Happy Longest Night!

Tonight is The Winter Solstice, the day when most pagans celebrate the beginning of winter. And why on earth not celebrate tonight? Let’s face it folks, there is a genuine reason that Christians celebrate their own winter festival this week, and it has very little to do with Baby Jesus and everything to do with our pagan history. So for those few (non-Christian) readers who are curious, my Yuletide post this year is to do with the ever-fabulous God, Odin.

Santa = Odin in party mode.

Here he is – what a hunk, eh? Bet you didn’t know that our everyday modern day Santa is in fact, Odin himself. Sure he’s projected over two thousand years into the future and given a wee bit of a makeover, but it’s still Odin.

Still don’t believe me? Well, to trace the metamorphosis of Odin-into-Santa let’s go way back to the 8th century, when Britain was conquered by the Vikings (of which both Rich and our luscious Mr S are descendents – oh I do love Vikings –so truthful, so strong, so sexy and then there’s the whole beard thingy! Mmm...) Anyhoo, the Saxons had a tradition of welcoming King Frost (otherwise known as Father Time) every winter. When the Vikings invaded they brought their god Odin, father of the Gods and terribly old (thought to be born around 90BC although the exact date is slightly hazy) who had twelve characters which eventually evolved to become our twelve months of the year. The character for December was called Jul (from which we get “Yuletide.”) On longest night the Vikings believed that Odin would come to earth on his eight-legged horse Sleipnir. He was disguised in a long blue cloak and he would secretly join groups around their fire, listening in to see if they were happy. Then he would leave a gift of food (usually bread) at the home of the poor people.

With the Norman invasion came the well-known story of St Nicolas (who wore the red robes of a bishop and was also famous for his kindness to children and generosity to the poor), which provided a much-needed shot of Christianity to merge with the Viking and Saxon religions. Thus Odin was Christian-ized and, with a spot of great marketing from our friends the Americans, eventually evolved into the happy, plump Santa-Claus (“Claus” is diminutive for Nicolas) that we know and love today.

So how did the Christmas festival get moved to the 25th December? Well –Christians please look away now - the 25th December was not, in fact Jesus’ birthday but was adopted as such as a politically neat way to unify all the religions and create harmony. This particular date was “natalis solis invicti” (the Roman "birth of the unconquered sun") plus Dionysus the Greek God’s birthday and also that of the Egyptian God Osiris and Mithra (the Iranian "Sun of Righteousness") and since the 21st and 25th December were only a few days apart, it was thought to be politically and religiously advantageous to move Jesus’ birthday to the 25th, thus merging several religions into one.

So the real Christmas story is essentially about the unification of all religion over the last few thousand years into two predominantly mythical Gods: Jesus (Christian) and Santa (pagan.)

And that was the highly-condensed story of how the mighty Odin-the-Allfather became a jolly, rosy-cheeked modern icon, synonymous with Christmas. His legacy lives on after thousands of years and his purpose is essentially the same now as it was then. He keeps people happy at the darkest, most miserable time of year.

So raise a glass to Odin tonight – this Longest Night- and remember the true origins of Christmas.

Happy Yuletide to each and every one of you!

On The Ancient Art of Fighting Woolly Mammoths

It’s that time of the year again. Hurrah for Christmas! Joy to the world! Yes it’s the winter week when we eat, feast and celebrate years of (mainly pagan) mythology, not just the usual turkey, Christmas Pud and Queen's speech traditions, but each family has its own individual Christmas rituals, and woe betide anyone who breaks them!

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So the next couple of days will be spent in a frenzy of preparation and cooking, with (unfortunately) a great deal less time for more artistic pursuits. I swear I’d rather be bumming around drinking tea and writing deep and meaningless arty drivel, but alas, we mothers do not get that option. For us, the next few days are about one thing only. Stress.

