Property Porn

I don’t know about in the States, but the primary topic of conversation at dinner parties (or in fact at any gathering in the UK lasting longer than ten minutes) is the housing market.

The British are completely obsessed with property prices, even more than the weather. Of course, like the US, we are headed for a house-price crash in about a year‘s time, so everyone is thinking about selling their house and downsizing before the shit really hits the fan.

So Rich and I are tentatively looking for a new abode. Although we live in a beautiful spot, there are a number of reasons we need to move. Closer to our kids’ school would be perfect, but a frighteningly expensive option (house pieces double in and around the city, and we need to decrease our mortgage, not the opposite.) Closer to our favourite coffee shop would be pretty good too (high priority when considering moving.) But the primary reason for relocation is now the photography. As Art slowly and insidiously wheedles its way into our daily lives, we NEED more creative space.

Because we live in the middle of nowhere, renting bigger studio space is not an option, nor is outdoor shooting unless you’re both brave and foolish (Big Brother is watching everywhere.) So we are challenged with moving somewhere cheaper, but still handy for the train (kids go to school by rail), and with a larger day-job office and studio.

This is rapidly becoming Mission Impossible, and I am spending every spare waking moment on property search web sites or scouring local newspapers for potential nekkid-chick-pads in which my dear Mr Fluffy can explore his …um …art. Because my other yummy mummy friends are also on the property hunt, we ladies talk about houses constantly, to the exclusion of all else.

I am completely obsessed of course, and am driving Rich utterly crazy with my studio lust. Many young women eye up dishy young men when they pass them in the car. I eye up dishy-looking commercial buildings. Sadly, I’ve never been known to salivate over young, pert male buttocks, but instead I drool over old abandoned barns, big factory buildings, revolting run-down farmhouses with wrecked outbuildings. Anything I can possibly fantasise about converting into shooting space. There’s nothing that makes my pulse quicken and my meter rise like the glimpse of a provocative and tantalising ye-olde-warehouse. Who cares about the looks? It’s the personality of my lover that counts. He has to be really big, with room for me to expand into him, dress him up, play with him, fill him up with my wildest longings.

Yes, I’m still talking about houses. Definitely NOT about the hunky young, curly-haired Orlando Bloom look-alike who works at the local bank and keeps asking me if there‘s anything he can do for me. (Tip for young men: Never EVER ask a randy middle-aged nude model if there’s anything you can do to her, unless you want to wind up very, VERY scared.)

But no, I can definitely resist Orlando, just not the forlorn, unloved and wrecked old barn I’ve fallen for with its door hanging off, and a Christmas tree on the side. Damn, he’s cute. And he’d be so gorgeously satisfying to toy with and explore to his deepest depths. Ah! Sweet desire! If only I had the money!

Alas, houses are sexier than men. Ask any middle aged woman with a crazy gleam in her eye, and I’ll bet you next month’s wages it’s a house project which has put that sparkle there, not her sexy young bank clerk (bless his cotton socks.)

Of course I realise that the perfect studio is a mirage - a sexual utopia which isn’t real, but exists only in my wildest fantasies. But I don’t give a hoot. I am addicted. I must have my prize, or perish in the attempt. The nature of addiction is that the sad old fool carries on lusting, regardless of the consequences.

So you middle-aged guys just carry on shooting young nekkid chix who have no interest in real-estate whatsoever. Just leave us old laydeez to our online property porn.



Let me introduce you to my latest desire, the Object of My Obsession.

It would make a brilliant studio - it just needs a little TLC and a new snazzy studio name which really sums up what our photography is all about.

A name such as……

Weird

In which our heroine answers her critics (politely)

In the last few months I’ve come under considerable fire for both my writing style and for the way we view our blog and the photographic bloggie community in general. This isn’t from folks who comment on-blog. No, it’s from people who don’t even know me, and sometimes only throw a cursory glance at the odd post on this blog, yet presume to judge me based on their view of how I should do things.

Now, despite the apparent assumption that I actually have no life outside photographic cyberspace, I must point out that I do actually have friends in the “real world” whom I meet several times a week, have coffee with, chat to, talk to, go out with. But I don’t blog about them. Firstly they have no interest in photography or modelling (although they know what I do), and secondly I don’t feel that talking about them here would be remotely interesting. I suspect that most of you wouldn’t be gripped by the banalities of my day to day existence.

For example, I am a keen cook, I like gardening, sci-fi, reading and researching nutrition and life extension. But if I blogged about that, I’d send you to sleep pretty damn quick. Photography and art are what float your boat, so I try to keep the writing loosely related to these topics.
Mostly.
O.K. maybe not, but I do try.
I could be wrong about this assumption of course. So if anyone is interested in my last night’s reading about catecholamine excess and phaeochromocytomas in the Dutch population, then please do feel free to email me.

Besides my daily life, I must confess I do spend a lot of time online “socialising" with the photographic community. I count the people I “meet” online as my friends. Some of them I’d even call good friends, and I chat to them practically every day via email or MSN. I firmly believe that cyberspace can be as much an online community as a physical one. After all, it’s just another method of communication. Sure it involves a certain level of trust - many of you might indeed be mad axe murderers for all I know, in which case, might I say in all truthfulness, that I like you anyway. But on the whole, I do think people are honest, and why the hell shouldn’t I care about you, value your opinions, and what you think? Via this blog, I’ve learned a heck of a lot about life, photographic art, and most importantly, about PEOPLE.

However, despite the fact that I’m entirely happy having both friends in the “real world” and friends on the other side of the planet in cyberspace, some folks are crtical of this. Let’s take a snapshot of the last month, in which I’ve been called (off blog):

Weird
Unhealthy
Naïve
Screwed up
Desperate
Socially isolated

And that’s only in the last month.

O.K. running a fairly successful photography blog is inevitably going to earn a fair degree of the big greenies, but I’m not overly impressed at being judged by people who think they know me, but clearly don’t.

Yes, I expose my feelings, emotions and innermost thoughts on here. I believe that makes me a better writer, and for each post that exposes “the real me,” I have been rewarded ten-fold by the generosity and openness of complete strangers who have welcomed me as friends.

