All Good Things

Remember a few weeks back when I reported that Blogger was no longer going to support FTP, and that we would have to either switch the blog to a new format or else stop blogging altogether? Well, after spending a long time chewing (and chewing again) over our options, we’ve reluctantly decided to face reality and close this blog.

I know many of you are going to be upset by this decision (and so am I, believe me) but I’m afraid that it has to happen for many reasons, most of which boil down to the fact that the filmmaking side of things is growing steadily. This is all good of course, but the reality is that we will be working in schools soon and so the risk of others (including the authorities) discovering our Fluffy identities is now starting to outweigh the immense pleasure we get from posting here. Let’s face it folks, I can’t really be a children’s film producer when I’m writing about nude art and plastering myself nekkid all over the internet. The two are somewhat mutually exclusive! Yes I could possibly turn this into a private “restricted” blog – but Rich has very sensibly reminded me that he can’t go back to nude photography any time soon, and that we can’t recycle the old photos forever. How can I run a nude photography blog without nude photos?! Time for me to get real!

Now before everyone thinks that I'm quitting the nude bloggie world, please let me remind you that I’ll still be reading and commenting on all your usual photographic art blogs, so you definitely haven’t seen the last of me! This is a great community of artists and I’m not intending to leave it, even if I can only participate by writing long waffly comments on other folks’ blogs (don’t say I didn’t warn you!) As my workload allows, I’m also toying with the idea of writing more, um...pot-stirring stuff elsewhere. Let’s face it folks, I do love a good argument and as we all know, I can’t stay away from blogging for long, otherwise I get really cranky. So if and when Rich sets me up a shiny new blog (probably after a change in our Government) then I will let everyone know by email, I promise.

We have been blogging on Fluffytek for four years now, and I can honestly say that these have been some of the best years of our lives. We have made some fantastic life-long friends and learned a great deal, not only about photography and art, but also about the nature of friendship and loyalty. And that is all because of you, our close-knit little community, which has welcomed us, fought for us and looked after us for so long. A heartfelt “thank you” to each and every one of you. We love you folks!

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Pirate Maiden

If you need me I’ll be in the garden

I am lucky enough to live in paradise, or as close to it as I’m ever likely to find in this lifetime. I am the caretaker of an acre of woodland, lovingly and painstakingly landscaped by yours truly and stuffed to the gills with a magnificent collection of trees, shrubs and rare woodland spring bulbs.

When we first viewed the house ten years ago, as soon as we came up the drive we knew we had to mortgage our very souls if necessary in order to live here (and in fact that is exactly what was required, judging by the size of our mortgage!) I didn’t give a toss about the house (which was a total wreck) but one glimpse of the dappled sunlight shining through the trees into the mossy glade and I was in love.

I’ve never been very good at yummy-mummy interior home design (it confuses me) but on the other hand I can mentally landscape a garden simply by closing my eyes and imagining it. I guess my garden is my canvas. Instead of picture frames I have planted low clipped box hedges which provide a structure which houses hundreds of shrubs, peonies, hydrangeas and roses, all carefully placed for maximum impact, and these are in turn surrounded by a carpet of colour coordinated tulips, wood anemones and rare bulbs with beautiful and obscure Latin names. Any photograph of the garden is meaningless. As any gardener knows you have to actually visit a garden in person, to look at the detail and soak up the atmosphere. You can’t learn its soul unless you are physically there.

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Three years ago my health deteriorated to such an extent that I had to give up my beloved garden and take to the sofa. Thinking about my garden when I couldn’t actually play in it made me feel sick with frustration, so instead I turned to writing about photography as a distraction and of course you’re reading the results of that distraction right now.

Things have now come full circle. My garden continues to inspire me – much of the arty-farty posts I write about are based on how I view the Art of Gardening. I simply change the language of how I feel about horticultural art to apply to nude photography. Both nudes and gardens are natural art-forms, so IMO they’re not actually very different at all.

As you folks know, I recently lost the ability to write and type for a while. Although the ability to type has come back to some extent, my brain is still short-circuiting itself in places so writing the way I used to (and as well as I used to) remains a lofty aspiration rather than a practical reality. I simply can’t process thought in the same way, and my hands won’t do what they’re told! So once again it looks like I’m being prevented from doing what I love.

To borrow a phrase I’ve used before, when Life craps on you, there’s only one thing you can do. You adapt and figure out a new way of doing things despite your set-backs. I might not be able to write or garden as often or as well as I used to but frankly this isn’t the end of either of my consuming passions.

I am looking out of the window as I write this and my summer garden is in full bloom. My roses and lilies are dripping with lush colours and brilliant red poppies are exploding everywhere. I might not tend to it like I used to, but my original creation is still there. It grows and continues to self create, both despite me and because of me.

If my garden art adapts then so must I.

And so must we all. The censorship legislation, 2257, the recession, our health, all these things which threaten our photography and our world – they are not the end. Our need to create will always be there waiting for us. Art is like that. It can’t be denied for very long because if we’re honest with ourselves, we can’t possibly live without it.

Adapt and move on. It’s what the best gardeners/photographers/writers/artists/creatives do.

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I’m no photographer

“What’s the point of taking a photograph if you’re never going to show it to anyone?”

Rich

I often get asked by bloggie readers why I don’t show my own photographs here. The answer is because, unlike Rich, I take snaps, I don’t produce art. Some kind souls who have seen the best of my paltry photos have made vaguely encouraging noises (you’re all very nice people and Americans are SO incredibly polite, unless we’re talking about feminism that is) but referring to my very average snapshots as “art” is just plain nonsense.

There is a definite distinction between private snapshots made purely for pleasure and those photographs taken specifically to show to the general public. A snapshot is a private concern and may be a picture of the kids, the house, goofy grab shots, whatever, but once you photograph to produce something you want to specifically show to others, particularly to other photographers, then expectations will rise. Those who look at images on a dedicated photography blog will be specialists in their field. The majority of viewers will be photographers, some will be art models and some will be art collectors or critics. All come for the photographs, and should I ever show any of my terribly composed snaps then the universal reaction would be “That's lovely, Lin” with never a critical word, for fear that an honest review would upset me. As I said, Americans are so very nice, maddeningly so at times.

On photography blogs, certain standards are inherent. The pressure to be as good as your peers is intense. The truth is that only the best photographers (and therefore it follows that the best blogs) get noticed. Believe me, you wouldn’t come back here if I started posting badly composed cute cat and kiddie photos all the time (much as I love them.)

So that’s why you won’t be seeing any of my own photographs here. They are not Art. I don’t want them to be Art. I don’t even care that they’re not very good (although it would be nice if my composition improved) because I take them for my own personal fun.

Sorry Rich, but photography isn’t always about showing your work to other people. Sometimes photos are just too personal to show others. To me, they are my memories. They’re all about times in the past which have made me happy, and that is the only reason I take them. The day I start to see my photographs as “my work” will be the day I throw my camera in the trash.

Writing, on the other hand?

Ah. Well, that’s different, you see.

After all, what’s the point of writing if you never let anyone else read it?

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Clayre McKinnen

Redemption

Unlike some states in the U.S, the U.K. doesn’t have the death penalty. Instead the more dangerous offenders are sentenced to life, usually 15 years (but out on 8 for good behaviour) or for the very worst offences, life with a recommendation that a minimum number of years be served (usually over 20.) What happens to these lifers once they are locked up? To be honest, I doubt whether very many of you give a rat’s ass. The opinion of the general public is that these offenders are evil and should be made to suffer for the pain they have inflicted. Enough said! Out of sight, out of mind, right?

In my idealistic twenties, I worked on a voluntary basis as part of a prisoner support group for male prisoners. These were the days of innovative penal reform and prison psychiatrists realised that giving prisoners a link to the outside world resulted in much better behaviour and a lesser likelihood of reoffending. Volunteers like myself were allocated up to five prisoners to write to, the idea being that because some prisoners had no friends or relatives, they would be provided with someone on the outside to talk to. Correspondence was via P.O. boxes, and either side could opt out at any time. It was as simple as that.