Like turkeys to the slaughter we women take on the immeasurable pressure of The Family Christmas, where we attempt to control strung-out, sleep deprived hyperactive children, whilst simultaneously trying to pacify cantankerous visiting relatives who are in search of perfect cuisine and deep and meaningful emotional contact with those family members whom they spend most of the year avoiding. It’s that time of festive cheer when years of in-law feuding surface at the Christmas dinner table, and the air is so thick with tension and emotional blackmail that you could cut it with your butter knife. Plus the fact that we’re all experiencing money worries because of that nasty recession, simply cranks those tension levels up that extra notch, resulting in a truly overdone family bird.

When you’ve got kids, opting out of Christmas is definitely not an option, nor would we want to in all honesty, although when the gravy is burning, the pudding’s soggy and the turkey is a walking disaster (I cooked it upside down last year – shows you how much sherry I’d had, huh?)

So what do we do in times of stress? Well since our genes have barely changed in the last ten thousand years, we humans react pretty much the same as our stone-age ancestors did when confronted with an angry woolly mammoth. Our adrenaline kicks in, we get stressed, and our bodies go into “fight or flight” syndrome. Since running away is sadly not an option (like the poor turkey, there is no escaping our fate) the remaining option is fighting. Like cornered animals, our natural instinct is to escape by any means necessary, using any natural weapons at our disposal, and for modern humanoids that would mean arguing our way out. Small wonder there are so many marital break-ups in January, eh?

Now you might think that a better option would be to ferment yourself in any and all available alcohol as a means of escape. Indeed, numerous studies have found that stress dramatically increases alcohol consumption in animals (and I can personally vouch for this), but unfortunately all that yummy Christmassy booze simply makes the problem much worse because alcohol further stimulates the hormone adrenaline, and makes you want to fight even more.

So if you find yourself getting all hot and bothered this Christmas week, please remember that it’s not your fault. It’s your body doing what it does best and tackling that big, scary woolly mammoth the best way you know how.

And if you DO get the chance to escape at any point, then may I humbly recommend you grab any available camera, head for the hills and indulge in a spot of soothing photographic therapy. This strategy works – I promise. How do I know? Because that’s how I fought my own Mammuthus primigenius last year, and won.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

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Claire-Louisa, fingering her bobbles

The Kindness of Readers

I’ve often looked with a decidedly unhealthy amount of envy at certain bloggers, who sometimes receive sponsorship, book deals or other gratuities. In fact some bloggers are just so darn successful that they make a regular living wage from their hobby (although I suspect this number might be smaller than you think.) Some of my favourite photographic bloggers actually receive donations from camera manufacturers – just for a mention of the manufacturer’s equipment on their blog, or for performing a technical review. Sounds very cool, doesn’t it? Well, I’ve never known that happen in the nude photographic world. Never, ever. Nikon or Canon don’t donate free cameras to nekkid chix blogs, no matter how popular they are, and no self-respecting equipment manufacturer would want to sponsor anything that could remotely be considered pornographic, no matter how good the photographer might be. So whilst many of us may live in hope of an eventual book deal, we will most likely remain disappointed.

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Yes, it's time for those dreaded Christmas photos again

Likewise it seems that putting a Donate button on one’s blog rarely works with our genre, because no-one will want to admit to reading something…er…that might have slightly naughty pictures. (We’re not bitter about this, mind you. It’s just life.)

So we had long given up hope of ever receiving any sort of recompense for writing this stuff. Rich photographs and I write because we are driven to do so by something internal that we can’t explain or rationalise. We’re not proper artists of course, we’re merely hobbyists (yeah, that was a teensy dig, Jimmy...couldn't resist) We blog for fun, we do it because we love it. And yet…you must remember I’m an accountant so I am fundamentally materialistic by nature and my ego knows no bounds…so I do spend the occasional hour or three trying to figure out how to make this blog even slightly pay for itself. Not that we don’t appreciate the hundreds of wonderful and detailed comments we’ve received this year of course (we love you all dearly!) but photographic blogs are more expensive to run than you might think. (And if any fellow bloggers have any tried and proven methods of generating bloggie income -other than print and calendar sales- will they please share their wisdom?)