To those who criticise me for writing this blog the way I do, to those who don’t take risks in cyberspace, and who view exposing their emotions and thoughts online as a personal flaw, I say to you:

Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. The rewards far outweigh the risks, believe me, and I haven’t exactly been attacked by any mad-axe-murderers yet, although I’ve had my share of emails from perv’s (who tend to be incredibly polite people and immense fun.)

We have a good community here, folks. Which is every bit as valuable and valid as the one in the “real world.”

O.K. So I may be weird. But at least I’m in good company.



A rather old image I dug out of the archives today of Cheeky Lee.

The Cult of the Black Madonna

A Black Madonna or Black Virgin is a statue or painting of Mary, mother of Jesus, in which she is depicted with dark or black skin.

My fascination with black Madonna statues first began when I was a teenager travelling around Europe on a school trip. As soon as I clapped eyes on the beautiful statue at Rocamadour, I was fascinated, and by the time we had travelled on to Montserrat, I was totally lost to a lifelong passion.



These statues pop up all over the world, from Spain to the UK to Tenerife to Guadalupe. All originated hundreds of years earlier (usually from mysterious or unknown artists), and were usually carved from either wood or stone, and almost always dark brown or black.

Why black? Well, perhaps because of the wood-type (ebony), but also because white is the symbol of innocence and purity, and this is not what these statues are about. They are about fertility, passion, POWER. They are amazing art. They are not mere statues, they are icons. Some of them pre-date Christianity of course, and are attributed to pagan worship of the earth goddess, mother-force, Isis, and so forth, but were subsequently adopted by Catholics so as to mould non-Christian worship to their own ends.

Many people believe these statues (and paintings) have divine or magical powers, and they queue up to pray to them and worship them. Despite the teachings of the Catholic church that “thou shalt not worship false gods,” (actually that quote might have been from Stargate, I forget) and that faith only comes from within, not from worshipping inanimate objects, nevertheless many people travel on pilgrimages from all over the world to worship these sacred icons, to ask for miracles. And sometimes their fervent prayers get answered too. Of course, the religious reason for this is that “your faith has made you whole,” rather than the statue or painting has special miraculous powers, but no-one can deny that strange unexplained miracles do occur with some frequency. The sick are healed. Infertile women suddenly get pregnant, people with dire personal problems get their problems suddenly solved, that kind of thing.

If any of you have spent any significant time in quiet contemplation with one of these statues or paintings, then my guess is you will know that these icons do exude a definite “something.“ You can feel it. A connection with the "divine feminine" perhaps? A subconscious recognition of the power of “woman?”

If you are still reading this, you are no doubt asking, “What does this have to do with photographing naked women?”

Well, it strikes me that the photography of naked women is a subconcious attempt by modern artists to tap into that same power. The artistic medium may be different, but the goals are the same.

Yes of course men like looking at young, nekkid chix. It’s hardwired into their genes. They are guys, after all. They are motivated at a basic subconscious level to reproduce, and hence they are drawn to photograph young, fertile, beautiful women.

But for the art-nude photographer in particular, it’s not just about following his balls. It’s about creating something else. He is driven to create something greater than just a snapshot of a pretty girl. Art-nude photography isn’t about that. The photographer is compelled to create something MORE. He wants to create Art, more specifically to show the power and perfection of the woman. In its truest form, art-nude photography is not about identifying with the model personally. It’s about beauty, form, perfection of the female who can be worshipped, adored and fantasised about.

Is anyone else spotting the parallels here?

Men are compelled to photograph naked women because nude photography is just another form of worship of the raw power of woman, what used to be called "the Goddess" in old religion. This applies to the painter and the sculptor too. Men don’t realise it (nor would they admit to it), but it is their way of tapping into the divine, getting closer to the feminine power, the archetypal "great mother" who presides not only over fertility, but over life and death.

Of course, as an experienced nude model, photographs of me also clearly exude the divine power of the fertile goddess (although I’m old, I do believe I have a few eggs left, so technically speaking my images still qualify - although I am most definitely not a virgin.) So if anyone wants to worship this photograph, please be aware that it is available for the performance of miracles as a highly exclusive and limited 11x14 print for $50 (plus shipping), for one week only.



(Kidding, honestly. About the prints, not the miracles. We don‘t do prints because the printer is kaput. But my ass has definitely been known to perform the odd miracle on occasion.)

A clear schedule.

All my shoots for the remainder of the year have been cancelled, for various reasons. Besides, I have too much on my plate and what was supposed to be a fun hobby to relax me was becoming more of a chore than fun.

It’s not a business. It’s supposed to be fun.

So now I have no more shoots booked. No more commitments. The next time I pick up the camera, it will be for fun. On my terms, when I want.

What of CGI? Well that’s coming along, slowly. Waiting for some books and stuff on accurate skin and face rendering (its pretty complex stuff). Learning about rendering and meshes.

Two pictures today. A space ship, and the lovely Claire Louisa

Lela Rae

Just a quickie to say the amazing Lela Rae has finally (after much nagging on my part) moved her blog to Blogger!

Be sure to link to her and add her to your Google Reader. She's an awesome model, as well as a great writer, plus she's a thoroughly nice person too.
I'm sure she'll be showing you some fantastic images in the future!



Lela, photograph featured with kind permission by Iksodas.

Thanksgiving Fluffy

Too tired to blog these past few days. And Rich hasn’t got a rant left in him at the moment. Too much work does that to you. And I don’t feel much like ranting either. Head playing up, plus there’s all sorts of rubbishy thoughts flying around in my head. Need to pause, and think a little.

So, unusually for me, I’m not waffling on today. Instead, I’m going to make you look at one of MY favourite artists for a change. Yes, yes, I know you come for the nudes. She’s at the bottom, O.K.? But I like looking at other stuff too. It makes me feel better.

If you haven’t come across the amazing painter, Craig Mullins before, let me recommend you look at his work (Click here, and then click on Top Rated). His use of light and shadow are absolutely amazing. This is one of my favourites:



Changing the subject, of course it's Thanksgiving for all you sexy Yanks: So hope you all have a good one!

Your Thanksgiving Fluffy this year is Lou-Lou.



Rich’s images of Lou-Lou were featured on A Flower A Day on 18th Nov. Yes they renamed it, but I think it’s possibly lost its unique marketing angle as a result.
I don’t normally mention when Rich gets featured on these sites, but he needs cheering up today.