For about a five year period I used to write regularly to several male lifers in British prisons. All of them were convicted murderers so they were (at least for the early stages of their sentences) in maximum security prisons where the cells were small and the inmates were all very hardcore. Many of these men were involved in beatings and worse, with the guards mostly turning a blind eye to the goings on. Drugs were rife of course and an atmosphere of danger and oppression was present at all times.

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For these men, life in prison was a very small world: a mixture of violence, loneliness, concrete and darkness. There was little or no grass, and sometimes not even a glimpse of sky. Maximum security prisons aren’t known as “living hell” for nothing. Mostly I wrote to these guys, but on a few occasions I was granted special permission to visit them. These visits always left me shaken – I practically kissed the ground after I reached the outside world again. (On a personal note, IMO if potential offenders knew what these places were really like, there’d be a heck of a lot fewer crimes committed, that’s for sure.)

The lifers I wrote to were usually scrupulously polite. Many simply wanted contact with the outside world, and they had no-one else to turn to. The fact that I was a young female was doubtless an added bonus, but other than the occasional emotional outburst, no-one overstepped the mark at any point. These guys were just interested in talking about anything and everything other than the crime for which they had been convicted. I would write to them about all sorts of things, but especially about literature and art. When permitted I would send them books, usually my favourite classics as the authorities didn’t mind them reading the likes of Tolstoy, Thomas Hardy or Dickens. Photographs of the outside weren’t allowed, but I would send them articles about art and I spent much of my time encouraging these convicts to draw or paint (pencils were sometimes permitted if the inmate wasn’t considered a risk to himself or others) with the principle that it gave them something to focus on during the many hours they were alone. Sometimes they were allowed to send me the results of their efforts, which were usually beautiful, as you’d expect, as Lord knows they had enough time to practice. Over the years a couple of them actually became excellent artists and I’ve actually kept some of their work.

There has been a great deal of criticism about prisons not working, of conditions being too cushy and of inmates re-offending when they are released, but in my experience prison is a very effective punishment for lifers. They get to spend all day, every day with nothing other than their own thoughts, obsessing about what they did wrong. For these men, the majority of whom do have a conscience, the mental self-torture is far worse than anything that happens to them physically. I know this because I used to read their long, agonised letters and I can’t even begin to describe to you just how dark a place these men were in, day-in-day-out with no change, no hope, no joy. But let’s face it, this is the precise objective of prison. The system works.

Now I’m not excusing what these men did in any shape or form. They were all there for a very good reason. I guess what I’m saying is that IMO this experience worked both ways. I’d like to think I provided these guys with some sort of outlet, a reassurance that they were not completely forgotten and that there was a real world waiting for them if or when they ever got out. Through encouraging them towards literature and art, I also hoped to remind them that there was beauty in this world if only they could reach out and make the effort to try to see it.

In return, these men taught me not to judge others. I learned that although some people are capable of committing acts of unspeakable evil, they are also capable of creating works of great passion and artistry.

No-one is beyond redemption. Every sane person has some inner beauty in him or her, providing someone cares enough to look for it. Call me naïve, but I really do believe that.

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Images are of Althaia

How Low Can You Go?

I’ve been reading some rather pretentious literary web sites which spend a great deal of time pontificating about “high art.” The terms "high art" and "low art" have always struck me as pretty meaningless. IMO, trying to classify art as “highbrow” or “lowbrow” seems an entitely subjective process and ultimately rather pointless in this modern day and age. We've evolved beyond such nonsense, surely?

The notion of brow levels came about in the early 1900’s when free public schools first started. The sudden growth of education and the spread of literature resulted in the creation of the first national newspapers, which caused great outrage amongst both artists and intellectuals who argued that all these popular rags did was to reduce literature to the lowest common denominator. Baudelaire even referred to newspapers as “satanic.” The arguments continued to rage until eventually English culture divided into two: highbrow and lowbrow. Each individual fell into one of the two classes, depending on his personal taste and choices in books, art and hobbies. If you liked popular “mass” culture, this meant that you were lowbrow. The chasm continued to widen until journalism and popular culture became poles apart from “high art” and literature, never again to merge.

Nowadays most of us only know the differences between high art and low art by the reputation of the medium. Broadly speaking sculpture, painting, music, poetry, cinema and classic English literature all fall into the “high art” category, whereas tattoo art, children’s stories, comic strips, video game design and so forth would all classify as “low art.” Some modern art critics argue that with the growth of technology and the modern media, the distinction between high art and low art have now become permanently blurred. Some computer games, for example, can now be so sophisticated that they contain a detailed plot and character development, just like a good novel. At what point does the medium cease to matter, and when exactly does lowbrow evolve into highbrow?

IMO, nowhere do these abstract lines between high and low blur more than with the nude photographic medium, largely because it is very difficult to objectively catergorize images of naked women.

High art is seen to be spiritually moving, sophisticated and philosophically challenging, so when does a photograph meet this specification? Low art is a derogatory term which can be classified as popular culture which may be visually entertaining, but which is nevertheless intellectually sterile, nothing more than commercial pap to feed the masses. So what kind of nude photograph would satisfy this definition? Which type of nude image is high culture and which is popular culture? Is it really as simple as:

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High Art? (B+W fine art nude, Ivory Flame)

vs.

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Low Art? (Colour erotica, HoneyB)

Which image is high art, if any? Which of the two is deeper, more exciting, more sophisticated and philosophically challenging? The medium is the same, so what’s the difference?

I would suggest that the difference isn’t merely to do with lighting and composition. IMO it largely depends on intent. What type of emotional reaction did the photographer want to generate? What was his creative vision? What market was the photograph aimed at? Or does it purely come down to personal taste? So if we use these criteria then the first image is more tasteful, non-sexual and more likely to stimulate the intellect and is therefore more towards the "high art" category, whereas the second largely stimulates the male groin, and would be lower - very low, in fact, which is a shame because I actually prefer the second above the first, although I can't for the life of me figure out why? Maybe I'm just a lowbrow kinda girl?

Frankly all this categorization seems like blatent snobbery to me. IMO, classifying a particular type of nude photograph as “high” or “low” is pure pompous elitism. Isn't black and white “fine art” photography nothing more than lowbrow with different packaging, nekkid chix re-invented and re-wrapped for the titillation of the very same supposed highbrow intellectuals and art critics who would otherwise condemn all nude photography as non-artistic?

Maybe we haven’t really grown that much in a hundred years after all.

The Lost Art

As you all know by now, unlike Rich, I’m a terrible photographer, and I can’t paint for toffee either. But somewhere lurking deep in my body is a single lonely crafty gene, one of which has been expressing itself very nicely thank-you from the age of ten on a regular basis.

Why have I not mentioned this before now? Well, this particular type of art is deeply naff. In fact it’s so spectacularly uncool that if this post ever sees the light of day, then my street-cred is in ruins. Permanently, I suspect.

What is this deep, dark, dirty secret art, you ask? Well, at the risk of forever exploding my sooper-cool-fast-track-hotshot-accountant-come-lawyer-come-ex-model image, and exposing myself as a sad old woman who has no life…I will admit that I’m rather devoted to the art of tapestry.

Yea Gods! I can feel you all screaming in horror and deserting this blog in droves, never to return! But for those three or four loyal readers who have absolutely nothing better to do with their time and want to waste it reading about the-podgy-old-ladies-who-sew-set, let us continue, with our needles proudly held high betwixt our calloused fingers!

Far from The Madding Crowd by Julie Verhoeven

First, a brief language clarification if you please. “Tapestry” means different things in different countries. The classic type of “true tapestry” that Americans know is a form of weft-faced weaving that is woven by hand on a vertical loom. This can be distinguished from the British form of tapestry, which you Americans will know as “needlepoint,” where yarn is hand-stitched through canvas or linen. I practice needlepoint, specialising in "petit-point", which is a type of tiny stitch worked on very high-count canvas. I was taught this craft by my mother, and she by her mother, and so on. I will teach it to my daughter, from when she is safely able to hold a needle. It is our female family tradition, and should any of you wonderful people ever visit us in ye merry olde Englande, you’ll see our walls adorned not with photos of hot sexy nekkid chix (largely because we’d be stoned alive by visitors) but instead with rather too many family tapestries, which hang on practically every spare space in the house.

