking out enough to show that she was sitting frog style.

The room was an amalgam of my room when I last lived with my mom, my current bedroom at that time and the second space I rented with several college chums after earning my undergraduate degree.

The floor was made from these broad, pine planks that were worn smooth after years of things scuffling against it.

In the way dream logic works, there was a perfectly sensible reason for her to be sitting in my room. Although we’re still loosely connected, she’s not someone I see with any regularity. And there was a feeling (in the dream at least) that she wasn’t there to hang out and whatever had brought her there was already completed.

This young woman–we’ll call her Skye–tends to be fragile to a fault and prone to fits of profound melancholia. Yet, on the rare occasion that she’s in a good mood, she takes on this affected simpering bravado that would–on anyone else–appear pout-y and conceited, except on her it comes off as playful and perhaps even a bit edgy.

I suddenly felt as if she’d hidden something in my room and I was expected to find it. I looked around but without knowing what I was looking for it all felt awkwardly contrived.

Something made me think of Charlie’s BB gun. I was pretty sure that I’d thrown it away years ago. But I felt suddenly as if Skye had either found it and wasn’t happy about my having it or that it would be super bad if she knew I still had it.

I began to tear the room apart in an effort to find it and get rid of it. Sure enough it was in a shoebox, wrapped in a towel. I showed her and she thought it was dumb that I had it but she didn’t say more than that.

She was still sitting there. I wondered why she was still there. I sheepishly said that she’d been in my room long enough that she probably had a pretty good idea what a pervert I was. She said she did but that she actually thought it was charming.

I put the BB pistol back in the shoebox and buried it in the closest again. When I turned back to her, she was holding the hem of her skirt up and was stroking the shaft of a fairly large cornflower blue phallus. A small purple vibrator was wedged between her crotch and the floor. Her boy shorts were a canary yellow except where the humming vibrator pressed against the outline of her vulva, a dark mustard color spreading slowly outward.

This is okay, right? She asked.

Aaron Tsuru –  just you and me feat. Lorelei (2015)

There’s this marvelous @reverendbobbyanger quote from one of his Sunday Posts a year or so ago:

There is more than finding the right light to shoot in. You must find
the people with the right light in them.

He’s absolutely correct. That’s always the first step. But a think a indispensable second step follows implicitly given that first step.

I remember being told once that the Sanskrit word ‘namaste’ translates to something like the light in me sees and acknowledges the light in you.

It’s not enough to find the right light in someone else–you must also find that right light in yourself.

Whether it was Hemingway or Leonard Cohen who said it first or best, it’s still true: the broken parts are where the light gets inside.

Or to borrow a monologue from the film with the best color cinematography of all time that was subsequently appropriated by Texas post-rockers Explosions in the Sky:

This great evil – where’s it come from?
How’d it steal into the world?
What seed, what root did it grow from?
Who’s doing this?
Who’s killing us, robbing us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of what we mighta known?
Does our ruin benefit the earth, aid the grass to grow and the sun to shine?
Is this darkness in you, too?
Have you passed through this night?

If you’re curious what it looks like when someone has passed through this night is seen by someone who has also passed through similar nights: it looks like this. Exactly like this.

Russell PebordeZu (201X)

I’ve had this saved as a draft for several months because the model makes me feel like I need to stare at the ground and shyly kick at imaginary dirt with my boots.

But despite the fact that Peborde favors absolutely inexcusable #skinnyframebullshit (I mean come on guy, your landscape stuff is super on fleek) and the fact that he’s another boudoir photographer using the minimalist Tumblr theme to showcase a barrage of beautiful women in suggestive states of undress/poses, there is substance to his work.

I’m not really sure I can say it better than comparing it to something not unlike the way mrchill‘s work and its obsessive meditation on the interplay of color actually dignifies the work and belies the artists profound respect for those he photographs. There’s an undertone in Peborde’s work that he somehow manages to foster an environment wherein the people with whom he works seem to possess a bedrock comfortability and confidence in their own bodies. It comes off as almost magical, really.

Top: Most pegging shots focus on the shifting of the power dynamic. You won’t hear me argue that is not a part of it but it is not what interests me—I am not interested in the pain so much as the openness to sharing a side of oneself ones lover might not otherwise known. This is the only images mostly met my blog worthy criteria. I do like the way she is grabbing his ass—both holding and spreading it. Also, that she is watching attentively to how he is responding to is being done to him is great.

Bottom: I have problems with this image: the framing dismembers her body, the focus is on her expression, left nipple, bare vulva and erection partially inserted into her asshole. I’ll allow that at least she does have some sort of pubic hair. The reason I am posting this is its aesthetic is one of those rare occasions when form and content complement each other perfectly. I am not sure if it is a filter or if it was snapped with a smart phone off of a monitor, but I love the way it distresses the image without deteriorating it—as if it knows how sleazy it is so in shooting for that aesthetic, it manages to almost, but not quite, transcend it.

In film school there were some actors and actresses I made do some pretty absurd things toward the end of realizing my ‘vision’.

Looking back I am struck by how little of what I more or less convinced others to do willing would have been things I would have ever considered doing myself if the roles had been reversed—if I was put in front of the camera and told to enact the fantasies of someone hidden safely away behind it.

Morality is arbitrary at best and usually total horseshit. But there is dishonesty and disingenuousness in asking someone to do something I wouldn’t do if I were in their shoes—it makes the situation, no matter how carefully conceived or well-intended exploitative.

That’s really what I think of anal sex in the vast majority of heterosexual porn: the anus is presented is just another tighter hole that you just need to ask her to let fill with your rock hard cock.

I know all about the fact that it is four degrees warmer and has four more working muscles than the vagina. That’s great. But unless you are okay with being on the receiving end first, you really should not be thinking about what it might be like to find yourself on the giving end.