Smiling is Not Art

No smiling please - we're artists

Instead of me blathering on about the High Art Nude photography today, I’m going to ask you – my trusty readers - to enlighten me for a change (this is a cunning plan to get you folks to do all the hard work!)

I was talking to an artist acquaintance of mine recently (a portrait painter not a photographer) and he was talking about the difficulties involved in pleasing clients. In particular, one of the most common complaints from his clients is that he always refuses to paint them smiling. “You can’t smile in a portrait,” he said. “It’s trite. Smiles are only for photos.”

“Nope, not true,” said I. “Models can’t smile in fine art photographs either. We usually have to look sultry or stay expressionless, and that’s if we even get to show our faces at all.”

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Iveta - with very standard "fine art nude" expression

And it’s true. It’s rare that I see a fine art photographic print (whether portrait or figure nude) where the model is smiling. That’s not always the case of course, but mostly. I’m not including outtakes either – yes I know that your models have immense fun and that shoots are always hoots, but let’s face it guys, how many prints do you actually SELL of happy, giggling models?

And what I want to know is why is it that fine art photography is so devoid of humour? Now I'm not daft (well, not normally!) and I do know that it’s all supposed to be about lighting, form and shadow but what the hell is wrong with interjecting a bit of positive emotion into the image? Would a happy model affect the lighting? Would showing the model’s face – actually smiling - make the image less erotic, less psychologically deep, less atmospheric, less ANYTHING in fact? I think not. What’s wrong with a bit of happiness now and again? Why does showing the photographic subject displaying (positive) emotion mean that it is not commercially viable Art? Why does emotionless anonymity sell and joyous expression not? Do collectors really prefer to hang faceless bodies on their walls? (Please note that I’m not being deliberately provocative here - well maybe just a little, but I really do want to know.)

Maybe I should start a “Happy Nudes” campaign? At least it would reflect the truth of making art – that it is indeed a heckuva lot of fun.

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Why does smiling change the genre?

P.S. If you would like to see a stunning fine art nude photo that really does make me smile with delight, see Michael V’s latest shot here. Isn’t she radiant?

Insanabile cacoëthes scribendi

An incurable passion to write

(Satires)

Greetings folks and welcome to our new home!

Yes we know it’s been five long months since we last posted, and you have our profuse apologies for the lengthy absence. Huge thanks go to those of our friends who never gave up on us coming back, particularly to Michael, Dr L, Stephen, Dave and Z who have been incredibly supportive and we owe them all big-time.

Much has changed in our world (and more about that next time) but the most important thing is I’ve really missed writing here. Not a day went by when I didn’t think of Fluffytek. Over the last few years it has been our creative home, and for much of the last five months that I’ve been away, I’ve felt rootless, homeless, lost. As any writer, artist or photographer will tell you, not creating is ghastly. It’s like cutting off part of yourself. You need to invent new things in order to live. Creativity = life. No wonder I’ve felt so rough.

Anyway, news in brief:

Medical-wise (I’m sure no one is interested but I’m telling you anyway) it turns out that the low point of my ultra-zap was eighteen months after treatment, which kinda explains the brain freeze of five months ago and my subsequent meltdown. ‘Nuff said about the health issues – all you need to know is that Rich was a veritable saint and I’m recovered now.

In case anyone is wondering what the hell happened to our family filmmaking venture, yes it is very much alive and kicking. For obvious reasons I can't link to it from here, but if anyone is vaguely interested in watching our little film-short or reading our VFX blog, please email me and I'll gladly send you the link. The new VFX blog has a more remote and professional slant – not surprising as VFX is intended to be our day-job at some point in the future, so it’s effectively a biz-blog. Although it’s fun writing there, we do miss somewhere to relax and appreciate fine art, somewhere to be “just us.” We miss Fluffytek.

I still adore photography – it’s a drug, a consuming passion, my life. I must be the only wife in living memory who loves and absolutely requires her husband to photograph naked women. How screwed up does that make me?

The bottom line? I couldn’t move on. I have no idea of this is a failing or not. Frankly I don’t care. So I will continue to write here as and when time allows. We probably don’t have very many readers left by now, but that doesn’t matter either. I write for myself, for Rich and our photographic bloggie friends.