Raptus regaliter (Royally screwed)

We interrupt our usual witty art-nude and porn (sorry I mean erotica) related repartee for a brief political rant. For those who are not remotely interested in UK politics, please skip to the next blog on your Google Reader.


Tonight, 25 million Britons are really, really pissed.

It seems that our omnipotent tax authorities, Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, have lost confidential personal information on every single family in the UK who receives Child Benefit. Since everyone with kids receives this by default, that’s practically everybody.

The password-protected CDROM's, which contained all of the information on the HMRC's child benefit database, were sent unrecorded and were LOST IN THE POST!!!
The missing information contains the details of all Child Benefit records for 25 million individuals and 7m families. This includes dates of birth, national insurance numbers, bank and building society details. That effectively means the personal details of every family in the country with a child under 16 have gone missing.

The head of Revenue and Customs resigned this morning. Our esteemed Prime Minister (not renowned for his honour or integrity, but instead famous for being Machiavellian by nature) has warned of the possibility of identity fraud, and warned everyone to monitor their bank accounts.

That’s it. That’s all the help we get. No guarantee if identity theft occurs, or if money gets stolen from our bank accounts. No reassurance at all.

As you know, Rich and I run an internet software company. We take information security very seriously. Protection of customer details is critical to our business success. Our customers’ and resellers’ bank and credit card details are kept behind military-grade encryption software, and is deleted once the transaction has occurred. For regular customers who pay monthly, the encryption techniques are even stronger. No expense is spared to keep their details safe.
If I ran my company like HMRC, we’d be out of business within a day.

This government has no fucking clue! Just HOW can they get away with this? And why the hell are they still in office? How the hell are they supposed to be trusted with biometric data for identity cards next year?

Just what does it take to get rid of these idiots that run our country?


O.K. Rant over. Thank you for your time. Please also excuse the use of the “F” word, which is reserved only for when I’m suffering from extreme apoplexy induced by incompetent morons.

Feles mala! (Bad Kitty!)

My skin shoot went well yesterday. A bit brief as the studio was freezing (we turn the heat off at weekends) , but my skin is now immortal, even if the rest of me will never be. Apart from that, I indulged in a recently revived hobby that I engaged in many moons ago, when I was a lass: Teaching myself classical Latin.

I used to be pretty good at Latin, but that was 25 years ago. Nowadays I am extremely rusty. However even a very limited understanding of the Latin language can come in rather handy at times, if you find yourself in a tight spot. Those Romans certainly had a way with words.

Yesterday also involved me applying my considerable charm towards my dear photographer, in the vain hope that he would supply finished images of my dodgy art-nude-piccies from our recent series of shoots. Now I am justifiably very proud of these pictures. I think they are beautiful.

Rich disagrees. He says that he’s not very good at making the nether regions look tasteful. He’s adamant that in order to be classified as art, such dodgy pictures have to qualify as “erotica,” which is apparently not the same as "porn." I think this is complete tosh - “erotica” is just a label, camera angles and some fancy lighting techniques. Let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?

Anyway, apparently my recent photographs, although beautifully lit, are nevertheless too pornographic, rather than erotic, so I’m not allowed to post them.

“So why can’t we let the viewers decide?” I asked.

Him (annoyed): “We’ve had this discussion. I don’t want anyone looking at my wife’s pussy except me.”

Me: “Vescere bracis meis!”
(Eat my shorts)

Him: “What?”

Me: “Darling, it just means that this is my art too! And it’s good!”

Him: “That’s as maybe. I’m the photographer here, and I say that no-one’s looking at those photographs unless I upload them for you!”

Me: “That’s blackmail!”

Him: “And?”

Me: “If you don’t let me shoot them with you, I might just go shoot it with someone else!”

Him: “Not if I say you can’t!”

Me: “Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.”
(I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear)

Him: “What the hell does that mean?”

Me: “It means, of course, my dear, you’re absolutely right.”

Him: “Why is it I don’t believe you?”
(Pauses. Smiles kindly at me) “O.K. I can compromise. I’ve uploaded one of your pussy pictures that you can post. But that’s the ONLY ONE, O.K.? The rest are for my eyes only…”

Me (excited): “Oooh! You’re a wonderful man!”
(Rushes to examine photograph.)




Me: “Mater tua criceta fuit, et pater tuo redoluit bacarum sambucus!”
(Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!)

Like I said, no-one could express themselves quite as well as the Romans.

Cyber-modelling

After a rather exhausting but satisfactory discussion session with at least six oncologists on Friday, followed by mother-in-law yesterday, I’m a bit of a basket case this morning. However I do have a shoot today where I am modelling for Rich’s first CGI virtual model.

Alas I’m not going to be the main virtual model, at least not yet, but negotiations re my alter-ego are ongoing. I want the virtual-me to have humongous big bazookas…whereas Rich is thinking of something a little more representative of the real me. I never thought I’d see the day where I spend an entire afternoon arguing about the size and pertness of my virtual breasts.

Plus I want my own virtual model to be…how shall I put it …anatomically accurate in other areas. She’s going to be a higher model. She’s going to be young, hot and juicy. Heck…she’s gonna be porn-personified. Basically everything I’m not. I mean, what’s the point of having a "virtual-you" if it doesn’t fulfill your completely unrealistic fantasy of the model you’d like to be? Plus, for the first time, a cyber-me wouldn’t make me nervous about modelling. I could show my resulting images with pride and confidence, rather than constantly worrying about viewers potentially blowing chunks (yes I do, you know.)

So, as Cyber-L-von-B isn’t ready yet, Rich’s first virtual model is going to be called Zuki.

Currently Zuki has a really naff hairstyle, a shiny Amazonian body, truly gorgeous breasts (selected by yours truly and based on the most stunning boobs I have ever seen - I’ll be roasted if I say who), and an ass with too many polygons. Sheesh. That ass needs to be smaller. And without the angles. And the horns.

Also Zuki currently lacks permanent toes. Every time Rich tries to move her, he keeps leaving her toes behind. This is really gross. Virtual toenails are a real problem in our studio this week. Ick!