Hmm…I can see I’ve just scuppered my chances of anyone ever visiting…oh well...

For those few who haven't yet dozed off, you’ll doubtless be thinking that I shouldn’t classify what I do as an “art.” It’s a “craft,” surely? Actually tapestries have been a recognized art-form since around 3 B.C. and have continued to be highly popular until very modern times. Truth be told, both artists and craftsmen are needed to produce tapestries. Each depends on the other. Artists design and produce the original blueprint (also known as a “tapestry cartoon” or “pattern”) and then the craftsmen (or craftswomen) produce the actual tapestries.

Alas, true tapestries and needlepoint are now seen as deeply uncool – they are thought to be the domain of little old ladies who sew to pass the time. The craft is rarely taught nowadays, which makes me immensely sad because it really is extraordinarily difficult to do well, but tremendously rewarding when you do. And it’s not all about mass-produced, pre-printed pictures of twee little country scenes or cutsy teddy bears either. When designed by a talented artist, the results can be as stunning and captivating as any beautiful photograph or painting. More-so in fact, because tapestry techniques can be adapted and layered to produce some astonishing results.

Don’t believe me? Still think it’s naff?

Well, take a look at this wool and silk contemporary tapestry by artist Paul Noble, called Villa Joe, which was recently exhibited in both London and Miami.

Villa Joe, by Paul Noble

At nearly five square metres, it is truly colossal, but as with a painting or photograph, the devil is in the detail. Although you can’t see it here, the tapestry is composed of millions of tiny grey stitches, which are layered and overlapped to create the finished effect. As someone who has produced altogether too many tapestries in her time, I can’t explain how much this image moves me, not least because I know how many hundreds (probably thousands) of hours it took to create the finished piece. Such care, emotion and creative vision went into this image, that I am rendered speechless. I could look at it for hours. Now, I fully appreciate that it won’t rock your world, but quite honestly art works such as this and the equally amazing Trump by Francesca Lowe (below) have the capacity to sock me in the gut way more than any nude photograph. Sorry and all that, but I guess in the end we identify most with our own type of art because it inspires within us remote (and usually unrealistic) possibilities of our own potential…the feeling of "oh, if only I could do something like that!"

So much for my dreams. In the meantime, I remain but a lowly craftswoman.

Trump By Francesca Lowe

In between the many tapestries I have sewn over the years, for nearly twenty-five years now I have been labouring over a single tapestry, a recreation of Leonardo Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, stitched in petit point. It is a large piece, with tens of thousands of stitches, and I work from varying patterns (blueprints) completing different sections one after the other, in minute detail. If I make a mistake, I always unpick it and start again. I want nothing less than perfection. This has got to be exactly right, the way I imagine it to be.

After twenty-five years, I reckon it’s just over half completed. I’ve sewn so much of myself into the darn thing (pun intended) that it’s become my life’s work. My family often joke that by the time I finish it, I’ll have achieved everything I wanted to achieve in this life, and I’ll promptly drop dead.

The trouble is, I think they’re probably right.

Fruity-Loops

I haven’t written for nearly two weeks now. Sorry I don’t count last week’s post – there’s a difference between superficial drivel and decent blogging, if you know what I mean. Incidentally this post falls into the superficial drivel category - skip if you wish.)

You’ve no idea how close I’ve come to deleting our blog these last few weeks. I even got as far as writing the final post saying my goodbyes. In the end, only Rich stopped me from posting it. My bout of bloggie depression was inevitable I guess, what with all my totalitarian ranting recently, but even resolving not to blog about economics, the government or anti-photography legislation any more hasn’t helped me get back in the saddle. Perhaps this problem is simply fallout from deleting so many of my blog posts (twelve, to be exact – I had to – leaving up so many anti-government posts on a public blog was never a long term viable option) or maybe this is simply because all the recent UK legislation has made me feel rather emotionally pooped? (It’s not exactly cheerful stuff as you know.)

The problem is doubtless partially physical. Medical tests last week had some nasty side effects – without going into details, my brain was a wee bit fried, resulting in a severe case of writer’s block (or in fact, general-brain-block…I’ve been totally fruity-loops all week.) Normally I’d just blog my way through this on the principle that even writing drivel is still writing of a sort, and it helps exercise the writing muscles, even if nothing productive comes out of it. And I would usually go to my online photographic-happy-place and look at some fabulous nude photography to inspire me. I would have great fun analysing the photographs and soaking in the glory of the nude form…kind of like wallowing in a photographic bubble bath (vanilla flavour of course.) It usually makes me feel all warm ‘n’ fuzzy. But unfortunately the brain-frying process seems to have changed my mind-chemistry somehow…and I’ve suddenly become allergic to nude photography.

Correction….I’ve become allergic to tasteless nude photography.
Big difference.

Normally I’d just blank out the stuff which grosses me out, and I pride myself on having a pretty high crap-tolerance level (you’d be surprised how high my crap-o-meter can rise before I hit the Delete button) but in the last few weeks, I’ve only been able to cope with the really good pure art nudes – you know my favourites by now, the fabulously lit Bitesnich style photographs.

However, I’ve been totally unable to cope with the mass-pulp-alternative-nudes-that-are-trying-to-be-art stuff. My crap-o-meter now appears to be turned down to minimum setting, and the dial is stuck so I can’t force it up again (I’m trying, believe me.) Many of the nude photos I’ve looked at recently have made me feel decidedly nauseous. Despite the lavish praise these photos have received from others, I seem unable to appreciate them, to recognise them as “art.” Yes the lighting might be passable, the story may be provocative, but all I see when I study them is “tacky.”

Suddenly the whole nude-photography thing suddenly seems intolerably emotionally charged. I am unable to analyse a photograph objectively – now I get an instinctive (and invariably instant) subjective-gut-reaction when I look at a nude image. It’s difficult to explain the change. My judgement used to be cool, collective and analytical. Now I feel surges of emotion, varying from delightfully enchanted when looking at an image I like, right down to repulsed and disgusted when I encounter an image that I consider tasteless. It’s like my personal comfort zone has beamed down from outer space and is now unceremoniously zapping me on a daily basis.

Does anyone else get moments like this? What has happened to me? I genuinely do not understand. What I do know is that looking at nude photographs has suddenly become altogether rather exhausting.

Have I been looking at this stuff too long? Should I just take a break from this whole nude photography thing for a while, and if I do go on hiatus, would I ever come back?

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Since I can’t face any nudes at all right now, here’s a landscape. Any landscape will do. Actually that’s unfair. I dearly love this colourful shot of our local water-gardens, although Rich isn’t at all keen on it. He calls it “too busy” (whatever that means.) Personally I reckon he only sees in B+W.

Learning to See – Again

Over Christmas I've been festering away about a recent discussion (for that read "argument") about art and craft on the excellent Studio Marcotte Blog.In particular, Jimmy's comments on that post gave me serious pause, and I've come dangerously close during the last few weeks to wondering if I've been talking total tosh for the last three years.

I cringe when I think about how much time I’ve spent on here blogging about Art with a capital A. As artist and photographer Kim Melia von Seidl wrote, the word is incredibly over-used, particularly within the photographic sphere. So should I abandon my blogging about photographic art? Should I simply call it plain “photography” instead?

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Now I'll be the first to admit that the majority of photographs do not qualify as artistic, nor are they intended to. The primary purpose of photography is to capture something which already exists. To do this well requires a considerable amount of technical skill and expertise (Jimmy D often refers to the photographer as a craftsman) but this is not necessarily the same as art. An artist goes a lot further than this because his purpose is to create rather than to merely record. Sure a camera is a machine which provides an accurate mirror to the world, but like a paintbrush, it is merely a tool. It does not of itself create. You, the photographer, create, and the images you produce are a subjective reflection of your thought processes. Simply put, your photographs are unique to you and only you, because they reflect how you see.