I always have.

And that’s exactly the way it should be.

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Iveta

Final reminder:
Our new web site is http://www.fluffytek2.com
Our new blog address is http://www.fluffytek2.com/blog/default.html
New RSS feed: http://www.fluffytek2.com/blog/atom.xml

Please update your bookmarks, as the old site will be wiped next week. Thanx!

Painting v. Photography

Because I visit a lot (and I really do mean a LOT) of art exhibitions in my spare time, I often end up chatting to artists about photography. Most of them (usually painters) look down on photographers, and nude photographers in particular, not merely because they think nude photography is all about nekkid-chick-worship but also because they think snapping a nude photo is easy-peasy. To them, photography is not “art.” It’s a short-cut, a cheat, and the resulting image doesn’t “come alive” in the same way that a painting does. To them, any photographic skill involved is only about selection and manipulation, whereas painting is the art of creation from nothing to a totality.

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Hmm…well let’s look at this argument a little closer shall we?

I will admit that photography is a short-cut of sorts, when compared to a painting. It’s faster, for one thing, and when a photographer shoots a nude model, the transition from three dimensional form to a two dimensional surface has already been made for him. Unlike painting, a photographic artist does not have to wrestle with the twin beasts of perspective and foreshortening because he has a mechanical device which does it for him. However that mechanical method has limits. Without skill in the craft of photography, the resulting image will end up as nothing more than a dull surface of homogenised coloured dots: empty and banal.

The painters I was talking to did not understand the concept of photographic skill.

“It’s not just a case of “click the shutter and you’re done,” I told them. “Creating an outstanding photographic piece demands thought, calculation, experience, control and above all, instinct.”

“Maybe,” conceded the painters, “but photographs still lack the emotional depth and artistic personality that a painting gives you.”

So how does the photographer regain that three dimensional depth, that artistic intensity, excitement and LIFE that comes from painting a live subject? How can he create an image which reflects his own artistic vision, which reflects what he was feeling and visualising at the time he captured the image? How can he reflect his personality, passion and subjectivity in an image in the same way as a painter does?

The answer must lie with the skilled photographer’s composition and manipulation of light. To give a photograph similar levels of emotional intensity as a painting, the image creator has to view himself not as someone who is capturing a moment in time, not merely recording what is already there. No, the photographic artist SEES (and my “sees” I mean “understands and perceives”) much more than that. He has to go beyond using the camera as a mechanical tool. He has to learn to paint in light.

Anyone can learn to use a camera. Quite honestly, it’s not that hard to learn form and composition either. Indeed it’s perfectly possible to become a pretty competent photographer after studying and practising taking photographs for a few years. However learning how to use a camera is merely the means by which a photograph is constructed; whereas (like an artist) the skilled photographer uses the light information that the brain receives from the eye and turns it into something much more.

Light is the first thing we see when we open our eyes. It is our primary means of establishing a relationship with the world. In the same way that an artist has to learn how light works before he can paint a picture, the photographer has to learn how light can be used to manipulate how his subject appears, in order to realise the vision in his head.

IMO, photography and art share more similarities than my snobby painters would care to admit. Both are art, even though the tools may be different. Although one type of artist uses a paintbrush and the other uses a mechanical device, the tools are secondary and to some extent irrelevant. It is the finished image which matters first and foremost, and the emotion reflected therein. The camera is merely a tool which is at the service of a photographer’s sight. The pinnacle in technique for both painter and photographer is when that tool becomes secondary to the sight. The tool is thus merely a means to an end. Like a painter, the skilled photographer is unaware of the camera because he is so absorbed in visualising and creating the end image. So when his hands move unconsciously to take the picture, it means his eyes, his brain and his mind are free.

Is the resulting image “true art?” Well, yes, IMO it can be. A photograph doesn’t have to be merely a recording of something which is already there. However, it does have to accurately reflect the artist’s creative vision. It has to be a truthful kind of beauty.