Anyhoo, the reason I am modelling today is that Zuki lacks skin and nether regions. O.K. so I’m ancient, but my skin is bloody marvelous (all that veggie porn pays off), so Rich will be able to overlay and wrap my skin onto Zuki, as well as my …Oh boy, I really do need a LOT of alcohol before this shoot.

So what is Rich actually learning at the moment?

Well, basically he is creating a 3-D model that matches the physical body of the model. He then wraps it in a high resolution photograph of the same model.

Voila! Zuki is born, albeit with no toenails.

Sounds simple, huh? But this process will probably take weeks and it looks horrendously difficult, believe me, and I have NO CLUE AT ALL what he is doing.

But is it photography? This is the acid question.

Is a heavily photoshopped image classified as photography?
And if such a photo- montage is in fact photography, is a three dimensional image created from photographs then also considered photography?

Where does photography stop and CGI begin?



As Zuki will not be ready for a considerable time yet, here’s an image from Rich’s latest shoot with the lovely Lou-Lou. No Photoshop. Perfect toes.

(And, as an aside, if you want to see some really pretty veggie porn, may I recommend you feast your starving eyes on Iksodas’s latest. Now that’s what I call seriously naked vegetables.)

(R3) Photoshop is not enough: Take 2

Now I can appreciate that applying Photoshop to an image can transform it beyond all recognition. It can hide all manner of physical flaws, it can sculpt the body, transform skin. You can even replace body parts.

The problem with this is that there are a growing number of models who now see Photoshop skills not as a means to fix problems on the day of a shoot, but to fix every single shot taken of them, and then they complain if you don’t.

It has created a growing culture of models who no longer care what they look like because Photoshop can fix it. You don’t see any photographs on their ports that are not retouched, and often you get one hell of a surprise when they turn up.

In the last year I’ve had to:

• Remove excess body fat. Not because it looked bad in the image but because the model didn’t think it was flattering enough


• Remove extensive bruising because the model thought it was OK to go kick boxing the night before a shoot


• Fix badly marked legs due to waxing the night before a shoot


• Remove fresh self harm scars


• Fix broken nails that weren’t manicured to take away the breaks


• Fix really, really bad skin

The problem with all of this was the attitude of “It's OK, I know you can fix it in Photoshop!”

While I can fix these things in Photoshop, I should not have to. It takes considerable time to make these fixes and it's time I don’t have. This type of work should be reserved for paying clients who have the right to have any post-processing they desire. Models should present themselves in perfectly groomed condition, especially when being paid.

Is it any wonder why I want to shoot virtual models?

Now don’t misunderstand me. I don’t expect models to be flawless. A surgical scar or a physical difference can add greatly to a photograph, and I don’t mind altering things for which the model has no control. This is not about being flawless but about presentation and not relying on Photoshop to fix things because they can’t be bothered to.

This is the fantastic Pirate Maiden. Perfect, with no Photoshop required!

Lost In Translation

I screwed up. Again.
Profuse apologies to Gary, who got the wrong end of the stick about my off-blog ranting.

Often I find writing on cyberspace can be SO easily misinterpreted, and things are usually made worse because of the language/culture differences between the British and the U.S. This probably just means I don't express myself very well, or it may be a inter-continental culture thing. I often appear overly sharp to Americans in my writing, when I'm a pussy-cat in real life (honest, guv!) I also have a very dry British sense of humour, and were you to meet me face to face, you’d know that most of my language is peppered with sarcasm. However, the trouble with sarcasm is that it’s often hard to translate it properly to writing, and especially across continents and cultures. Trying to translate British dry wit to American photographers is the hardest writing challenge I have EVER encountered.

I’ve tried to do the love-love MM politically correct type writing, where I say everyone is wonderful all of the time. The trouble is that I deeply suck at it. It sounds false, and unlike me. So I stick to just letting the words flood out as they appear in my head. Not the best writing technique ever, and the casualties of war have been high. People I care about very much but have nevertheless offended this year include Don (twice I think), Melvin (who is alas no longer speaking to me), Jimmy, Stephen and Dan (who all forgave me), and now Gary (as above)…and those are just the ones I know about!

Nowadays when I write a potentially contentious post, I’ve actually taken to emailing photographers or models in advance and emphasising the post is not about them, in case they misconstrue it. Does this make them overly sensitive, or me a bad writer? The latter I think.

Writing is a difficult art form, and IMO a more powerful one than visual art. The keyboard is mightier than the camera. Certainly it is much easier to offend via writing, than via a photograph.

Despite my constant emphasis that my writing is usually not about any individual, readers continue to personalise the blog posts or comments because it is human nature to relate to observations about relationships, emotions or personalities (my favourite topics.) Rich says this is a good thing, and a sign that I am getting better at writing. I’m not so sure.

Good writing personalises the message to the reader. The better the writing, the more readers are moved by the message. The trouble is, when the message that appears in the writers head, goes onto computer, across cyberspace, and is interpreted by someone else’s head on the other side of the planet, the original intention of the writer, the mood, the (attempted) humour, the nuance, often gets lost in translation. Kind of like most art really – it’s a subjective interpretation.

Let me emphasise I’m a beginner at this art form.

Maybe I should take up photography instead? It’s gotta be easier, and that way I wouldn’t upset those I care about.



Pretty Lou-Lou, from a shoot earlier this week.

Pop!

No not the famous fashion magazine. I’m talking about the sound made by the overly pumped-up art market, which finally burst last week and farted around the room like a rapidly deflating balloon.

Art is just another bubble. Prices in the art market have shot up much higher in recent years, in a similar way to yours and my favourite asset class – the housing market. The Financial Times has estimated that the Mei Moses All Art Index has risen 15.5% a year on average for the last ten years. As I reported a few months ago, we have seen some truly spectacular prices achieved for art. This is partially due to the humongous bonuses awarded to rich bankers and hedge-fund managers. Indeed it’s not just foreign billionaires who have viewed art as a valid method of investment. Up until now, it didn’t even matter if you liked the work of art you were purchasing - this was completely irrelevant. As long as it was by somebody famous, or even better, someone who MIGHT be famous one day, then it was snapped up at exorbitant prices by practically anyone. Art collecting has always been a valid investment method, until now.