The role of the photographic artist is to look for something deeper than what ordinary people see. IMO, this is where the artist takes over from craftsman. What makes Art (and I use the term somewhat cautiously) is when the artist reflects what ordinary people cannot see. As Brooks Jensen said, they “make the invisible visible.” Photographic artists are not unlike seers, who seek to provide an insight into a particular subject, thereby revealing a new truth which was previously unknown to the viewer.

O.K. you say, “But it’s all been done before. There’s too much out there that’s just the same. Everyone’s a photographic artist nowadays, so the label of Photographic Art is now meaningless.” As you know, I used to think this, and I’ve recently whinged about it a fair bit too. However, I’ve since read a bit more, thought a bit more and realized that cynicism was simply getting the better of me. I had become jaded, numbed by the hundreds of images I was looking at every day. I began to think that all art-nude photographs were largely the same, mere duplicates of each other based on a single theme. The genre was spent. One B+W studio nude was the same as the next. Art was an exhausted term.

Quite clearly, this was total nonsense. The fault was actually in me, the viewer, not the photographers. I was simply failing to “see” that particular photographer’s image, I was failing to understand the message within the photograph, because I couldn’t be bothered to spend enough time studying that one image in enough depth. It’s easy to click on an internet image, flick your eyes over it, think “very nice” and then click on another. That’s the problem with Deviant Art, MM and other online forums – it’s just too easy to get seduced by the thousands of photos uploaded every day. After a while, they all look the same.

However if you spend, say half an hour examining a high quality print of that one single image, then my guess is that you’d have a completely different view of what that image means. You’d be able to interpret its message, you’d understand the photographer just that little bit more, and I’m betting that the image would stay in your mind for quite a while. It might even fall into that all elusive category: Photographic Art (although that depends on your subjective judgment of what constitutes art anyway and whether that image makes your personal grade.)

It strikes me that I’ve spent far too much time inside the last year criticizing the modern internet photographic age for too much volume over substance, and yet the fault lay squarely with me for not shrinking my world and the number of photographs which I looked at. I didn’t spend enough time choosing to study a few particular photographers and their work, I allowed myself to get numbed by the masses. This is not the fault of the photographic “artists”, it is the fault of me, the viewer.

I intend to correct my error during the next year. My new year’s resolution is to simplify, to downsize what I look at. Quality before Quantity. My photographic world will shrink considerably, and I suspect that as a result of this, my vision will improve and I will be able to see more clearly again.

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Images are of Althaia

Street and Studio: An Urban History of Photography

Last weekend we had the pleasure of visiting the Tate Modern in London, which featured a huge photographic exhibition of the work of some of the world’s most famous photographers, designed to present “a fascinating history of photographic portraiture taken on the street or in the photographer’s studio, looking at the differences between these two key locations in which photographers work.”

Cecil Beaton (The Soapsuds on the Living Posters Ball, 1928)

It was certainly good to see the development of photography over the last 150 years. Some of the early photographs were astonishing, not for their subject matter, but simply because you could look back and imagine just how old these photos were, and what remarkable photographs they were bearing in mind the primitive cameras that were used then. These photographs weren’t just historical artefacts, they illustrated the men who were heroes of their time, the innovators who were masters of their art. Rich was totally wowed by some of the early Cecil Beaton work, and has been muttering ever since about “the lighting, the lighting.” I was blown away by Paul Strand’s Wall Street for pretty much the same reason, plus I’ve always been a sucker for architectural photography and it was great to see that Strand’s images looked as good in print as they did on the internet (I know a whole lot about Paul Strand…I am a Strand groupie…just as well he’s dead or Rich would have a serious problem.)

Paul Strand Wall Street (1915)

Anyhoo, after I’d finished drooling over Strand, I will admit to preferring some of the more recent work on offer. The best art in the show was unquestionably, one hundred percent Mapplethorpe for the following shot of Lisa Lyon (1982)

Mapplethorpe Lisa Lyon (1982)

…but I was equally wowed by Bert Stern and Garry Winogrand. I really didn’t expect to like Winogrand after everything I’d read about him, but his street portraits were excellent. And anyone who says “Whenever I’ve seen an attractive woman I’ve done my best to photograph her” gets my vote. There were also many photographers whose work I was unfamiliar with whom I loved, and whom I will be studying and you’re all certainly going to hear a whole lot more about in future, such as Marjaana Kella, Pieter Hugo, Jeff Wall etc etc. I guess I generally preferred the contemporary photographers, and those lesser known (to me) wowed me more than the better known ones. Mitra Tabrizian, in particular, I hadn’t heard of before, but certainly dazzled with a stunning surrealist photograph from Beyond the Limits series: surrealist photography at its best.

Mitra Tabrizian, Beyond The Limits (2000)

What a collection! What a comprehensive history of photography! Rich was in his element. The exhibition allowed him to study the work of all his heroes up close and personal, to touch his Gods, to be inspired. He loved it.

Are you bored yet?

Well so was I.

If photography has been my faith for the last few years, then this exhibition caused me to question it. I had one of those “what the fuck am I doing here?” moments. You know, a profound “is it Art?” moment. To be perfectly honest, although there was a lot of great work there, some of my heroes, my icons, left me cold and rotting in the gutter along with the hundreds of other homeless vagrants featured in the exhibition, alone and lost.

Boy was that exhibition depressing. I grant you it was an eclectic collection of photographs from famous (and not so famous) photographers, but at least half of it was collated by numpties. Some of the photographs just didn’t fit together. For example, you had a series of atmospheric moody street photographs and stunning portraits followed up by a photograph of a guy in a gimp suit. Why was that shot there? Presumably for the shock factor, presumably because the organizers had been donated a Mapplethorpe shot and wanted to feature it in there somewhere, anywhere, because it was “Mapplethorpe” (all hail the great one!) but it really ruined the flow of the images. O.K. so I was supposed to compare and contrast street and studio, but honestly, even to a beginner like me, it just didn’t work. In particular, the arangement of photographs in the contemporary section lacked cohesiveness.

I was incredibly, profoundly disappointed by the featured work of several Photographic Greats, even though it is heresy to say so. Some of the work featured by the contemporary Masters was clearly only there because it was done by “a famous photographer” not because the image itself was good art. Avedon’s featured image of “Andy Warhol and Members of the Factory” (1969) was awful, and Juergen Teller’s images disappointed me equally. (Most of you photographers reading this have done much, much better work, trust me on this.) Some of the images featured were just plain bad (even allowing for subjective viewer interpretation and my poor appreciation of composition) and some were simply featured in the wrong place, so the flow of images, the photographic history and the gradual build-up of emotion were broken. The viewer was left irritated and disappointed, rather than enriched.

My 13 year old wannabe-artist son summed it up best after pausing over Helmut Newton’s shot of Catherine Deneuve (1983. So bad that I can’t find it anywhere on the internet to link to.)

“That’s really, truly awful,” he said.

Me: “Cripes! You can’t say that! It’s Helmut Newton!”

“I don’t care who it is. It’s really bad. Just because he has a famous name doesn’t mean it’s a good photograph. Even famous artists screw-up you know.”

From the mouths of babes…

We adjourned next door to tea and Francis Bacon, both of which soothed our troubled brow, and went home feeling much, much better.

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The Millennium Bridge, as viewed from The Tate Modern, with St Pauls Cathedral in the distance

Either something went horribly wrong with that photographic exhibition or I am the one who is a numpty because my innocent, naïve and inexperienced expectations of my icons were much too high, and I should probably just give up photography now and go and study surrealist painting instead. I’m not sure which of my two conclusions is the right one yet. I’ll let you know…

The Art of Seuss

There isn’t a person reading this who won’t be familiar with the work of Dr Seuss. My kids adore him, all three of them can recite The Cat in the Hat by heart, and my daughter is completely obsessed with Green Eggs and Ham.