The very highest point attainable in photographic art is when the unaided photographer, occupying the same ambience as the subject he is studying, has the skill to push beyond the mechanical language of the camera and use the additional tools at his disposal (light, space, composition, form) to portray a final image which has meaning to both artist and viewer. Only then will the photograph move from two dimensional to something more, because he has made the image come truly alive inside the viewer’s mind.

And it is at that point where photography stops and art begins.

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Photographs are of Iveta

The Needs Of The Many

This is the second part of my essay on Photography, Fantasy and the Modern Woman. The first part of this post can be read here

“It is logical. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Spock (on entering a deadly radiation chamber which killed him)
Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan

It won’t surprise any of you to learn that in the late 80’s and early 90’s I was a stark raving feminist of the most extreme kind. Feminism was mandatory for university students in those days. We eschewed women’s magazines (I never recovered from this – I still hate them) and I used to have long, passionate highbrow debates on why pornography was degrading to women. To university feminists any pictures of naked women depicted in the modern media classified as porn, so I loathed all forms of nude and especially glamour photography in those days. Both me and my group of eco-friendly, vegetarian, bra-burning friends were all convinced that pornography should be censored (and preferably banned outright) because it led to social and economic subordination of females.

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In the early nineties many twenty-somethings like myself steadfastly believed the propaganda published by the women’s movement. It was because of all those girlie magazines and the pervading culture of porn that women were always perceived to be secondary to men. It was tremendously difficult in our western patriarchal society for women to achieve genuine political power (Mrs Thatcher being the rare exception) because they were usually perceived by men to be fantasy objects. Pornography perpetuated the institutionalisation of male supremacy because it encouraged men to see women as sexual fantasies. Men treated women according to the way they imagined them as being, and because this was accepted as normal behaviour in society, it followed that indirectly pornography defined who women should be.

On the basis of this argument, pornography didn’t free women, it took away their liberty. It denied them the right to achieve freedom in economic and social circles because it recreated them in men’s minds in the shape of male fantasies. Worst of all, women bought these fantasies and took them to their hearts, aided and abetted by the modern media. Pictures of airbrushed gorgeous models in glossy magazine adverts simply made matters worse, because they reinforced the idea of “the perfect woman” in women’s minds. Women’s magazines were thus an extension of the pornographic fantasy-land, cleaned up and sanitized to appeal to the female gender, but no less of a corrupting influence on women’s identities. We all strive to look as sexy and attractive as possible in order to compete with each other, as well as for the purpose of appealing to men. We all fall for the myth of perfection.

Now this was a theory which was mooted in 1992, and it is no less relevant today. In the photographic world we depend on perpetuating these fantasies for our very livelihood. Glossy photographs of beautiful women put bread on our table, or at least they used to before the government started censoring them and regulating what we could do. And so we rail bitterly against the removal of our own fundamental liberties and against our photographic art being censored. We all wonder if our photography will survive? In both Britain and America these new laws are an insult, an oppression, a fundamental violation of everything we stand for.

“It’s an outrage! What about our rights? Our freedom of expression?”

Well now, hang on a minute. What about the liberties of women?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that it is well established in first amendment case law that some speech has the effect of silencing others. Our governments therefore have a duty to balance the rights to freedom of speech with speech designed to stop others from being heard. However those feminists in 1992 theorised that a woman’s free speech can be silenced indirectly by images that change the viewer’s perceptions of her fundamental character, her desires and even how she sees herself. Anything that does result in shaping who she is as a woman and how others see her is therefore fundamentally wrong because it effectively takes away or changes her free will and silences her.

So is it possible that in some ways nude and glamour photography does silence women because it changes how they see and value themselves, as well as how society as a whole sees them? Is pornography (however artistic) partially responsible for women’s inability to achieve absolute equality in society? If so then our governments have a powerful justification for censoring images of women (although granted that sneaking legislation through under the guise of protection of children isn’t the most ethical way of achieving such equality.)

If we are a society which protects free speech at all costs, then doesn’t it follow that some types of censorship are justified, particularly those that promote absolute equality and justice? Should some freedoms (for example, the right of a small sector of male photographers to create nude photographs of women) be sacrificed in order to protect the rights and freedoms of all women? How do governments find the right balance?