The rot set in last week, when a highly publicised New York art auction went horribly wrong. The sale earned $270m, far below the pre-sale estimate of $401m. Poor ol’ Vince (van Gogh) failed to sell his wonderful landscape “Wheat Fields” for the required price tag of $35m. In fact the poor (dead) chap couldn’t sell it at all. Even the late Pablo Picasso couldn’t sell four of his paintings. Twenty of the seventy-six lots didn’t sell at all. And as for Sotheby's, well I am wincing in sympathy for them as they had to pay the owners a fixed guarantee on the lots (even if they didn’t sell), which was estimated to cost them around $240m. So their shares promptly fell for two days running, wiping a third off their value. Despite Sotheby's putting a brave face on things, that had to hurt pretty bad. They must be dreading this week, when they host their big New York contemporary sale. Fingers crossed, eh?

So what the hell happened last week? Two words - Credit Crisis.

Art investment is just another example of the boom ‘n’ bust cycle. With sub-prime still wrecking the US economy, and the UK about to follow suit, hedge-fund managers are not in the mood to spend their remaining cash on over-priced art which is costly to look after and insure. When people (even rich people) see prices falling, they suddenly lose interest in that class of asset, even if it is supposedly cool to be seen to own famous works of art. After all, having a famous painting or photograph on your wall when your posh buddies come round for a beer, isn’t going to be much to shout about if all your friends secretly think, “Blimey mate, you paid HOW MUCH?! Are you an idiot or what? Didn’t you know the art market has gone to the dogs?”

So my professional recommendation, as your trusty international nekkid accountant, is:

If you are an artist or photographer who sells his work, buckle up. It’s gonna get hairy after Christmas, so expect your collectors to disappear into the mist and your print prices to tumble forthwith…

If you are an art collector who has invested for the short term (and you are not deeply emotionally attached to the fancy piccies on your wall):

Sell! Sell! Sell! While you still can.




Sorry. Must stop blogging about economics. Force of habit, I’m afraid.

Here’s Clayre McKinnen – I really like this pose.

The key to good photography is composition

I’m reposting a comment from the learned Grommit - one of only a few of us who has actually had formal artist training, comes from a family of exceptionally talented artists, and has a psychology degree to boot (never say our readers aren’t highbrow!) He very kindly shared his words of wisdom on the Weston veggie shots a few days ago. It’s interesting because a) I can’t write this sort of arty language for toffee, and b) because he says what all photographers already know of course, but it’s news to me because I have about as much understanding of composition as Gordon Brown understands the UK economy.

You can read Grommit’s full comment here (scroll down) but I’ve repeated the critical bit below.

"It's odd, I've followed many of the links to other photographers mentioned on your blog and tried to come up with why some work for me and many just don't. Often, it comes down to 2 principles.

Can I see with my own eyes the person to person connection that existed between the photographer and model, or subject? This is not the same as what the photographer thinks is a connection. S/he might believe that there was a great vibe on the day of the shoot. My question is can *I* as an external viewer see and relate to that connection? Without that, the shared understanding of what passed between the two is lost to me as a viewer. The performance of the moment is gone and all that is left is a sculpture, or worse still a dead shape. This is most prevalent when the model just doesn't look "present" at the scene. I am always drawn to the face and body language to see if the model seems to be actually into what s/he is doing.

Second, does the photographer have any sense of 2d space within the 3d photograph? Does s/he understand composition and the need to think in both 3d and 2d at the same time? I've seen many a picture and thought "for heavens sake, take an evening class in the theory of design and you could transform these". There is a reason why fine artists have study art theory throughout the centuries - it works. The same rules of balance and form apply to not only paintings but any form of visual layout, from magazine design, typography to - most certainly - photography. And I really think that's a vital step in the transition between amateurs and professional status - moving beyond understanding the physical technique to a mastery of aesthetic technique as well, until it become instinct. A very few people have that aesthetic understanding naturally (lucky bastards). The rest of us have to work at it.

So to answer your original question as to why the first image works and the third doesn't - it's all down to success in the composition."

Richard’s comment on this: “Yep! I told you this last month, but you never listen to me.” (smug bugger)

My comment: “Dammit, I wish I could have said it that well in the first place.”

Incidentally Grommit, if you want to see some exceptional fine-art photography where the model really “engages”, go look at some of Dave Rudin’s work , particularly his shots of Sarah Ellis. They knock my socks off! (Actually Dave Rudin knocks my socks off because he really is gorgeous, but let's not go there.)

On another, totally unrelated topic, I’d like to introduce bloggers who haven’t tried it yet to the (now very old) Gender Genie. This was developed many moons ago by Israeli scientists and claims to be able to tell you, with 80% accuracy, whether a piece of writing has been done by a man or a woman. (I’m guessing that our resident psychologist, Dr Grommit, will make mincemeat of this program.)

Needless to say, after extensive analysis of our blog posts, my writing is predominantly male, and Rich’s is predominantly female.

Rich’s comment: “That’s because artists and engineers think with different parts of their brains to most people.”

My comment: “Girlie! Girlie! You’re a big Girlie!”

Rich’s comment: Unrepeatable!



The amazing Syd, engaging with Rich rather intensely if you ask me.

The Student and the Master

I wrote this a while ago, about a lesson which was very personal to me. Only had the guts to post it now.



Outstanding artists are often prodigies. My son is a potential example of this. Because he lives and breathes his art scholarship, he is spending most of his spare time in the art room, ably assisted and advised by the super-tea-drinking Hogwarts art teacher. She sees more of him than I do at the moment. This is inevitable, and he is producing some amazing work as a result.

But not all relationships between student and master are as healthy as this one. Sometimes, the teacher may become attached to the student, particularly where the student is grown up and the age-gap is smaller. Because the two spend so much time together, locked in a common passion for art, in some cases the relationship may develop a more emotional and mental dimension.

The student of course worships the master, is in awe of him and wants to suck as much as knowledge as possible from his idol. The teacher must hold that awe in trust, see it for what it is, and use it carefully as a way of nourishing and encouraging the student. Being an artist or photographer, and usually a pretty good one, the teacher can use his own influence, personal knowledge and experience as a method of successfully teaching his pupil.