Anyway, after three years we had totally given up hope of ever receiving anything other than virtual bloggie lurve…when suddenly, out of the blue, yesterday we received a crimbo present…from a bloggie reader no less! WOW!!! This was so cool! In fact, after all this time I’m feeling rather emotional about the whole thing. I guess sometimes I forget there are real physical people reading this drivel, and that total strangers actually know us better than I think they do.

Well this kind, generous, totally fabulous, real person out there decided to send us a physical PRESSIE. We are now proud owners of the most magnificent and incredibly posh hat-box, filled to the brim with the most delicious, decedent chocolate cup-cakes. Clearly this reader knows us VERY well, as the way to our hearts is most definitely through our stomachs.

Thank you dear reader! Blogging for cakes, huh? Now I can most definitely relate to that. So howzabout a new bloggie donation scheme, our new Fluffytek marketing button:

Click Here To Feed The Starving Bloggers With Sticky Cakes

Will it work? I seriously doubt it. Not until another three years have passed anyway.

Thanks G. Much appreciated.

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Pirate Maiden, in festive feathers

Are you having a holly, jolly Christmas?

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?

Dr. Seuss

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Christmas - Fluffytek style!

Today is our local town's Grand Switch-on of Ye Olde Christmas Lights. Our favourite coffee shop will be open (hurrah!) and all the stores are already twinkly, sparkly and advertising their latest festive goodies with which to tempt you into spending your mega-bucks (which you haven’t got) on garish-but-useless prezzies for your loved ones (which they don’t want.) As our dear Grinch said, “The avarice never ends! "I want golf clubs. I want diamonds. I want a pony so I can ride it twice, get bored and sell it to make glue. Look, I don't wanna make waves, but this whole Christmas season is stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Whoops! Did I let my distinctly unfestive cynicism get the better of me there? No, no, I assure you, here at Fluffytek, we really do love Christmas. Passionately! Yes I really promise we do. It’s just that…erm…well you’ll appreciate we’re sort of in a teensy little world recession and we’re experiencing…erm…a few small cash flow issues ourselves. Just a small spot of bother you understand…nothing serious, and let’s face it, we’re all in the same boat. So how are we going to prepare for this most momentous feast day of the year? How can we as a nation join together and spread the happy Yuletide message of worldwide joy and rebirth to our friends and loved ones?

OMG, the coffers are bare. We’re doomed. DOOMED, I TELL YOU!

Now, let’s be honest, it’s going to be a bit of a thrifty credit-crunched Christmas, but please don’t let that out you off. As the Grinch said, Christmas isn’t about stuff, it’s a feeling inside. Instead of a meaningless wallow in materiality and commercialisation, let’s break with tradition. Let’s engage our puzzlers and get inventive. Let’s do something that really means something. After all, you don’t need money to be happy, you don’t have to spend thousands on your credit card to pass on the festive spirit that you ought to be feeling but definitely aren’t. So what to do?

Behold!!! Let me present to you…

~~ The Anti-Christmas ~~

~ Christmas gifts for all, as designed by your talented loving children ~

No, no, hear me out. It will really work, I tell you!
Let’s open the Fluffy sweatshop and get cracking! Only four weeks to go. Gotta get movin’…

The kids were a bit disconcerted at first, then they refused point blank, but when tempted with the enticing thought of lumps of coal in their stockings, they’re now really getting into the swing of it! They’ve finished the painting-by-numbers Christmas cards already, so now it’s onto the gifts. For the kids’ friends we’ve got a plentiful supply of dazzling genu-ine collector’s moon rock from outer-space (aka aforementioned coal with a liberal sprinkling of glue and my daughter’s silver glitter.) A truly unique gift! As for the in-laws, I’m sure my Father-in-law will appreciate a 40inch glossy Chistmassy print of the luscious Claire Louisa on his bedroom wall (see above - although his wife might not be quite so keen) and my younger son (the budding chef, if you recall) has decided to bottle up his latest Hot Mango Chutney concoction and give that to his Granny (a surprisingly spicy vintage, it can also be used to strip wallpaper if you don’t fancy slapping it in your sandwiches and dissolving your tongue. I think Granny will love it. No really, she will.)