Should the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?

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Images are of Iveta

You'll all be unsurprised to hear that Rich described this post as "well written but flawed." I told him that he'd missed my point that these arguments were around in 1992, some seventeen years ago. What goes around, comes around. These very same feminist theories were once again resurrected a couple of years ago as an justification for supporting increased censorship of the plethora of nude and pornographic photographs on the internet, although this is actually the first time that members of our governments tried to enshrine them in legislation.

A Year of Perpetual Drama

Writing is not about words. Painting is not about pigment. Music is not about tones. As long as photographers insist that photography is about photographs, the art is limited and self-containing.

Brooks Jensen

It’s about this time of year that we all look back over the last twelve months. We count our blessings, scrutinise our mistakes (and then write them off as experience) and savour the fact that we made it to the end of the year with our sanity intact.

It’s certainly been interesting watching the adventures of the nude bloggie community. Because of The Golden Fluffies (later this week, if anyone is remotely interested) we’ve been reading huge numbers of photographic blogs every single day. It’s amazing how immersed you get in the lives of bloggers, and it’s certainly been fun watching these artists grow and develop. The number of photographers and models who blog has grown exponentially during this year, and for that reason (as well as all the prohibitive regulations next year) we’ll shortly be calling it quits on the annual awards and significantly shrinking our daily blog roll. Sorry folks, but that much reading can seriously interfere with one's sanity. We need our lives back!

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Anyhoo, what has this year been like for us, blogs aside?

Rich:

Well, this has been the year that Rich temporarily gave up photography (or at least took a serious break) due to a phase of arty existential angst because of the exponential rise in identical nude photographs on Deviant Art. Not a growthful experience. He describes D.A. as the McDonalds of the art world: fast food art without culture, ultimately bland and tasteless when eaten to excess. Our Rich is not one for following the herd. He likes to stand out from the crowd (or at least as individual as is possible nowadays) so finding endless copies resulted in him pulling out of photography to get his mojo back (and yes, I’m still waiting, although I deeply suspect that the delay in mojo-return is now mainly financially induced.)

He’s also erm…expanding into shooting deeply uncool short horror movies, which I am apparently required to write scripts for. So far this has resulted in much disaster and great hilarity. I am terrible at script-writing. TERRIBLE! But it is a humungous amount of fun trying to produce anything at all, so no doubt we will attempt to create scary zombie shorts (mini-movies) with deeply naff* scripts and peculiar CGI special effects next year some time. Mind you, a single short five minute zombie movie takes absolutely ages to develop and shoot, so we're not expecting the final results any time soon. (And before you ask, Fluffytek is supposed to be about beauty, light and form, so it's unlikely that I'll be blogging about it here.)

(*Our resident artiste deeply objects to the term “naff” so please substitute the world “artistic” where appropriate.)

Lin:

This is the year I was nuked, of course, which in turn means it was the year that Brooks Jensen saved my (photographic) soul, and inspired me to study photography in depth. It was the year I quit modelling (no I don’t miss it) and the year I discovered that I should be writing rather than being an accountant (I’m working on it.) I also lost my memory (twenty years snuffed out) and yet still found happiness and freedom because of the love and help of my family, as well as through the support of a great community and a growing passion for photography.

So this year, our annus horriblis, our year of hardship, where we nearly lost both our day-job business and were subjected to more stress than ever before, has nevertheless been an enlightening year. At the very least, we have learned the value of taking one day at a time as well as discovering a deeper appreciation of photographic art. Photography is about so much more than photographs. If we have realised nothing else this year, then that is a fundamental truism.

It has been a good year. We could not ask for more.

If you think back, and replay your year - if it doesn't bring you tears of joy or sadness, consider the year wasted.

John "The Biscuit" Cage, from Ally McBeal

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Images are of Iveta

Reasons to be Cheerful

It has come to my attention that some of our American readers are feeling (very understandably) a smidgen below par today. To be sure, many of us have had rather an annus horribilis and many of us have actually been to hell and back in some shape or form. Nevertheless we endure.

