w-y-s-f:

Hanna

Hanna GraceUntitled (2015)

Given several years, art historians are going to have to grapple with the fallout from this prevalent notion of the ‘selfie’.

For all intents and purposes, Wikipedia considers a selfie anything where the operator of a lens based imaging device produces an image of themselves. I think that’s more than a little problematic since it conflates self-portraiture with the selfie phenomenon.

What’s the difference? You might inquire. I’m not sure I have an answer and even if there were a way to flowchart things so that we can easily facilitate a distinction, I’m not sure that will ultimately be a good thing, though.

There is an art historical trend of associating women with mirrors. The most unequivocal of these instances is probably Charles Allan Gilbert’s All is Vanity–where a woman (who in an art historical perspective are always treated as if they have a corner on the vanity market) is staring at her own reflection in a mirror transforms via optical illusion into an enormous skull.

This knee jerk association of women with vanity is disingenuous considering many of the artists who ran with this motif also painted self-portraits which would have required them to stare at themselves in a mirror for countless hours. And the resulting work would be seen as meritorious and not at all vain.

More recently–the backlash over the sorority members more interested in taking selfies than paying attention to the baseball game they were attending. It’s all just an extension of the societal double standards with regard to performance of femininity: the fine line between prude and slut and regardless of how carefully you try to walk it, you’re still going to be cat-called on the streets and it’s going to be your fault for being a a woman.

But beyond that what does the term even mean? Ostensibly it means you hold the camera and take a picture of yourself. But with the advent of loathsome selfie sticks, where’s the line? Despite the visual limitations of the selfie, the results are frequently more appealing than the ubiquitous bathroom mirror reflection image.

I’m not one to poopoo any of it. If your preferred method of ontology involves self-portraiture, I am 120% an ally. (However, I do think like anything else there are pitfalls–I’m thinking of the young woman who recently acknowledged her Instagram wasn’t as candid as she presented it to the world and the toxic effect it had on her self-esteem.)

But most of all I don’t want work like the above images by Hanna Grace to be lumped in with the sort of casual, knee-jerk let’s take a picture because it’ll last longer motivation of selfies.

Maybe it’s snobbery but a part of me thinks if you take the time to set up a tripod and think about your framing, there’s more going on than something incidental. Not that making selfies is always easy–I saw two young woman on the Brooklyn Bridge several years back spend close to 15 minutes taking and retaking the same image to get it right. I won’t deny there’s an art to that but I think that the highest that a selfie can aspire to is probably a well-made document. There has to be more than just capturing the moment.

And that’s why I like these images so much. I’d hate to see them termed selfies. There’s thought behind them. A sense of the tone of the room, dynamic light. But also implicit interrogations over questions of the cultural sexualization of nudity–the way that the shining through the top of the window creates a frame within the frame that is aggressively controlled and shaped by the woman in the image. It conveys a totality of personhood.

I’m not sure these are effective as examples of fine art, necessarily. The pose grows increasingly confident/less awkward from top to bottom. The exposure is best in the middle image. Also, the middle image makes the best balance between the space occupied by Grace’s body in the frame contrasted with the room as negative space.

If you take the three together though and sort of take the mean average, I feel like they are sketches that could be used as fodder for a truly breath-taking image.

John LorenziniTrish (2014)

This is an effing goddamn gorgeous image–which is something coming from me given that my default seeting with regards to studio work is best labeled: ‘intense antipathy’.

From the stand point of scale, it’s interesting that the distance between the tip of her toes and the baseboard is identical to the distance between the top of her head and the top frame edge. (Further, I suspect those echoed distances can be subdivided into three equal parts which are the same height as the space between the lower frame edge and the tips of her toes.

The way the one point perspective of the floor boards recedes drawing your eye toward the woman and then having the beautiful gray background blossom in variegated light is an extremely effective compositional flourish. (Also, the light in most of his other work seems to fall at a very contrived 35-40 degree downward slant. It’s doing the same here but the light is broken up, inconsistent and thus appears more natural.)

That Trish is not acknowledging the camera seems to be a nod towards and awareness of the highly problematic art historical ‘male gaze’. However, there’s some downright maddening inconsistencies with regard to acknowledging the camera/not acknowledging the camera across the work that suggests less underlying subversion and more edits made to foster a personal aesthetic.

And even though I love this image and super wish that I’d shot it, I do have to take the image maker to task–rather pointedly–on two fronts. First, given solely this image, I wouldn’t be inclined to call #skinnyframebullshit. Unfortunately, considering the rest of the work, yeah, it’s used as a means of hyper-stylization. Which is fine but use it consistently. Things get in a muddle when the seemingly suggested strictures governing the use are abandoned for seemingly no reason or rigidly followed to the diminishment of visual effect.

My second objection has to do with the impetus for nudity in this image. I don’t think, for example, that this work is nearly as vapid and frivolous as this image–which features superior lighting but is otherwise vapid and positively seethes pushy/sleazy heteronormative suggestion. Alternately, consider this image which features garbage lighting design and asinine composition but actually conveys a logic behind the nudity it is exhibiting (note: the discarded top and knickers on the arm of the couch and on the floor near the edge of the frame; also, the acknowledgement of the camera)–in this case a semi-coy I want you to see me naked (which is entirely valid but does require a certain responsibility on the part of the image maker to address the legacy of white, cis-male heteronormative entitlement).