So…that’s Christmas sorted then?

Alas we have one unsolved dilemma: The Christmas Tree. I’m not like Dave…I have no desire to go chop down one of my own poor innocent pretty little fir trees and implant it in our lounge. Besides all the needles will fall off, and BTW did I forget to mention that I’m allergic to pine trees? So for folks like myself, cheap plastic imitations rule O.K. If we can’t do real, then let’s fake it all the way...

But what sort of tree should I get? What sort of tree is so unbelievably realistic that it reflects the true spirit of Christmas 2008? What tree can possibly reflect the unbelievable hardship, anguish and downright gloominess that we’ve all been subjected to in this annus horriblis?

Perfect! I have it! Let me present to all you devoted Christmas lovers out there…

The Anti-Christmas Tree, as sold by our very own upmarket John Lewis Department store.

This groovy little festive number really does it for me, although I can’t figure out if this “must have” item is a stroke of marketing genius or evil genius.

Not only is it black (thus reflecting our global mood of festive misery and gloom) but it is also clearly designed for posh, upmarket, devil-worshipping bankers everywhere because it is...wait for it...upside down!

Alas, only the British could dream up something as crazy as this.



Good Heavens, whatever next? Satan’s baubles?

Are they gone yet?

Well, thank God that’s over. Three days of ten-hours-straight cooking for The Grand Feast, up at 5 a.m. yesterday, Rich’s family all day, strung-out overexcited kids, my three year old having a complete meltdown because it all just got too much (I totally identify), plus Rich’s computer blew up Christmas morning (there was smoke, there was profuse cursing, there were no computer games.)

Today I am more exhausted today than I can ever remember. Plus I have put on at least 20 pounds and I am the size of a house. And did I mention that I feel terrible? Somebody please remind me to NEVER EVER do that again.

But it’s over. I need rest. I need low-fat protein and tons of vegetables. I need lots of cuddles. I need a steamy photographic shoot with a highly-trustworthy photographer (when he's finished disembowelling his computer) followed by humongous amounts of photoshopping to remove said-blubber.

But most importantly, I need to start writing again.

Can I go back to gritty, non-festive blogging now, or do I have to wait until the new year?



This is Kate, not me. I never looked this good. No, not even twenty years ago. Kate is a professional dancer. I never was, unless you count over-enthusiasic drunken bopping at a night-club four nights a week for most of my twenties. Accountancy wrecks your liver and your sense of rhythm. Don't let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

Four days to go

The last few days have been very upsetting in the modeling world. Let me state categorically that I have the sincerest admiration for the bravery and honesty of those models. They are amazing people.

I also have every sympathy with those I know who are coping with the loss of a loved one to cancer. And I really feel for those undergoing loneliness and depression, and to the rather-too-many people I know who are undergoing terminal relationship issues, again, this makes me sad, and you have my hope that things can be repaired.

But that’s all I want to say on the matter.

Why?

Because that’s all I can handle right now.

There has been a heck of a lot of negative around these past few weeks. I’ve been sucked into it as much as the next person.

But it’s four days until Christmas. So maybe you’ll forgive me for the following statements.

I don’t do death.
I don’t do depression.
I don’t do anger.
I don’t do misery.

I do, however, do Christmas.

As I type this, it is at the end of my working day, and we have finished work for Christmas.

So now it begins. I tried to make Christmas tasteful, I swear, and I had even planned out my colour-coordinated Christmas tree, but it seemed so dry and empty, somehow. So I just gave up and let the kids and Rich nuke the house.