So to those of you who don’t feel you have much to be thankful for, let me wish you folks in particular a Happy Thanksgiving, and remind you that no matter how bad this year has been (caution…tacky cliché approaching) that 1) You are still alive 2) You are loved and 3) Through your love of photography you have learned the real meaning of the word “beauty.”

What else could you wish for?

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Iveta

For those who are still feeling cynical, please go back to Cliché No. 1. Repeat until you feel better.

Why Artists Should Rule The World

So we’re nearly at the finish line. The policies have been analysed to death, so much so that in these final End Of Days the only thing left that will sway the floating voter is sheer force of personality.

Now don't ask me to predict who will win on Tuesday. Originally I figured Hillary Clinton for president, but that was based purely on logical economic policies, and clearly I overestimated the American population (either that or I am the harbinger of doom) as the poor woman was kicked out shortly afterwards.

Now it seems clear that most floating sheep, sorry I mean undecided US voters, will vote on personality alone. Obama has operated a very slick marketing campaign, so I’m guessing that he will emerge the winner, especially since there are an alarmingly large number of blogs out there who are hailing him as The Next Messiah, the man who will save the world because he is "a man of resplendid vision with the wisdom of Solomon." Some impressively zealous religious admirers are even able to quote relevant parts of the bible as proof that Obama is indeed the second coming of Christ. As we often like to say here in the U.K…only in America…

So if you’re throwing common sense out of the window, who would you vote for?

Well, my dear late mother, had she still been alive and living in America, would have been a dead cert for McCain. Why? Because his favourite musician is Roy Orbison, so of course he is therefore by definition PERFECT because my mother worshipped dear Roy as devotedly as if it was he who would save the world from certain destruction.

As for me, I’d probably vote Obama (despite the fact that he has a few vaguely alarming hints towards totalitarian policies) simply because a) he’d make an excellent male art nude model and b) any man who lists his favourite musician as Miles Davis can’t be all bad and at least shows some degree of taste. But more than this, Obama also lists his main source of personal inspiration as none other than Pablo Picasso. I’m guessing this is not because of Picasso’s infamous womanizing, but rather because of his enlightened philosophies, not to mention his art.

If Obama has artistic leanings, then maybe all is not lost. Picasso represented a dynamic, radical new vision of the world, and let’s face it, we could all do with a new creative vision around about now. Let’s just hope he doesn’t follow our dear Pablo’s famous mantra of “every act of creation is first an act of destruction” hmm?

So if he does emerge victorious this week, it will be interesting to see what Barack does with his shiny new toy called America. Let’s hope he uses his creative vision to create a new and better world.

“I see little of more importance to the future of our country and of civilization than full recognition of the place of the artist. If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him.”

John F. Kennedy

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Iveta

Six Random Things Game

Yes, yes I know this seems horribly familiar, and you’re quite correct. I’ve blogged on this before. However Saintz tagged me, and since Lela’s brave enough to do it twice, I guess that means I have to.

Being a narcissist, I’ve been waffling on about myself for so many years now that you really know practically everything about my sordid little life already, but I’ve been racking my brains and come up with a few things you really didn’t want to know:

1. When I write, I try to subscribe to The 24 Hour Rule. Basically this means I normally wait at least 24 hours before I actually publish a post. I’ve found this to be a valuable safeguard over the last couple of years, usually because I mostly write total garbage (usually after too much Chardonnay, it has to be said) and when I look at my draft the following day, I often change it completely or delete it altogether, depending on its quality control levels (unfortunately the quality is inversely proportional to the volume of alcohol consumed!) Please note I did not subscribe to this rule in either this post or my last (with hindsight I really regret posting yesterday. See, the rule works.)

2. I have twenty-two clocks (not including computer clocks) in my house (thanks to my younger son for counting them all.) Guess I have time issues, huh?

3. My cat left me three mouse skulls and various unidentified bloody entrails on the carpet when I got up, bleary-eyed, to make tea first thing this morning. Yes I know it’s a sign of undying love for one’s mistress (we all have our own unique ways of expressing our feelings after all), but it’s actually quite scary. You never quite know what you’re going to find of a morning.