As a method of teaching, this is very necessary. The greatest gift a teacher can offer a student is his experience of his own life as a working photographer or artist. Teaching art is not just about teaching technique. It is about imparting personal life’s experiences, views and even emotions about the teacher’s life as an artist. Through his own experience, the teacher can encourage the student to not only learn the raw craft, but also how to overcome that student’s insecurities, fears and how to nourish that grain of creativity that will make that student the best that he or she can ever be. As a result, master and student develop a unique bond, a relationship and intellectual intimacy which is part artistic, and part personal. This closeness is inevitable, especially with a prodigy. The teacher recognises a special gift in the student, and concentrates on developing that potential into something partly shaped by the student, but largely steered by the teacher. The student’s finished art will therefore reflect both his own views, personality and ideas, and also those of his teacher.

But what happens when that grain of potential is successfully nourished into something amazing? What happens when the student has learned all he or she can possibly learn from the teacher? What happens when the student surpasses the master? Outgrows him? Does the master pat the prodigy on the back and wave him “Farewell. Go with God my son. Go forth into the world and produce amazing art!”

Well, if the teacher is a good one, that’s exactly what should happen. But what if the teacher has crossed the professional line and has become attached to the student? What if their relationship is “special?”

In such circumstances, the teacher may not be able to let go of the relationship. He needs the student, he needs to feel that the student still needs him, adores him, can still learn from him. He needs that “awe”. But the awe is gone forever. The student is now a successful artist in his or her own right, and is grateful for the tuition of course, but now wants to explore his own creative vision, by himself. There is nothing more that can be learned from the teacher.

The teacher resents this, is jealous of the student’s success, feels rejected , and in some (unfortunate) cases, I have seen the master copy the student’s work, steal the student’s ideas and claim them as his own. The teacher may be feeling abandoned, vulnerable and empty of inspiration. He feels that the student’s work is amazing, innovative and partly his own anyway, because his artistic vision was taught to and reflected through his student, and they may well have come up with the ideas through conversations they have had together in the past. So because he helped inspire the student’s art, the teacher feels he can therefore use the student’s ideas, because the vision belongs to both of them. The teacher cannot let go of his prodigy.

This is an example of an unhealthy relationship. One that has strayed beyond student and professional teacher. All too often, it results in resentment, a complete destruction of the intimate relationship between the two, and a severance of the emotional bond they once had.

Although this is immensely sad and tragic, it happens all the time.

Such is the nature of relationship between art and passion, master and prodigy.

Because artists are human too.



The images are of Claire Louisa.

Photoshop is not enough

It started a few months ago with a general feeling of dissatisfaction with my photographs. Its not that I thought they were bad, it was just that they didn’t meet my inner vision. I was finding that my photography was stopping me creating the images in my head.

My imagination is strongly influenced by science fiction and fantasy. The images in my head are often fantastic in nature. The problem with photography is that unless you have a huge budget you can’t create fantastic surrealist photographs. So over time I have come to realise that I need other avenues with which to explore my art. While I love taking photographs and people do appear to like the photographs I take, I need something more. Photography cannot, by itself, fulfil my needs.

But where to go?

While I can draw and paint, I’m not as talented as my son, and I need to incorporate my strengths. So I have been searching over the last few months for something that would ‘float my boat’.

The type of images I want to create are very similar in nature to those used in sci-fi feature films, where pretty much anything you can imagine can be created. Obviously a feature film budget is very, very large, but in recent years the tools used in Hollywood to create these effects have been coming down, to the point where they are available to buy at the prices we would usually pay for photographic equipment.

Now computers are my “thing.” I was one of the first wave of computer kids back in the 70’s when I was loaned a Compucolor I. I taught myself programming and machine code from the computers handbook and by the early 80’s I had two programs published. So I understand just about everything you can do with these things. Solid modelling, video compositing, coding, it’s pretty much second nature to me.

So where am I going?

Well, I am going to merge my photographic skills with CGI. I have invested in many new tools and training information, and I’m going to teach myself the tools and techniques to make my visions come to life. This new artistic medium will take quite a long time to learn, and is a vertical learning curve for me. However it is the only way I can make my art do what I want. Each unique image will probably take weeks of work, and may require a real-life model as well.

As I tried to explain to Lin, photography is not over for me, but it just can’t fulfil all of my vision. So there will still be photographs, but I’ll also show some of my new work in progress as I learn the process of building the skills I need.

Who am I?

I’m Mr Fluffy, l'artista digitale.



From my “Insanity” shoot with Sirensong.
No Photoshop or CGI. Yet.

The Thinning of the Ranks

Gary M has been doing a most excellent job of monitoring the ongoing trend amongst photographers to take a break from nude photography. I have also been dismayed to learn of the number of nude photographers who are changing style, taking a break, quit altogether, or have simply lost their mojo. Having briefly lost my own mojo recently, I can completely relate to this, but it’s nevertheless upsetting when so many talented nude artists quit all within the space of one month.

This is not just related to the bloggie nude photographers we know and love. You only have to go to the web-models forum in the UK to learn of all the nude and glamour photographers leaving for health, or “personal” reasons. It’s like a virtual graveyard at times, compared to this time last year. There are large numbers of models complaining bitterly about not being able to get paid work any more, and the photographers’ shoot cancellation rates have gone through the roof.

Of course photographers and artists come and go all the time, but why so many now, all at once?

“Is it something in the air?” I said yesterday. "Or like Gary says - is it something in the water?"

“More like something in the wallet,” said Rich.

Indeed, the global credit crunch means that most people are increasingly hard-up financially (ourselves included). It is exceptionally difficult to find money to pay models (no matter how good they are and how much you want to shoot them) when you have no dosh left at the end of the month. This is assuming you do nude photography as a personal interest, rather than being hired by an agency of course. AFAIK, agency photographers are doing just fine. Although I've heard that fashion photography is suffering too, and Conde Nast have cut their flat rates for most fashion shooters to a paltry £350 for a finished set of fashion photographs. This deeply sucks. How the hell are photographers (and therefore by default, professional models too) supposed to put food on the table? It is very difficult to be inspired to create unique and amazing art when you’re constantly worried about monthly bills.