Theodor Seuss Geisel is famous for his children’s stories and illustrations, and arguably he has done more to fire young imaginations than any other author. During his lifetime he wrote 46 books, which sold over 200 million copies. He was also a political cartoonist, an advertising illustrator and a documentary filmmaker, but it was his amazing nonsensical children’s books for which he will always be revered. His stories are full of tongue-twisters, made-up vocabulary and word-play, as well as clever pictures.

In the serious and pretentious art world, Dr Seuss wasn’t considered to be a proper artist. This is a mistake. He was actually a highly imaginative artist, creating some amazing surrealist work during his lifetime. Combine his vivid imagination with a deep understanding of human nature, and you can see profound truths within his crazy, playful paintings. Disguised as nonsense for kids, when examined more closely they reveal a unique artistic vision. During his lifetime, he dabbled in Surrealism and Abstract Expressionism, and his images were always bold, colourful and uniquely Seuss. You simply can’t look at his art without feeling uplifted and enlightened.

Not all of his paintings were published, and not all were suitable for children. His rather odd Myopic Woman (see above) demonstrates both surrealism and cubism, and seems positively indecent if you study it closely. (Incidentally Seuss’s wife was crazy about cats, which is why they feature so extensively in his work. As everyone knows, cats are cleverer than humans.)



Gosh Do I Look As Old As That? is based on a character he invented called La Jolla Birdwoman, a “species which functions in its native habitat of luncheons, parties and charity balls.” (From this we conclude that I am, in actual fact, La Jolla Birdwoman, as Seuss clearly has my personality nailed.)



But my favourite ever Seuss character is the bird in Fooling Nobody. An astute insight into an artist’s ego, the message in the painting is clear: No matter how inflated our ego, we’re not fooling anybody. Others can see straight through the image we portray, and in the end, we are better off just being ourselves.

So does Seuss create a pot pourri of nonsense, a “phantasmagorical cocktail of inventions,” or rather does he demonstrate a witty and brilliant insight into human nature? In the end, I am left with the uneasy realisation that Seuss was forever laughing at us all.

The Law of the Jungle

Can freedom ever exist in the world of creative art?

This is not as stupid a question as it sounds. As artists, photographers and writers, we try to produce art because we love it, because something inside us compels us to create a fragment of beauty or meaning that we can give to the world. However conceited it sounds, we want to make our mark, leave part of ourselves out there, create our own legacies. This process of creation is, IMO, a vital act of freedom. We are free to interpret anything and everything from our imagination. If a photographer or writer loses that psychological sense that he is free, then his ego is injured, his work is below standard, and his creativity dries up because he cannot dream. Effectively he has lost his power, not just his mojo.

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Freedom is synonymous with power. When you want to produce a piece of art, you crave the ability, the choice and the freedom to do it. Whether or not you actually have that freedom depends on if you exercise your power over others, or let others have power over you. There’s truth in the old adage that no-one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

I know a gifted glamour and nude photographer (let’s call him Luca) who prevents himself from producing the best work he can possibly do because he lets others tell them that he isn’t very good. Luca’s photographs are beautiful, but he won’t show his work and even though his friends try to bolster his self-esteem all the time, he still remains convinced that he is a crappy photographer and unworthy of recognition as an artist.

So as a result of listening to the opinion of other rival photographers (who have their own self-interests at heart), then those rivals have taken power over Luca’s self-esteem, resulting in loss of freedom. Luca’s mind is racked by insecurity and self-doubt and he has effectively built his own mental prison driven by his damaged ego. Trapped within his self-made cage, he has practically stopped producing new photographs because he thinks he is useless.

Luca needs to turn the tables on his opponents. He needs to take the power back and exploit the insecurities of his rivals. He should harden his heart, push back, exert his will over others instead of himself being coerced. In the glamour photography jungle, Luca’s potential success is produced not only by self-confidence, but also by toughness, by manipulating other people’s dreams and dictating to them what they should think of him. If Luca learns how to become good at power games, then it won't matter if his current rival is a better photographer than him (which he’s not), because Luca can still be more successful than his rival if he learns how to pimp himself, how to bullshit, how to schmooze and bend others to his will.

If this sounds incredibly cynical of me, then I do apologise. I’m simply calling it the way I see it after spending much too long (obviously) in this entertainment business. The glamour and nude photography world is not a pretty place. It’s a narcissistic cesspool of artistic egos and Luca needs to exploit that to his advantage. He needs to learn to play the Game, because at the moment he is losing. He has to harden his heart and learn to be the predator, not the prey.

The problem is that Luca is too nice. He is a gentleman, a professional, and he believes in mutual respect and freedom. For these reasons, he’s probably much less likely to ever be the outstandingly successful photographer he dreams of being. The Jungle does not care about Luca’s freedom or his dreams. It prefers to eat him.

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You make your own rules, you define your own reality, and you can be free but only if you give yourself permission to do so. You have to choose not to be enslaved by others. Take back your own power, believe in yourself, know that you can produce some really great art if you practice long and hard enough, trust your dreams and don’t let other people push you around.

Freedom and dreams are not a natural God-given right. You have to fight for them, every single minute of your life, or the Jungle will chew you up and spit you out.

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All images are of Pirate Maiden

Pop Art and Tarts

My oldest son, our very own budding Salvador Dali, has just completed a highly detailed portrait of Vincent Van Gogh. He was originally instructed to reproduce a B+W sketch of the above image. Now personally I think portraits are really difficult stuff, especially for a kid. It took three weeks solid to complete and I think it is pretty darn good, although everyone reckons it looks like his Dad, rather than ol’ Vince. (Does this mean Rich looks like Van Gogh? Scary.)

Anyway, it’s a great piece of art for a kid, but his Hogwarts Art Professor has now told him that she intends to heavily crop it, and has also instructed him to haphazardly colour it in very vibrant colours a-la-Pop-Art. Kind of Vincent Van Gogh becomes Andy Warhol.

My son (who loathes Pop Art) is utterly horrified. “She can’t crop it. It’s not meant to be cropped. I didn’t draw it that way. And she can’t make me convert it to colour. That wouldn’t be art. It’s meant to be Black and White. It’s my art. She can‘t ruin it. I refuse!”

Oh dear. More art politics. That’s all I need.

Modifying a piece of art might be normal in a teaching context, but is it fair, bearing in mind how many hours (about fifty) it took to complete this portrait? Is it acceptable for an artist (even a young one) to have his creative vision cropped and the style completely changed according to the ever-changing whim of the person who commissioned the art-piece? Damned if I know the answer. All I know is that the topic of art has become horribly complicated in our house nowadays.

My son also casually mentioned tonight that one of his paintings has been exhibited in the city cathedral for the last week or so.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I squeaked excitedly. “WOW! This is HUGE!”
He shot me that slightly embarrassed “Oh God you’re being impossible Mother” look that only teenage sons can give and said impassively, “I knew you’d react like that.”

“How am I supposed to react?” I said, confused.

“I dunno. But it’s no big deal. Really it‘s not. Anyway, I forgot.”

Hmm. I honestly wonder how overly proud mothers are supposed to cope with moody hormonal teenage sons. Jumping up and down like an over-excited rabbit on wacky-backy apparently is not acceptable behaviour for a Hogwarts mother. I must be quiet, dignified, a Lady Who Lunches. I must remain casual and cool at all times. Above all, I MUST NOT BE EMBARRESSING. Oh dear. Clearly I have blown it big-time.

Teenagers are aliens. If anyone knows how to handle them can they please let me know?

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This is not Rich-a-la-Vince (who is stashed at school, awaiting death-by-cropping.)

It is a tart.

It was baked by my remarkably extrovert nine-year-old son (a complete polar opposite of his older brother) who wants to be a VERY FAMOUS T.V. CHEF when he grows up. This little lemon meringue tart took him 3 hours to prepare. Perfectionism runs in the family.

(BTW, I'm not going to eat it. It’s so darn pretty that I'm just gonna look at it.)