4. Unfortunately I never ever stay in bed, naked, until noon (you’ve no idea how much I’d like to though.) I get up with raging insomnia at 3.30 and usually blog or talk to whomsoever of you folks is around also with raging insomnia at 3.30, or who is on U.S. time and hasn’t gone to bed yet. Do email me at 3.30. I’m usually around, watching the clock mostly.

5. When I was a kid I had webbed toes on my right foot. Of course I was teased mercilessly at school. Fish feet, freak, mutant, just what you’d expect from kids I guess. So I got a pair of scissors and cut out the webbing. A miracle I didn’t get blood poisoning really. It was at that point in my life that I realized I had a high pain threshold.

6. I also collect slutty purple underpants. Strange, gross and more than you needed to know...

I can guess what you’re thinking now. TOO MUCH DETAIL (believe me you don’t wanna see the other two I didn’t post.)

Still, looking on the bright side, hopefully that’s the last time I’ll get tagged for a while. And no, I’m not tagging anyone, except possibly my cat (she deserves it.)

The question I do want to ask, however, is Why Did The Rule Shrink From Ten to Six?

Where did the other four rules go???

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Iveta

The Serious Hat

Last month Rich experienced something resembling a minor identity crisis. I blame Scott Church.

This predicament arose as a result of Scott’s London workshop, not because the workshop was bad (in fact it was most excellent) but because when he walked through the door of the Roost, he met himself, many times over. Every other photographer was in his forties, bearded, slightly overweight, wearing a black t-shirt and clutching a Canon 5D. It was like being stuck in that horror movie where there was a room of mirrors and his reflections came alive and talked to him (in the movie the reflections hacked the hero to death, but I am assured there were no axes at said workshop.) However, small wonder the poor chap returned somewhat traumatized.

Now Rich has always hated the very idea of conforming to any normal social stereotype, so an immediate makeover was mandatory. Individual STYLE had to be acquired, and pretty darn sharpish too. A new trendy man-wardrobe was acquired (no I don’t choose his clothes and I hereby disavow all responsibility for his attire), heavy on the leather jacket and tailored shirts I might add. He contemplated shaving his beard. I threatened divorce (I like my men furry, thank you) so he kind of shelved that idea, but then he decided to buy A SERIOUS HAT.

Now Rich has never worn a hat in his life (other than a bright red beanie for two months when he went through a snowboarding phase a couple of years ago, but that ended with a very wet and nasty fall, and the snowboard-plus-beanie were shelved in favour of an obsession with flying very fast, and therein lies a whole different story.) Anyhoo, back to the topic in hand. Well I am ever the supportive and devoted wife, so I put aside my reservations, and embraced The New Nude Photographer II The Sequel, remodeled, upgraded and improved for the new millennium. With The Serious Hat.

Few things define a man as clearly as a hat does. It is the most instantly noticeable thing he wears, and it emphasizes not just who someone is, but who he wants to be. It was therefore imperative that he chose the RIGHT hat. Now Rich is 6 ft 3”. He is not a small man, and any hat added several inches to his height. I suggested a fez (à la BT style) but hell would apparently freeze over before he emulated another photographer. So after several hilarious attempts, and largely because the latest Indiana Jones movie was on at the cinema, he chose a fedora. I refused to have anything to do with it (Harrison Ford is not normally my thang, too much whipping) so his Mum bought him one instead. Unfortunately she was a bit hazy on the concept of what constitutes a quality fedora, so he kinda ended up with a fedora-sorta-bush-hat instead.

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I didn’t quite know what to make of this hat thing, to be honest. Personally I’ve always found men in hats to be somewhat threatening. Freud maintained that when a man put on a hat, he was performing a phallic gesture. James Laver observed that times of extreme male dominance in history coincided with high hats for men. So was this sudden appearance of a hat just another example of Rich exerting his male dominance? After all, a hat goes on top of your brain, and it therefore emphasizes the presence of psychological power. Was this all about testosterone rather than style, and are the two mutually exclusive anyway?

