I have really been itching to do some photography lately especially involving full body paintings. Its proved extremely difficult for me to find righteous women of beauty and strength whom would be willing to take artistic nudes, their bodies painted from head to toe by me. I have found some lovelies that are more then willing but our schedules refuse to mesh up. Ah well, it will manifest when the time is right. In the meantime I have been taking a look back at some of my old photography which I did with a really crappy 3.2 mega pixel camera when I was still in High School. And to tell you the truth I almost miss that piece of crap point and shoot. It was very versatile and allowed me to do a lot of self portrait work as well. When I saved up and bought my Digital SLR camera it was a good move but I feel it changed the look and feel of my photography somewhat.
But I have been looking back on some of my old work and getting really inspired to do some new photography. here are a few of my old photographs that I have rediscovered:
would really love to do some more work with dark skinned subjects. There is something about the way that dark skin can capture and highlight colors in the enviroment- almost like an abalone shell.
Looks like this might have been my first attempt at a body painting session. My friend/subject here allowed me to draw on her chest with a sharpie marker! The paint used for the face here is acrylic. This was done back in the day when I was still in high school and did not yet know the awesome benefits of face and body paint! I really cant wait to try my hand once again with this sort of swirly/whimsy body paint adornment and then combine with photography.
I used to do a lot of self portrait work. I have always loved playing dress up. so it was natural for me to in moments of reverie rip off my mundane clothes, dive into my costume bag and paint up my face extravagantly. This process produced some intense self portrait work. I say self portrait work but when I was taking these photos of myself I did not view it as such because I was not trying to be/ or capture myself in the photos. I felt I was channeling/capturing other beings and presenting them in digital film format.
Here is another self portrait. Id really love to do more of these but now that I work with my digital SLR camera its almost impossible to do self portrait work even with a tri-pod/self timer.
So perhaps I will be scowering ebay for an old crappy digital point and shoot camera. they have got to be cheap these days!
I really truly feel a good photograph is a good photograph no matter if it came from a fancy shamncy camera or a throw away point and shoot.
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In other news, not only have i been hungry to do some new photography work but I have begun to rekindle my need to express via the written word. Poetry has always been a sacred thing to me. I wrote much more earlier in life and recently have been too focused on pen and ink illustration and painting to do much writing. I have made an effort to change that, thanks to some much needed encouragement( thanks Marius!).
Here is a recent spasm of words:
Wondering snake of the great deluge
eat my plum face till my cowering core runs white with static.
For these dry racking winds hold my water in sweltering embassy
and I wait for the ground to quiver and gleam.
In this half light my eyes are untold in crooked shame,
my flesh a pitted gourd that’s spelled to foam
while the sea is down, laid crumpled like an old crown,
the tides seeping in ringlets of wrinkle like spilt thread.
You must hold your breath and echo in lotus leaf blades,
cooing the seed that trembles with the voice of sunlight.
Only then will the trumpet flower raise its head,
a noble amidst a land of burden and spent inertia.
The moons will bow, all borrowing pieces of inky black heavens,
spinning the remnants into growling pits of riddled meat
made to suckle and sup in this grinding maze of rapture.
And I will bare this reaper. It’s head a molten shield of veils in turbulent dowry,
a single rupture in the beveled material of dirt and spit,
baring in its hoofed groves of oak an olden key,
a nimble pill of chance blooming ripe in settings undone.
Wait till the first light comes with the rhythm of wings.
You will know it as a fathom of deep flushed feather,
that howls in chorused reverberation.
And old nature will answer as a shell, spent and splintered,
embedding in our palms as thorns,
piercing the locks in our muddy veins till the flood begets us anew.
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