Understanding Abstract Photography

“There is no abstract art. You must always start with something. Afterward you can remove all traces of reality.”
(Picasso.)

Whilst wallowing in my bubble bath last night (that’s vanilla flavour for all you bubble-bath devotees out there) I was musing on abstract photography. I’ve always wanted to write a critique on an abstract, but the problem has always been that I just don’t understand this art form.

Abstract No 3, Fort Worden by Brooks Jensen

Now when you think of an abstract photograph, you think of something like this acclaimed image, by my beloved Mr Jensen. The problem for me is that although I find this photograph quite beautiful, I have absolutely no idea what to think when I look at it. My mind goes completely blank.

So what am I doing wrong? Well, after reading a little about it, it seems that I’m approaching abstract art the wrong way. Apparently a better question to be asking myself is, “How does this make me feel?” What the artist intended, or sees in the image, is completely irrelevant. What only matters is what the viewer “sees”. And by “seeing” I don’t just mean trying to understand what the artist was thinking (which is where I’ve been going wrong.) What I should be doing is studying this image for a longer period of time, say half an hour, drinking it in, losing myself in it, letting my imaginations and emotions run wild. Exploring the colour, the texture, wandering beyond the visible and seeing where the meditation takes me. What I will end up feeling won’t be the same as what Brooks felt, and indeed, his intentions are irrelevant. Abstract art is a mirror. When we look, we see ourselves as much as we see what is in the image.

Now at this point, I’d love to start waffling on about abstract nude photographs, such as Stephen’s intriguing image from a few weeks ago. (Please note that Stephen didn't claim this was a true abstract photograph - although I think it's an excellent example of the term.)

An Abstraction by Stephen Haynes

However this caused a bit of an argument with Rich, because it turns out that he (Rich) doesn’t think abstract nude photographs can ever exist at all. If you can remotely tell it’s a nude, then it can’t possibly be a true abstract, by its very definition. Rich reckons that abstract art is supposed to interact with the subconscious in order to see what images can be conjured up to generate meaning to the viewer. Thus abstract art works best if there are no recognisable images. The inclusion of a nude form would cause the viewer to centralise their focus on the form, and so it no longer classifies as an abstract.

Hmm. I suspect he might be right, although I am unfortunately not qualified to judge. What I do know is that I can connect with Stephen’s image because I can see it is a nude, so my mind can immediately focus on something, the object, the woman, and extrapolate accordingly, so it is easier to understand.

So…back to my dear Brooks…I gave his photograph my complete attention for a full ten minutes (and that’s a mighty long time for me.) What did I see? Did I glimpse the meaning of life? Did I discover a part of myself? Did I actually experience anything at all?

Nope.
Still nothing.
Really pretty wallpaper, but that’s all. The meaning escapes me.

Oh God, I’m obviously shallow, superficial, and clearly I have no appreciation for true Art. And I so very much wanted to understand.

Sadness

Just a quick one today.

If you haven't already done so, please do take a moment to visit Univers d'Artistes, and leave a supportive and appreciative message to Chris Saint James who closed his blog yesterday due to ill health. His excellent work will be greatly missed, and we all wish him happiness and hope he stays in touch.

“I hate art….”

…announced my oldest son last week.

“Hmm…well how come you spend so much time doing it then?” I enquired innocently. It’s true. He spends most of his available spare time buried in some sort of drawing or CGI.

“Dunno really. I always seem to end up doing it,” he replied.

He got the scholarship of course. I would have been extremely surprised if he hadn’t, considering the sheer number of hours he has put in. And of course, we reserve the right to be VERY proud parents. To put this in context, Hogwarts is one of the top five rated schools in the U.K. for art. The scholarship awards are not just for school pupils, but are awarded for art exhibitions from all parts of the country. There were two, possibly three art scholarships awarded by Hogwarts this year. Thus, as I pointed out to him, this means that he is in an extremely small minority of some of the best young artists in the country.

Suddenly it appears he does not hate art quite so much after all.

He asked me to thank you all for your encouragement and support (I read him the bloggie comments you leave for him), in particular Mr Wood for his excellent lesson in how to impress the judges (which came in very handy) and to Mr Iksodas for assisting with the assignment of drawing an “ugly old naked black guy” (my son’s words, not those of his art professor’s nor Mr Iksodas.) Elijah is of course neither old nor ugly, and the judges were exceedingly impressed with my son’s rendition of Mr Iksodas’s photograph. Alas I can’t show the finished sketch here, because it appears to have been mysteriously retained by the judges, who are (by sheer coincidence) predominantly female.

Full reports on “Le Grande Hogwarts Robing Ceremony” in due course. No I wasn’t kidding about that, although I’m not sure if the robes are black or red. He‘s hoping for black robes (a.k.a. Batman) because red robes are apparently “naff.” We also get to meet the gasp…revered Hogwarts headmistress (long flowing blue robes) at whose feet we must apparently worship over a champagne, strawberries and cream tea in the summer. And he gets listed in the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Scholars, and he gets to go on future art trips to New York/Paris/Barcelona/Venice, and he goes into Gryffindor House next year and……the last time I saw him in the art room at school, he was closely surrounded by at least eight very pretty and adoring girls who were drooling over his …um…artistic ability.…

Life never changes.

All art is about the chix.

But you know that already.



This is where Le Grande Robing Ceremony will take place. I’m gonna be a pathetic weepy and embarrassing mother, I know it.

Photography in a recession

This is written with my accountant’s hat firmly bolted to my head. Try to read all of this please. No quitting. It’s important.

This will be the second recession I’ve seen in my lifetime. The first one was in the 1990’s and wound up with us having a shed-load of negative equity on our flat ("apartment" in U.S. speak) which took years to pay off. That flat was our debt pile. Rich and I were young and foolish, it was our first property, and we remortgaged and borrowed heavily to make it look like our dream home. I vividly remember our black bathroom with gold-plated bath taps. Holy crap, we had bad taste back then.

So here we all go again. Shortly we enter the “bust” part of the boom/bust cycle. Not feeling the pain yet? Don’t worry, you might have another six months of feeling flush with cash, but feel it you will. The wheel turns, and always spins back to the beginning. Nothing changes. Life just repeats itself endlessly in infinite cycles. The world will live to see another boom, but in the meantime, how do artists and photographers survive the next few years? With the rise of the internet and the rise of the cheap digital camera, the rise of freely available online photography, free software, free stock photos, even free porn, how will artists and photographers (of whatever genre) continue to make a living?

Now I’ll side with Jimmy D’s excellent article, and say they won’t. Those of us who are self-employed, and rely on photography either as our main or supplementary income, are going to suffer horribly in the next few years. There’s no chance now of Fluffytek going completely professional. Rich reckons the best he could ever manage is semi-pro. He can maybe earn a little on the side from photography via the occasional private portfolio, but he could never do this full time because the market is simply no longer there. We could sell pretty prints of course, but making your money back takes a long time. Equipment and studios cost a lot, and UK model fees have increased about 40% in the last year alone (either the inflation figures are wrong, or models have suddenly become very hungry.) TFCD models are of course the obvious solution to the latter problem, and although free art models appear to be plentiful in America, in the UK they are decidedly rare jewels. And considering the rise in the number of internet photographers, models can pick and choose, and may well (quite understandably) go where the money is, ignoring the quality of the photographer.

In the end, it all comes down to money. Everyone has to eat after all. But if the general public are economising and not able to afford your services, and collectors are hanging onto their cash because their jobs are in jeopardy and they have to feed their families, then without your photographic passion actually funding itself, you’re going to be hard-pushed to rely on your art to pay the bills, and you simply won’t have the money to pay models.

So what now? Do you give up art and become a plumber? (Always a lucrative profession in the UK as decent plumbers are very hard to come by.)

Well, I think the priority should definitely be to add more strings to your bow. It may be that your art has to take a slightly lower priority than before, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up on it.