Tonight the house is alive with shrieking and dancing kids. Fast and LOUD Christmas music. Twinkling Christmas lights. Roaring log fire. Mince pies. Really good sherry. The largest turkey you’ve ever seen (apologies to vegetarians – we would rather eat nut roast, I swear, but the in-laws are coming for Christmas and they are big carnivores.) Home-made Christmas cards. Bouncing Father Christmasses. Middle son planning the most complicated and exotic Christmas trifle I can imagine, involving $50 ingredients and three types of sherry (he wants to be a famous t.v. chef when he grows up). My three year old daughter obsessively wrapping presents (she’s been wrapping everything in sight for at least a month.) Snogging my husband under the mooseletoe (large dangling cuddly furry moose, who has looked down on plenty of kissing over the years.)

Yes it’s a naff, uncool, sugary sweet, tacky Christmas.
Guess what? I don’t care.
It’s been a really crappy year, dammit. We deserve a good one.

Why Do Nude Photographers Get More Action?

A recent British study has found that professional creative types (whether male or female) have on average twice as many sexual partners as their non-artist peers. It’s not just down to the fact that more artists see naked women, because this evidence applies across all types of art. So why are artists, and photographers in particular, so damn sexy?

Well of course artists are perceived as being passionate and dedicated to their craft, so women naturally assume they will be the same in the sack. Artists are deemed to have complicated and deep personalities. Accountants like me are not. Plus artists are often more open about their sexuality - their mind works in different ways, and they are more psychologically open to new ideas and are trained to explore new artistic directions, in and out of bed. Simply put, they are not as conservative as your average stockbroker.

Photographers (especially those who shoot nudes) are also experienced at handling women. They study women all the time. Lots of them. Usually naked. When a woman takes off her clothes, to some extent she removes her psychological barriers. Her psyche is laid bare. She must trust the photographer implicitly, and he must not abuse that trust, either at the time of the shoot, or in their dealings afterwards. Thus, it follows that the photographer has to be a nice guy.

Not all of them are nice, of course, and I have hard of photographers abusing that level of trust pretty badly. Let’s face it – some people are creeps. But hopefully those are the exceptions to the rule. Call me naïve, but on the whole, I do believe that the majority of photographers are worthy of long term trust, and most of them are kind and insightful people who treat their subjects with the greatest respect. They don’t openly judge a woman, they don’t judge sexuality, and they are open to all types of personalities who model for them. And because they are such good people, the best photographers are universally adored by many of their models.

There is also the very important point that the more experienced photographers know how women think. They have to. People skills, and putting a woman at ease is part of their job. How else can they get the best from their subject? A photographer has to understand the basic psychology of men and women, plus he has to be able to know how to use that knowledge to enhance his art. So it is fair to say that he has to know himself pretty well too. He must be self-confident, polite, non-judgmental, humorous, and if he is slightly flirtatious whilst maintaining an air of respect and complete control, then this will dramatically improve the emotional response of his model.

So you’ll notice that I have purely coincidentally described the qualities of most women’s ideal man. Study the wish list of most women, and you’ll find that they are looking for strong, self assured, even slightly arrogant men, who can make them laugh, make them feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, make them feel unique and wonderful. No wonder many women find nude photographers irresistible. Of course it helps if he is devastatingly good looking (has anyone actually seen that photo of James Graham in his super-fashionable designer black coat and NOT gone completely weak at the knees? I rest my case.)

However good looks are not essential. In fact I think they can actually count negatively towards the photographer’s sex appeal. Guys who are not what is perceived as “traditionally handsome” will always be more interesting to me, because they are often more modest, take themselves less seriously and are bit of an enigma. Mysteries are the ultimate hook to get the chicks interested, believe me. We wanna see what makes you chaps tick.