Lorenzini’s image is exceptional except there’s no context for her to be seen nude–sell the studying figure and form BS elsewhere, we’re full up here–other than to be seen nude. Thus, although it’s good natured and probably entirely well-intentioned, this image–while extremely aesthetically pleasing and technically prescient, is unfortunately at it’s most basic level: an exercise in objectification.

WowPornSize Matters! featuring Bella Baby (2013)

Despite what tend to be better than the run-of-the-mill online porn outlet production values, I object to the over-the-top heteronormative tropes in which WowPorn traffics.

And as much as this video is emblematic of everything I detest about the company, this shot actually has a great deal of inherent potential–I mean I’ve never seen framing quiet like it before.

Granted, the camera probably needs to pull back about two feet and perhaps angle up slightly. Cover that too hot key light source–probably a west facing window–with a couple layers of frost; gel what ever is casting that godawful purple sodium vapor tinge that’s working as the fill here (I’d say CTB but then I like everything to match and correct via a grade in post, CTO could work too.)

Also, production design dropped the ball. Sure the wood floor is nice, but how about some sort of rug to add some color. And the difference between the color of the wall and that cabinet needs either color or at least two stops greyer.

Lastly, this is one of those situations, where the default 16:9 aspect ratio isn’t quite as wide as you’d want. Ideally, this scene would’ve benefited from the abbreviated depth of field an anamorphic adapter would’ve brought to the table. However, given that those tend to be expensive, they camera guy could’ve opted for a wider lens and then letterboxed during editing. (Something I’m discovering is that the more rectangular your image, the more it invites a narrative reading–which is not to saw every movie made needs to be shot in 2.35:1 but there are cases where it is appropriate; this is one, IMO.)

Chip WillisKelsey Dylan (2014)

I’m having one of those aha moments where the incandescent bulb over my head flickers, falters and then begins to glow bright.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, if you participate in the Tumblr art nude/erotic image community, then you know who the fuck Chip Willis is. The list of model with whom he has collaborated might as well be the Tumblr model A-list.

Honestly though, I’ve always felt meh-ish at best about his work. I mean, don’t get me wrong: it’s quality; it just hasn’t ever really moved me.

This image connects somehow. And I think it has to do with the fact that it features Kelsey Dylan.

The first image I ever saw of hers was the incredible Polaroid diptych by rabbits. This is one of those times where my thoughts don’t align all that well with language. But the aforementioned photos resonate with an unnerving curation of representational identity–looking at them my body has this strange psuedo-synesthetic response where I physically itch in a way that is half mosquito bite, half throbbing erogenous arousal. It’s an experience that bypasses critical/conceptual academnification via an impossible, coup de grace killshot, the bullet lodging in the liminal space between the thinking mind and the feeling brain.

It’s not just the Polaroid diptych, the majority of Dylan’s work seems to have a similar effect on me.

Therein lays the bait. But by the time I’ve realized it, the hook is set–or more accurate Willis’ image becomes something of a labyrinth I must now learn to navigate because I have found myself unexpectedly at its center.

If you know you’re in a maze, you just pick either the wall to your left or right and you as long as you follow that wall without deviation, you will eventually find your way out.

This image provides two clues as to how it is to be interpreted–and looking back over Willis’ work, these seem to hold true throughout:

  1. The image maker is aware of the voyeuristic slant the content contributes to the image,
  2. The image represents an effort to sublimate tropes and tableaux customarily relegated to the realm of pornography by employing methods associated with Art practice.

I suspect Mr. Willis would probably object to the second point. He might contend that he’s interested in presenting a narrative. But as with every image maker who uses an image’s potential to convey a story, the truth is: indubitably narrative images tend to be the exception not the rule.

What possible narrative could this image entail? What reason is there for such a pose? Is Dylan being fucked by the light pouring in through the open window? Hardly.

The futon is positioned with more a mind to mise en scene than interior design and the framing of the doorway imposes a sense of voyeurism on the proceedings. That it is a wide shot–presenting a more or less complete context–shifts it away from its pornographic trappings and towards a mediation on representation of physical identity, sexuality and objectification.

Alina Senchuk (goodbyestockholm)

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La petit mort  2011

It is difficult to speak the truth, for although there is only one truth, it is alive and therefore has a live and changing face.

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Franz Kafka

nymphoninjas:

nymphoninjas:

Approximately 65% of my sexual pleasure arises from orgasming. The remaining 35% is determined by what occurs afterward.

Closeness and cuddling are wonderful but I need more before that, something which demands more than I think I can withstand.

I am not necessarily talking so-called post-orgasm torture—though if that’s on the table, I won’t object. No, I crave something and more gently insistent; stimulation which recognizes and respects my heightened state of post-ejaculatory sensitivity while dismissing the notion that there can be such a thing as ‘too sensitive’.

Alas, this is not something I achieve alone—past a point, my nervous system short circuits and my body locks up.

Being alone for the last four years has caused me to seek out the vaguest hints of the same pleasure overflowing into pain, requiring complete surrender to overwhelming physical sensation.

This is a Polaroid of me—holding my ex’s panties stilling bear the marks of her former longing with which I sometimes in an Icarus like attempt to remembered some shadow of the glory arising from responding involuntarily to touch as if shivering in a desperately cold draft.

I feel like this submission would work really great in an art gallery, the photo is beautiful and touching. And the write up sounds more like an essay than a poem or message. Thanks for your submission dude I really fucking like this one and am proud to have it a part of SS.