If you do decide to stick at photography or art as a source of income, then you should formulate a series of personally tailored strategies. Here is my Ten Point Action Plan (please feel free to add or subtract from the list):

1. Practise, practise, practise. In a recession, only the very best artists survive, and even they find it tough. Your work can’t be mediocre. It has to be outstanding, it has to be unique, it must stand out from the crowd, and your reputation must be flawless.

2. Barter with models more – don’t agree to the first price they charge. Beat them down a bit (fiscally speaking.) Don’t agree to the first price they quote, and try proposing a lower “all-in” price including travelling. Approach potential TFCD models and really work at booking them. If in doubt, rely in that all important male persuasion device, “charm.”

3. When you do shoot models, plan your shoot in advance as much as you can, practise lighting (Rich and I do this all the time), take less coffee breaks during the shoot, and really push your models to get the best out of them, particularly if you are intending to sell prints from the shoot. Your models won’t mind if they are genuine professionals – they will expect to work hard for their fee. And make sure your modelling release is in order. Get it checked by a lawyer if necessary.

4. Run teaching courses – always a lucrative little money-spinner if you have the time, although this is nigh impossible if you have a day-job like us. Consider providing Photoshop courses, lecturing, teaching at schools or colleges, or small tailored courses for leisure photographers – heaven knows there are an abundance of those around nowadays.

5. Compromise your principles and consider other genres. Yes I really did say that. Now I’m not proposing that everyone takes up shooting hardcore porn, largely because I don’t believe there’s a market out there for that either (too many videos and Red Tube nowadays. All the pornographers are going bust.) But you might like to think laterally for a bit. Consider other genres and a lower profit margin, such as landscape photographs for local calendars, putting on local exhibitions, collaborating with other photographers to run special events, pimping your prints, shooting private portfolios for couples, approaching magazines, even (*shudder*) bulk topless glamour piccies for 50 quid each for the lads’ mags. Whatever it takes.

I know one of our local photographers, an outstanding portrait photographer, is now reduced to going round local yummy-mummy craft fairs and charging £10 a time for quick portraits. Desperation indeed. Yes she has abandoned both taste and principles, but it’s a tough market out there. If photography is your income, you have to earn some money somehow. (I’ve used suggestions that are relevant to our little UK rural area – please do suggest as many other money-making ideas as possible. Yes they might be offensive to some, but this is reality.)

6. Advertise. Perhaps online (via Google Ads if you can afford it), fluff up your web site, get your Google search rankings as high as possible. Advertise in the local press, offer bargain lower-price offers to lure customers in (you can charge more later for extra prints or portfolio books), follow up all leads, network, make cold-calls. Do your research – whatever works for your genre and for your local area.

7. This one’s a no-brainer. STOP SPENDING MONEY. Make do and mend. If you are making a loss from your photography, then you cannot afford to use your plastic to buy that extra light, that big A3 printer, that groovy new scanner. And most importantly, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES BORROW TO FUEL YOUR ART, no matter how much you love it. IT IS NOT YOUR MONEY.

8. If your photography is not profitable, or at least breaking even over the year, then consider taking another job. This is the route we are currently going down. If you are self-employed like us, it is advisable to have your fingers in as many pies as possible. For example, I am going to take a deep breath and compromise my principles and actually try to sell some of this inane waffle that I sprout on here. I certainly don’t want to do it, but I have no choice. Bills have to be paid. Internet journalism beckons, no matter how much I hate the idea.

9. FACE REALITY. Be honest with yourself, no matter how hard this is. Draw up a list of how much you bring in, how much you spend, how much you owe, and then formulate a budget and STICK TO IT. Figure out just how much profit you made last year. And if it’s clear that your business (whether full time or supplementary) is never going to work out, rather than run up horrendous debts, be honest and get out before it takes you down with it.

10. Devise a long term survival strategy for the recession. A Five Year Survival Plan if you like. Everyone has different skills they can sell. Take a deep breath, summon your inner muse, and take some action. Start thinking and innovate. Stop wallowing in self-pity and actually DO SOMETHING.

Lastly, please don’t think, “Mmm. Nice post Lin, quite interesting. A bit boring but some good points.” And then treat this as a mildly entertaining read and promptly forget it.

I have given up five hours of my life to write this.

Why? Because it’s IMPORTANT DAMMIT!

If you don’t formulate a plan now, and actually ACT on it, how exactly are you intending to survive the next five years?



Images are of U.S. model Clayre KcKinnen.

The Art of Bullshit

Long term readers will recall that my oldest son is studying for an art scholarship at the esteemed Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is only awarded if they can detect that he is “truly gifted” (whatever that means) and that he “spends the majority of his leisure time creating art.”

Please note that photography doesn’t count as art, according to the Hogwarts examiners (don’t get me started!), although <10% of his portfolio as computer graphic design is apparently acceptable. Considering he spends 90% of his free time doing graphic art, at least some of his play-time can be used. He really shines at CGI stuff, that’s where his talent lies, but he needs this scholarship to prove to himself he can do it, and he quite rightly thinks that formal art training will help him on his future quest to be the world’s greatest graphic artist. (He’s only twelve. I bet you had big aspirations at twelve, if you remember that long ago.)

Anyhoo, next week is the week it all happens. He has an exam of course, comprising drawing still-life art under time constraint, and then he has to explain and critique a random painting which is given to by the examiners. In addition, he has to present his portfolio next week to the external examination board, and after they have judged it, he has to spend fifteen minutes speaking about his own work and critiquing five of his best images. According to his art teacher, the tea-addicted-and-very-vague Professor Trelawney, whether or not he succeeds in his quest for ultimate glory depends largely on how many times he uses the word “inspired” in his speech. Big help. Thanks for that, Professor.

If he gets the scholarship, he will of course get major kudos within the school, plus a special red cloak and presentation ceremony in the magnificent city cathedral, the award of “a scholar,” adoration from practically every female in his year (chix dig the scholars, and the red cloak, AND especially they dig blond-haired-blue-eyed-teenage artists…this, I suspect, presents strong motivation in his quest for ultimate glory.) Oh and I’ve promised him a new graphics card for his computer too, if he gets it. (Bribery works wonders - we get a not-insignificant discount on his astronomical school fees if he succeeds.)

The poor lad is completely terrified, to be honest. He’s only twelve, and this is the scariest thing he’s ever done in his entire life. He’s worked his little ass off for the last six months, producing some very fine art for his age (all things considered) and I am praying he gets this, not for the money (which in the end, is unimportant), but because he wants this so badly that he can taste it. Can you remember how fragile your ego was at twelve?

His work is pretty good for his age, I think. His technique is excellent, but his oral presentation needs a miracle.

We have one solitary weekend left to prepare for the big speech on his port on Monday.

"What are you going to say?" I asked him tonight.
“Mum,” he said, “I’ve got nothing. Is it too late to quit?”

So this weekend appears to be a crash course in the Art of Artistic Bullshit. He needs to learn how to analyse his own work. They want to know why he produces the surrealist-style art he does. He hasn’t got a clue to be honest. When I’ve asked him he says, “It just spurts out of me. I don’t know why. I just sit down with a pencil, and two hours later I have a picture.”

“Well, say that then,” I said.

But according to Hogwarts, honesty will not get him the prize. He needs self-awareness, psychoanalysis, arty-speak. He needs to fake inspiration from somewhere. When asked how he feels about his art, he looks like a startled rabbit. Complete blank. No clue at all. Nada.

How do you learn how to pimp your art in a weekend? How can a twelve year-old learn to sell himself to a big, scary examination board?

Can you fake a description of inspiration? Why isn’t the truth enough? Why can’t he stand up and say “I have no idea why I draw this stuff. Judge me on my results, not what I say?”

Why does bullshit matter more than the art itself?

All advice and tips, gratefully received. We need help, folks.

Panicking, we definitely are.

It’s all about me, me, me

Thanks for yesterday's comments folks, which really got me thinking...

Why is ego so important in art nowadays?