But ultimately your physical appearance and especially your age is irrelevant to your sex appeal. It is knowing yourself and being able to say who you are that is the real turn-on. Fortunately for photographers, most “ordinary” non-creative types don’t actually know themselves. Hence when women come across a powerful man - powerful because he has self knowledge and is in touch with his emotions - they are in awe of him, and they fall for him big time.

The power of knowing yourself is the ultimate aphrodisiac. It gives you power over your models, power over women and power over your art.

More enlightened photographers make better artists. And they’re better in bed too.

(Disclaimer: The author admits to twenty years of romantic bias regarding that last point.)



And to those photographers who say, “This is twaddle! I’m not getting any action,” my reply is a) maybe you prefer quality over quantity (which is wonderful of course, but it’s your choice so stop complaining) or b) Maybe you’re just shy, and you don’t realise how sexy you are?!

Pimping Perfume

It’s Christmas time again folks, and that can only mean one thing…Yay! It’s time for those tacky perfume ads on T.V. According to the telly, perfume is the standard present of choice for Christmas. Few things make you feel as fabulous as unwrapping a jewel-like bottle of sweet, captivating fragrance. Perfume is the ultimate mood booster, an affordable luxury, and guaranteed to get you in touch with your inner sensuality. So the adverts tell us anyway.

Now I love watching Nicole Kidman sweat for her millions as much as the next girl, but does any right-minded intelligent woman actually kid herself she’ll be like our lovely Nicole, just by spraying herself with Chanel No. 5? Do men actually believe that their women will feel loved and pampered if they buy them an exquisitely designed bottle of the world’s best selling perfume? Who the hell cares what chemical gloop is inside it, as long as the advert says it’s sexy, right?

The smell is largely irrelevant to most fragrance sales, as long as it’s fairly pleasant and doesn’t make the object of your attraction blow chunks. It’s more important that the woman likes the packaging. The important thing is the pretty glass container and the clever marketing-speak that goes with the liquid, because it reflects how you see yourself. It’s the image that counts for everything. In the same way that a beautiful fashion photograph in a woman’s magazine sells fantasies to women, so too that gorgeous sexy bottle of amber coloured liquid promises that you will suddenly become irresistible to the opposite sex. If you spray yourself with this wonder-gloop, you too will be a glamorous sex goddess, you will suddenly have ravishing young men turning their heads in the street, following you round, buying you flowers. Your life will be perfect, because you too will become Nicole Kidman, because you too WILL FEEL BEAUTIFUL.



It’s not just about the glamorous advert of course. The bottles are what sell the scent, and they have to be works of art. The shape of the bottle dictates what market the perfume is aimed at, and the marketing-speak that accompanies the advert is geared accordingly. For young trendy hip-young-things, you have the “spontaneous and seductive” CK1 (simple but chic frosted bottle shape). For the up-market older woman, you have crystal glassware, such as the Versace “Bright Crystal” “for the confident glamorous woman," in a divine shade of vivid pink cut glass, with a bottle stopper that looks like a humungous diamond the size of my Aunty Aggie’s giant bunion.

Now let's consider the secondary element, the scent. Perfumes contain a variety of natural and chemical concoctions designed to react with human sweat to produce an enticing smell which emulates ovulation hormones. Because no one person’s sweat smells the same, the perfume does react differently with each person. Thus what may smell bloody horny on you, may make me smell absolutely awful. My skin is very acidic in nature, and thus most perfumes smell like cat’s pee after I’ve worn them for an hour or two. That’s why “Poison” really does smell like rat poison on me, but “hump me Big Boy” on you.

And don’t even get me started on wearing perfumes that contain real pheromones. Yes I’ve tried them, in the hope of suddenly making my dear husband find me utterly irresistible and want to bonk me all night. Unfortunately all Rich ended up with was a mammoth splitting headache that lasted for two days, and needless to say, no hanky-panky at all. The stuff which was guaranteed to make me sex-personified, actually ended up being sprayed in the loo to freshen it, whereupon visitors suddenly started to spend a heck of a lot more time in my lavatory than they ever used to. Clearly my toilet is hornier than I am.