But it’s not just money. There’s such an air of pessimism around, that even some of the most talented artists are having problems getting their creative juices flowing. Partially it’s the weather of course – winter is approaching, our bodies are genetically designed to semi-hibernate at this time of year, and glamour/nude photography is seasonal anyway.

But there’s also the problem, in the UK at least, of an increased sense of fear and caution on the part of models. For example, and I mean this in the nicest possible way and with no disrespect at all to UK models, but most of our shoots are now chaperoned by boyfriends or other photographers (even though they know I'm going to be around). Again this is no problem in most cases, unless the chaperone interferes, which has unfortunately happened on more than one occasion this year. This leads to a certain air of tension in the shoot, and hardly helps the creative process. In addition, modelling charges have nearly doubled on average since this time last year, which in turn produces additional pressure on photographers.

All in all, it’s not a pretty picture is it? By spring either everyone will either be up financial shit-creek (pardon my lingo), or the problems will have self-corrected and photographers will be inspired to start shooting again. Or else they will decide to cut back on nude photography, and start shooting something else.

Which is exactly what Rich quietly decided to do a little while ago. Over the space of the last few months, I have watched as something in his eyes slowly died. That something was the last vestige of desire to be a professional nude photographer. He denied anything was wrong, but of course, I knew.

He finally decided to tell me last week.

We had a long, long talk over industrial amounts of (very good) coffee. He’s not quitting nude photography entirely, thank God, and he’s going to honour his modelling commitments for the rest of the year (now where have I heard that phrase before?) but after that, things will change. This is because we have changed, as people. The art must evolve along with the personal development of the artists themselves.

Rich will still continue to occasionally photograph nudes, and I will continue to steal some for the blog, but studio nudes will be a very small part of a new and different project that he has in mind for the future. To coin the (absolutely terrible) photographic phrase, “He’s taking his art to the next level.”

Of course he’ll be inflicting the results on you folks in due course, as it’s all part of the learning process. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll let him tell you more about it soon. It’s his art after all.

Me? As long as I can keep waffling on about nothing-in-particular, and showing mega-groovy art piccies, I’ll be happy. After all, waffling is an art form too.



Clayre McKinnen from a few weeks ago.

Published!

Rich has worked really hard to be a good photographer. I’m a wannabe model and writer. Of all the members of the family to be published first in a real book (let's not get started on the web publishing argument again), we always thought it would be him or me. But no. We’ve been beaten to it!

Today I am the big proud Mama because my oldest son is going to be the first of our clan to be published. He has been invited to submit his artwork for publication in a local poetry anthology. His illustrations of a naughty donut-eating collie dog have gone down really well with the poet and the publishers. Alas the book isn’t going to make Amazon, but it’s certainly kudos!

Published at twelve! Whatever next? Currently he is positively “glowing” and his ego is so huge that it arrives ten minutes before he does. But we don’t care - we’re proud parents anyway!

Last Saturday I took my son to the local town barbers to get his hair cut. I waited alongside a row of other willing victims whilst the barber did his uber-trendy stuff. As he skillfully executed a number 5 all the way over, the barber conversationally asked my son what his favourite interest was.

“I’m an ARTISTE” he replied, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Oh!” said the barber, boggled. “Are you any good?”

“Yes, actually, I am VERY good!” my son announced grandly in his best stuck-up posh-school accent.

The barber looked him up and down. His lips twitched slightly. “So what sort of art do you do?” he enquired politely.

“Surrealism,” replied my son proudly and I swear I saw his nose stick up further in the air. The barber and I exchanged looks. His eyes twinkled just a tiny bit. I desperately struggled to keep a straight face, whilst quietly willing the ground to open up and swallow me.

“And what’s surrealism?” asked the barber impassively.

“Dunno really,” said my son, panicking like mad, and then abandoning all sense of elitism and lapsing into a broad Norfolk accent. “Weird stuff I ‘spose, but my Mum says it‘s kinda cool.”

The whole shop collapsed into laughter at this point.

And his mother made a mental note to stop raving on about art all the time.



My son has steadfastly refused to let me display his art on the blog, where it apparently "might be seen by thousands of naked people" (clearly he thinks you are all reading this naked in front of your computers. I just want to point out that we do NOT do this at home, so I've no idea where that idea comes from). In fact he's now hidden his doggie drawings at school, so I can't seize them and scan them. So instead here's a human statue snap from Covent Garden last year, which deeply fascinated my kids.

Sex on a Stalk

I’m a huge fan of vegetables. Some of you might get off on motorbikes, some on booze and birds, some on chickens (yes it‘s true, for one guy I know, chickens are his life’s work)…but for me it’s vegetables. They rock my world. Anyone else who does my weird life-extending diet will get this completely. Most of you will think I’m crazy (you’re certainly right.)

Of course I’m deeply into veggie porn. I can’t pass a farmer’s market without stopping, pausing spellbound and eyeing up the gorgeous array of plump, succulent, colourful shaped fruits and veggies. Ah the erotic curve of the red bell pepper, the way it blushes and deepens to a horny maroon at the base. The symmetry and beauty of a perfect pear. And don’t even get me started on a romanesco. That’s a type of cruciferous veggie - the lime green one with the amazing fractals. Breathtaking. Absolute perfection. I could drool for hours. Plus they’re remarkably tasty too.

So you’ll understand that artistic portrayals of veggies get my juices going. For my Christmas present, I’ve asked my artistic oldest son to draw me a perfect luscious cabbage. I am going to frame it and hang it on my wall.

“But Mum, it’s not art! It’s a cabbage! Vegetables aren’t art.”

Well, I have two things to say about still life art, and vegetables in particular. Firstly, thank God that art is subjective, because, as I explained to my son, absolutely anything can be art, if you think it is.

Secondly, I showed him Edward Weston’s vegetable photography. For those few that haven’t seen them, they are pure glossy veggie porn. Impeccably lit. Elegant, beautiful, sexual. Even my son had to admit that they were “something else” (although he’s not really sure what.)



My question to you: Is this art? If so why?
What was Weston trying to communicate with this image, and did he succeed?
It’s a bell pepper. But it’s a extraordinary bell pepper. It is surrealist art, and it’s utterly brilliant. But that’s just my opinion.