Once upon a time, photographic art was something that was commissioned, paid for. Most of the famous painters throughout time were paid to paint, and were directed in what they produced. I guess professional glamour, portrait photography and so forth, would fall under this bracket today. Your client's needs dictate the direction in which the art goes. Effectively the art is produced to a spec, whilst allowing the artist to experiment with his art within those limits.

But what about the humble and invariably destitute art photographer? He doesn’t operate within any limits, only those of his imagination. How fabulous! But he doesn’t get paid either. Do any of you art-nude photographers make a decently monthly sustainable wage from shooting fine-art nudes? No don’t bother answering that. I can hear the cynical laughter from thousands of miles away. Nowadays such commissions are extremely rare.

In these days of the internet-focussed art world, most of today’s art produced by the ordinary average artist doesn’t result in guaranteed payment. Nowadays artists are judged by results, on how good they are. It has a strong psychological element. Artists are expected to express their soul in their art, and they are judged accordingly. Only if a photograph is outstanding not just technically, but also conveys depth, emotion, a message, only then does a photographer stand a hope making the grade of “an artist.” What does this painting of a nude say about the artists intent and motivations? What was he inspired by? What was he feeling when he painted that?

Wow. What incredible pressure. No wonder an artist is nervous about showing his work. If an art critic says that photograph is crap, then it’s not just the image that is crap, it’s like saying the whole of the photographer’s psyche is a failure too. No wonder most photographers are nervous when their work is published. It’s like putting your emotional guts on the firing line. The slightest criticism could result in the poor photographer questioning not only his art, but his worth as a human being too.

Sure, a photographer may say, “I don’t care what you think. This is my vision. I am my work. Everything you need to know about me is in my art. It’s who I am. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it.” And that’s fair enough, and I admire an artist who is mentally strong enough to genuinely feel that. But all too often, it’s just words, and the artist feels crushed and twisted up inside. An artist is only human, and the ego is fragile at the best of times. And there’s the time element too. If a photographer who has spent years of dedication and passion to produce a portfolio of images, and then to have them rejected by potential galleries and slated by critics, or worse still, totally ignored, then it’s enough to make even the most passionate photographer consider quitting and taking up knitting instead.

Of course, the opposite can apply. You can have an artist who is effectively so supremely self confident about his work that it borders on narcissism. Some artists have an inordinate fascination with themselves. Their ego is so bloated that they think they are practically perfect, and derive an almost erotic gratification from admiring their own work. And that’s perfectly wonderful too, IMO. All the self-help books and shrinks in the world teach you to love yourself. And self-love can be great for your art. Make no bones about it, if you are confident that you produce outstanding work, then it is much more likely that you will be able to convince others that’s it’s fabulous too. The most effective marketing tool in the world is self-confidence.

So should we all start buying self-help books and brainwash ourselves into thinking we are all Picasso? Should you sort out your emotional self-doubts, get some therapy, and then this will make you a better artist?

Is it better to have self-love rather than no-love? Arrogance or humility?

There’s no easy answer to these questions. A photographer is not a trained shrink. He can’t be expected to psychoanalyse himself every time he makes a photo, and consider how society will judge him if he shot that nude in that particular way. He shoots an image by way of experimentation, he re-creates the vision that is in his head. If he thought about the feelings and reactions of others all the time, then he’d be so paralysed by fear that he wouldn’t shoot anything at all. Although arguably his self-doubts and fragile ego probably make him a better artist. Angst is a powerful motivator of outstanding art. Humble photographers may well produce better photographs that arrogant ones. Think of all that juicy consuming passion and angst inspiring your art, flowing through it. All that wonderful emotion captured in your work. Mmm…

However, it IS important to keep a balance between self-confidence and self-doubt. Worrying about critics or courting approval of others puts a dangerous amount of power in the hands of your viewers. As Mr Wood so eloquently said in yesterday's comment, "You have the CHOICE to let these negative things weave their way into your life or not."

Fear can paralyse your artistic development. It’s not possible to please everyone all of the time, no matter how good you are. So just be yourself. You are who you are. Forget about everybody else – don’t get distracted by the background noise.

Just get on with doing what you do. The business of creating.

“Painting is a faith, and it imposes the duty to disregard public opinion.”
Vincent van Gogh



Claire-Louisa.

Lighting Wars

Today I want to ask a question that almost certainly does not have a simple answer.

Is it ethical to copy a photographer’s lighting technique?

I propose that the answer to this is not clear cut. A lot will depend on whether the photographer says you can. And most of them do not give this permission.

Not all photographers are secretive about their lighting, of course. Jimmy D often gives free advice and bloggie-tuition about how a particular shot was set up, and the specific lighting involved. Marcus Ranum also makes no secret about how he does specific shots, and I think he even provides occasional tutorials as to how it is done. IMO, this is marvellous, and incredibly kind and generous of these artists. They are sharing their wisdom with the world, they are teaching, simply out of kindness and for the pleasure of helping amateurs who are trying to learn.

But what about other circumstances which apply to most photographers? What about for the majority of images, when a photographer spends a lot of time and effort setting up a particular shot for his own artistic purposes? Is it O.K. to copy the photographer’s lighting in that instance?

Of course, most photographers want to protect their image, protect their copyright, and their art. But just as you can’t copyright an idea or claim a specific pose as just your own, in a similar way you can’t patent or protect a specific lighting technique. Someone, somewhere will copy your lighting. It may not be ethical, but there’s bugger-all you can do to prevent it.

It makes Rich feel rather flattered when folks try to copy his lighting, but occasionally it makes him pretty mad too. “They can try, ” is the usual dry comment, when we spot a fine art nude image which has virtually the same pose, and similar lighting. I’ve no idea if this happens in the rest of the world, but I must admit this happens a lot in the UK, especially on Web-Models. Rich has taken to not posting his best work on there because he gets so annoyed about it. If he designs a new lighting idea, shoots it and uploads an image, then I can absolutely guarantee that within 3 days there will be a whole range of copycat shots pop-up on there. But the copycat images are always poor imitations because no-one can get the lighting right. I guess there’s some satisfaction in that, but Rich still gets very irritated that there is always a rush of photocopying, as everyone frantically tries to out-do him. Web-Models is becoming a kind of fine-art pissing contest, where everyone tries to prove they can do the same thing.

Those poor souls who try to rip off his lighting have no chance in hell of course. His lighting set-up is NOT simple. There are all sorts of lights absolutely everywhere. It’s like Blackpool Illuminations up in the studio sometimes.

“Turn towards the big light,” he said to me today, when I was in eight inch fetish heels, blind as a bat, unable to balance, and trussed up like a chicken (yes, I’m well enough to start suffering for my art again…finished photos will no doubt be forthcoming eventually.)

“Ummm…” The problem was that through the clingy material over my eyes, I couldn’t see a bloody thing, and they all looked like big blurry lights to the blindfolded wobbly model. (Sometimes it’s easier for him to just pick me up and move me like a Barbie doll.) His lighting appears (to me) to be very complicated, but I guess that’s why his photographs work.

Really good photographers develop their own lighting styles over a long time. They experiment, they practise, and if they are talented, they might get very good at it. Good enough to call that lighting arrangement their own, good enough to become emotionally attached to it, good enough for it to hurt when someone else steals it.

After all, in a photograph, everything is about the lighting. Illumination is THE art-form, and it reflects the uniqueness of the artist who created it.

So to all you wannabe’s out there, yes I know you become good at photography by studying the best, and by copying those photographers whose images you admire. We understand you have to practise, and part of the training is to copy lighting set-ups that are better than yours.

Just don’t go and claim the lighting as your own idea, O.K.?
Don’t then go out and call yourself a photographer and sell the images elsewhere.

It’s not nice.

It’s not polite.

And it’s certainly not YOUR art.



An image of me from a few months ago - included only because Orixx told me to:-)

Technical disclaimer: Any resemblance of the lighting arrangement in this image to that designed by any other photographer, living or dead, is purely co-incidental and was not intended by this photographer, i.e. he thought he designed this lighting set-up. Although no doubt it's been done before, and probably better too.

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.)

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.

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.