So, ladies, do you ever fall for the ultra-subtle marketing-speak? For example, do try Sean Paul’s bogglingly-named “Unforgivable,” “created to reflect the warmth and sensuality of a woman’s body.” (In actual fact this smells like “eau-de-wet-Labrador-after-rolling-in-mud,” and the best I can say about it is that it should indeed be for the “bold, confident woman,” because you’d have to be insanely brave to try it. Still at least the name is apt.)

Who writes this crap? Dammit, I wanna go work for these marketing companies. Somebody please pay me to write this rubbish. I can’t imagine a job that would be more fun. Those perfume advertisers must think we were born yesterday. Seriously…….I mean SERIOUSLY…..would any self-respecting woman believe all that hype?

By the way Rich, as it’s Christmas, I’m rather taken with that new Christina Aguilera perfume. Sexy bottle, plus it‘s covered in “seductive” black lace, plus the pong is not unpleasant either….Obviously this will make me feel “classy, sensual and in touch with my inner woman.”. And according to the marketing hype, it will reflect the real me…“sexy, juicy and daringly different.”
Yeah right. At the cost of a month’s lattes at my local coffee shop, it may turn out to be the most expensive juicy loo-freshener ever.



In case you are actually wondering if I do wear perfume, or if instead I just embrace my inner glow and really reek like a pole-cat, my long term scent is Cerruti 1881. This is traditionally viewed as an old lady’s perfume, which goes splendidly with my glamorous “mad old cat lady” image. So what if I wear perfume for geriatrics? I rather like the smell actually. Of the perfume, I mean, not the geriatrics.

The Christmassy images are of course of Pirate Maiden.

The Santa Nun

Apparently I'm well over due for doing a post and I've been threatened with death , or at least no supper, if I don’t do a post today. I have also been instructed that it must be a serious photographic post. Ho Hum.

Well in the last few weeks I’ve been playing around with my CGI packages, learning what they do and how they do it. I'm also finding out that’s it’s all too easy to crash these things. I don’t know who writes these but it’s really not acceptable for an app to lock and crash after several hours losing all the work you've done. So now I know to save everything very often.

But I have made some achievements. I know most of the methods used to create skin and make it look good. I'm not at the 100% photorealistic stage yet but I'm getting a book from Santa on how to make photorealistic faces. The techniques should then be applicable to the whole body.

I've been learning about rigging models, sounds kinky doesn’t it! Unfortunately it’s not the process of tying them up and dangling them from the ceiling but the technique of taking the models skin envelope and attaching it to a bone structure so that you can animate the body. This is really tricky to do well as human joints are a pig to get right, and don’t get me started about having your hand go right through your tummy when you move your shoulder!

Hair has also been fun. Hair simulation is getting pretty good and I'm slowly getting better at it. The main problem I have at the moment is with the computer I'm running it on, well one of them anyways. I tried to render some fur and accidently set the number of hair instances too high. I was greeted with a nice error message as the app crashed telling me it had failed to allocate 7GB of ram. Whoops. Maybe I should run it on the XP64 machine I have.

So anyways I spent this morning putting together a piccy for you to show you what I have acheived so far. Today’s WIP. Lin took one look at this and described it as a nun in a Santa hat, so she is now and always shall be the Santa Nun.

I present to you the Santa Nun in all her glory, or at least her head, as I didn’t model the rest.



You'll notice that the Santa Nun doesn’t have real eyes, I could say that this is because she’s really possessed by the devil and thus we should rename this TSNPD - "The Santa Nun Possessed by the Devil", but in reality I just I ran out of time and didn’t have time to add more realistic eyes. I think it’s kind of cool anyway.

The whole poly count of the model needs to go up and I need to add some actual details to the skin beyond colouring and reflection models. But I'm still working on that.