Here’s another famous one by Weston, of an aubergine (that’s “eggplant” to you Yanks). This one doesn’t do it for my son. He just thinks it’s an aubergine on a plate. So there’s no message, and no connection with the viewer.

So what’s the difference between the two? Why does one move us and the other not?

Well, the first one is sexual -it looks almost muscular and human is shape. It looks suggestive - almost like one of Weston’s nudes because it‘s shot in a studio in the same way as a naked woman. But there’s something else - it conveys a unique beauty in an everyday object. It makes you think. It has a certain “magic.” With the second aubergine shot, I just don’t see the meaning there. Good picture, but no soul. Is it the plate? Is the subject matter not unusual or mutant enough? Is the angle wrong? Ah it’s so frustrating! What the hell am I missing??? Or is there no meaning at all, and I’m really just a crazy old veggie-pornographer?

My apologies folks, I really suck at critiquing art. Maybe one of you more talented artists will be able to better explain why some still life art works, and why some just leaves the viewer thinking “why bother?”

Anyhoo, in an Weston-ese experiment, I asked Rich to shoot my cutie miniature pumpkin, before I stuff it and eat it. I call it Squash #4, as #1-3 he shot with a mask and pearls (Pearls? Masks? What on earth was he THINKING?!)
For those who are into china, the plate is by Denby, of course. (Welcome to the world of yummy-mummy china fetish.) I do think my cutie pumpkin is gorgeous, although IMO it would have been better with selective colour to show the pretty orangy tones of the pumpkin. But then it wouldn't have been very Weston-ese, and apparently selective colour is tacky anyway (I usually have to bully him into it.)




“So is it art?” I asked Rich.

“Nope,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because it hasn’t got boobies,” came the reply.

I give up.

I’m living in a cultural wasteland.

An excess of SPAM

Alas no Friday rantathon today, as Rich is away on business. But when the boss is away, the minions do play, so as he isn't here to stop me, I'm going to indulge myself with a dodgy post. Apologies. Normal service will be restored shortly.


Some readers may have noticed that we’ve been sneaking in the occasional dodgy picture. This has happened for a reason.

About three months ago, my comfy-bear-zone, my inner moral judgment meter, simply vanished. I woke up one day and it was gone. Poof! Suddenly I had no discernable artistic morals. Poor Rich didn’t know what the hell had happened - suddenly his repressed and staid wife had turned into a model who was champing at the bit to explore her new boundaries. A model who was eager to tick the “higher” box on her modeling profile. In short…he had woken up to SPAM (Sad Porny Ancient Model.)

Poor Rich! Can you imagine just how strange this must have been to cope with? How challenging? This was the photographer whose personal comfort zones were originally waaay wider than mine. In fact I used to think he had no limits, and that I was significantly holding back his art. But then the roles reversed completely and suddenly. The poor chap didn’t know what hit him. He’s been humouring me so far, but I strongly suspect that nowadays his artistic taste definitions are much narrower than mine.

I’d love to say this epiphany was a result of some sort of higher spiritual awakening, or a sudden enlightenment. I’d love to say I suddenly achieved artistic kundalini. Heck, I thought I could even explain it by calling it a mid-life crisis! But alas it has turned out that it’s simply my trusty tumour, which is squishing the part of my brain that governs moral and artistic judgment.

Wow! Just how cool is that?! Imagine waking up one day and suddenly experiencing permanent removal of all the psychological barriers, all the social conditioning, all the stuff that tells you “nice girls don’t do this sort of thing - especially not middle aged yummy mummies!” But suddenly - my limits of defining nude art are gone! It’s a strange feeling to be sure. And not unpleasant - in fact, since this has happened, my modeling life has been a total hoot !

Now don’t get me wrong - I still think tacky, badly-shot porn is gross, but this is simply a personal judgement of style, not a moral objection. My division between eroticism, porn and “what is art?” has simply disappeared. It’s kind of like having a big light-bulb switch on in your head…suddenly absolutely everything can be classified as art, depending on how well it is shot. Quality rather than content. Of course this has been obvious to most of you for years, and certainly I knew this in theory, but I never really understood it properly until now.

Sure, erotic art is usually black and white, porn is colour, but there’s a heck of a lot more to it than that.
That morning three months ago, in a blinding flash of tumour-induced psychosis, I finally realised that porn, erotic art and “dodgy photography” were all one. I realised that good erotic art is all in the lighting, the angle and (most importantly) the TASTE of the image. I even “got” Mapplethorpe’s penis shots, which previously made me want to puke. Finally I realised what he was trying to say - I recognised the power and message in his work.

What makes those few square inches so off-limits to photography? Why the heck do people look at a close-up shot of a woman’s nether regions and think “ugh, that’s revolting?” It occurred to me that such revulsion to a normal and beautiful body part is simply a result of Western social conditioning. Westerners are simply not allowed to think such body areas are beautiful, or if they do, they’re not allowed to admit it, let alone paint or photograph it. This contrasts significantly with less developed societies, such as certain “undeveloped” tribes, who view the sexual organs as powerful expressions of beauty, the source from whence all life comes. These tribes freely depict sexual imagery in their art. They are surely more enlightened than us, who are repressed by centuries of religious and social bias. If a photographer shoots that sort of image nowadays, he usually dares not show it, for fear of being exiled, rejected, labeled as a pervert. All for choosing to show the power and beauty of sex.

Truly excellent erotic photography is simply a result of clever lighting techniques, how the model is positioned, combined with a good dollop of artistic imagination. Plus there‘s a high level of respect for the model required too. But if the photographer is skilled enough, if he has the vision, and if he has the highest standards of personal taste, those few square inches can be depicted as artistically as any other image adorning the walls of the National Gallery.

So I guess what I’m saying to all you gifted photographers out there is - Pussy Art can be good art too.

So go shoot pussy! Make it tasteful, make it powerful, let it express your inner desires and your vision, as well as reflecting the soul and beauty of the woman. And don’t be afraid to show it either! If people are repulsed by your art, that’s their problem, not yours. It’s simply because they haven’t risen beyond their social conditioning and personal limitations.

And maybe they are a little afraid of it too.



Our resident SPAM muses on her new career with a tasteful piece of elegant hand-blown glass.

(Boy, am I in trouble when he gets home tomorrow!)