Well, Rich certainly looked startlingly different in his fedora. It was a Borsalino lookalike, naturally (Harrison wore the genuine article, bien sûr, but that was outside mother's budget) and he had that distant, rugged, slightly sleazy look that comes from too much booze, women and adventuring for lost artifacts in far-flung corners of the world. Teamed with khaki trousers and a leather jacket he was a dead-ringer for Indiana Jones, so much so that all three kids took to humming the Raiders of the Lost Ark theme tune VERY LOUDLY whenever he entered the room, and we are now plotting a purchase of a bullwhip for his birthday.

Don’t you feel sorry for the poor chap? Who’d live with us eh? All he wanted to do was to look a little more individualistic, more stylish. And truth be told, he has achieved that certain level of jaunty elegance which goes with wearing a fedora. It’s taken me a while to get used to it, but I finally like it, at least I think I do. Trouble is, I’m not sure whether The Serious Hat changeth the Man, or whether the Man always was The Serious Hat underneath. Either way, it's actually kinda fun to be married to a movie hero.

And at least the models do seem to like it. Time for a new photographic series maybe…Nekkid Chix In My Serious Hat. Hmm…

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Images are of fashion model Iveta, stylishy (and patiently) modeling The Serious Hat.

The Parable Of The Art Photographer

(Very vaguely inspired by an old Jewish story I heard many moons ago.)

A model was chatting to an art nude photographer friend of hers in a local coffee shop.

“Why is it that most of the good art nude photographers are always broke?” she asked. “In fact I don’t know any who actually make decent money from shooting art. Why is that? Are they just lousy businessmen?”

“Here take my camera for a moment,” replied the photographer. “Look through the lens. What do you see?”

“I see…a young couple kissing, a pretty young blonde waitress with big boobs who really should put on a bra, and an ugly wrinkly old guy with a dog who’s eyeing up the waitress.”

“Good!” said the photographer. “You see Life. Now put down the camera, get out your make-up powder compact from your purse. Open it and look in the mirror. What do you see?”

“I see myself.”

“Now you see,” said the photographer. “The lens is made of glass and the mirror is made of glass. You only need to put a little silver at the back of it, and immediately you only see yourself.”

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Iveta

Good Money For Good Teeth

Be nice to your kids...They pick your nursing home!
(Anonymous)

My oldest son admitted this week that he has a crush on a tall, willowy brunette in his class.

“Does she have nice teeth?” I asked.

“Oh Mum, give over about the damn teeth thing, will you?” He said, rolling his eyes in despair.

He’s right of course. I do have a thing about good teeth. Whatever else we economise on in our household budget (most things at the moment) teeth is not one of them. We have a really outstanding and expensive Egyptian dentist (who loves to be chased by raging bulls for fun and who is so incredibly posh that the plasma t.v. in his waiting room is bigger than my car), and my kids’ teeth are literally dazzling in their uniform shiny whiteness. So I expect nothing less from potential girlfriends (yes indeedy, I am going to be the mother-in-law from hell.)

Now it seems that my over-enthusiastic-orthodontic-obsession has been vindicated. Research by Glied and Neidell on The Economic Value of Teeth has found that the quality of your teeth affects how much you earn over your lifetime.

Looking at the earnings of people who grew up drinking different kinds of water, the researchers found that women who had better teeth because they grew up drinking floridated water, got paid 4% more than those with poor teeth. That doesn't sound like much, but over a lifetime, it really adds up.

This extends to other body parts too. Research from the University of Texas has shown that ugly people earn less than beautiful people (explains a lot in my case.) A London Guildhall University survey of 11,000 33-year-olds found that unattractive men earned 15 percent less than those deemed attractive, while plain women earned 11 percent less than their prettier counterparts. Looks triumph intelligence in the salary stakes. This may be morally wrong of course, but it still happens.

Luckily my kids are all very good-looking, so with any luck, by the time we’re old and doddery, they’ll all be earning so much because of their dazzling teeth and phenomenal good looks, that we’ll end up in a plush and opulent nursing home staffed by gorgeous young photogenic nekkid chix (oh and the occasional handsome young gigolo wouldn’t go amiss either.) Hey, I can dream.

Iveta 998

Iveta.