You can also see the fur that caused the problems. As one of my fluffies she was supposed to be fluffier and the fur whiter but at 20mins to render I wasn’t going to spend too long playing around.

The real Christmas fluffy for this post is Clayre McKinnen

Banana Wisdom

Well, as Gary and Mark kindly pointed out, things may yet not turn out to be as bad as they seemed yesterday. So far everyone appears to be adopting the “Te audire no possum, musa sapientum fixa est in aure” approach, which if you recall, is Latin for “I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear.”

Clearly my beloved friend has decided that women with brain tumours do crazy things, and I may yet be able to use the temporary insanity defence. Although it’s been a little more than temporary after eighteen months of blogging. Still, I’ll cling to that excuse as long as I am able to. I can live with pretending nothing has happened, although I suspect I’m about to be dropped like a hot potato from our social circle. Ah well, as the aging-singalonga-pretend-Robbie-Williams told us at the (very loud) rock concert at the local village church last Friday, “At least we have our health.” Or not, in my case.

Anyhoo, I’ll suck it and see. News reports from the resident SPAM (now amended to “Socially-Passed up-Abandoned-Miscreant”) as and when it happens.

In the meantime, I would just like to take a moment to show you all some LURVE……

Yes indeedy, many of you rank very highly on my “totally-fabulous-people-meter.”

“Why?” you ask.

What do photographers do when one of their own is in trouble? Well, apparently they send you random photographs to make you feel better. Of nudes, erotica, vegetables, landscapes, people, Christmas, even of gorgeous pussies (both kinds!) Rarely a day goes by when I don’t wake up to an email with a unbelievably cool piccie attached. And they are really beautiful, let me tell you that. (Although after a spate of being sent open leg shots a few months back, I tend to be a little more cautious now when opening email attachments on a full stomach just after breakfast – please remembers folks I am a middle-aged heterosexual female i.e. More nekkid male model shots would be superb, thank you so much for your consideration.)

Believe me, I am one of the luckiest SPAM in the world, as 99 percent of these images are truly outstanding. Many of them never made it to your blogs or ports, for whatever reason, but I can promise you I am privvy to one of the best private nude art collections in the world.

Dang, I’m a fortunate person. Thank you so much folks! I can promise you they make me really happy :-)

Although Rich keeps asking why no-one keeps sending pretty pictures to him, only to his wife.

(Subtle-hint: please send piccies to Rich too, or else I’m in deep doo-doo. Thank you.)



Sorry, I really can't face another Christmas series photograph today. Have spent large portion of today wrapping presents, and am totally yuled-out. So here is another-almost-Christmassy-picture, of Pirate Maiden this time. Please note she is smiling. This is rare, as according to her hubby, she never ever smiles for photographers.

Doomed

Well, the unthinkable has happened.

One of my local female friends has discovered the blog. This was due to a silly error on my part – I sent her a rushed email from my modelling account, rather than my personal one. A simple click of the wrong button, and life has gone to hell in a handbasket.

Although she knows I model, to say this blog is outside of her personal comfort zone is a colossal understatement.

Damn and blast my incompetence! I want to delete the blog right now. Rich won’t let me.

Shit.

Just when I thought life couldn’t get much worse.

Big ramifications, folks.

HUGE.



On a happier note, this is a piccie of Claire Louisa, lookin’ fluffy.

The Christmas Fluffies

The Challenge?

1. Take five beautiful models, and one ultra-cheesy Santa hat.

2. Very politely request reluctant models to wear said hat for a few minutes at the end of each shoot.

3. When aforementioned models refuse (on grounds of good taste), apply the super-patented-ultra-smoooooth-Mr-Fluffy-Charm.

Voila!

Result = The 2007 Christmas Fluffy Series.

The amazingly brave yet totally futile attempt to produce tasteful nude art, whilst simultaneously inducing that garish and tacky feeling of Yule.

Enjoy…

(Several times a week until Christmas, I’m afraid…)



Are we all feeling Christmassy yet?