The convenience and facility of digital photography has totally changed the photographer’s sense of commitment, and plagued the media of mere noise and marginalia profusely documented.
The trivia of everything is sucking the essence of life itself, in its most ineffable, ungraspable parts: those that can trigger the relevant questions and move us towards personal and creative expansion.
What made the fields, the rose and the fox special was not their nature of field, rose, and fox but the blossoming love of the Little Prince. It was (it is) a case of intimacy. Lawrence Durrell, in his Alexandria Quartet wrote that one can love a city only because a loved one lives in it. This is so true, and can be extrapolated to every place and moment in the world.
That’s how art acquires transcendence.
If you close your eyes, and look at this photograph, you’ll hear one of David Sylvian’s songs sweetly and sadly eroding my heart, soothing my mind from trouble, doubt and trouble and you’ll be able to touch the skin of the dawn or the sunset.
I will print it for you realize that all this too much, too fast, too many, too soon you are seeking for comfort is preventing you from noticing how close you are to the source of all wonder in its most pure form and simplicity.
My purpose is to make it tangible for you.
You’ll never imagine how committed I am to drag this beauty, all the beauty of the world to your door. Now.
It is baffling, overwhelming, almost impalpable, transient. And it’s yours to embrace. It’s my offering, my votive contribution, my alms fee, the ashes of time at the borders of what makes us one rather than us alone, or you, or me.
Published on agosto 11, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Departure of reality, Lovely bestiary, Music Tags: David Sylvian, Lovely bestiary
In the messy and mirrorless warehouse serving as a dressing room, the goddess enhances her bangs brushing thin locks of dyed hair and shaking a funky bottle of Chinese hairspray, frostily ignoring my presence while I find an angle for the shot.
She sits straight and proud on a chair way smaller than her broad fanny. The bosom is overpouring a black satin corset that somehow shapes an inexistent waistline.
Now that she isn’t exactly posing, I am able to appreciate the appeal of her face, the grounded, arrogant, perky and Beth Ditto-like attitude.
The vanished owner of the shoes comes to my mind. I imagine his hands lost in such abundance, his lips kissing the point end of her boots and the stilettos scratching his back.
And suddenly, I also see them both, naked from these costumes, in native buff, all the flesh blissfully delivered from playing the part and from the glossy tight fabrics, eating pizza and watching television on a wide bed, cuddling, smiling, vulnerable, with no need or urge to prove nothing or to make any virtue of their flaws. And I feel close, and warmhearted for a moment, until she gets up, looking at me, entitled to submissive reverence.
Published on agosto 5, 2009 7:27 am.
Filed under: Lovely bestiary Tags: Lovely bestiary
Some people seem to be just a space of resonance. The aimless, dismal and wild stallions of Ennui. The camera is drawn to them as to the void. There’s music surrounding the dreamy and self- absorbed dance, but as it touches the skin, the thoroughly sculpted hair, it blows up into quiet pieces and the atmosphere resembles the delirious, hot and touch-needy effect of doing ecstasy. I move around, holding the camera with a quavering hand and a tall glass of spirits in the other one. I need to go to the rest room, but it’s crowded with gothic girls making over their makeups, dudes in amorous dalliance against the walls or snorting coke like crazy. The three endeavors are done with bizarre nerve and sinew, so I decide to wait, acting considerate and discreet as always, if holding the need to pee, a glass and a camera at the same time can be considered considerate and discreet at all. The scenario is stirring, and arousing, the guy with the white rolled up sleeves is now smoking a cigarette, but he has not stopped dancing to light it and the sparkles spread through the solid air. If I didn’t give up smoking, I would ask him for one, or to share it with me, but I prefer watching the trance from the edges than letting myself drown in evanescence to the hilt.
Published on agosto 4, 2009 7:14 am.
Filed under: Lovely bestiary Tags: Lovely bestiary, Madrid
Marshall Mc Luhan said that historians and archaeologists will one day discover that the ads of our times are the richest and most faithful daily reflections that any society ever made of its entire range of activities.
He forgot to mention night dens, freak ghettos, uptown districts, where ageless, disturbed and disturbing creatures seem to be the same ones that inhabited caverns of iniquity in early Las Vegas or García Alix’s photos during the reckless years of La Movida.
They love posing, they smell of opium smoke and incense, they shamelessly show up their histrionic brilliance, they calculate my poundage in blood, and hold my stare as I hide behind the camera, drunk and happy as ever.
Published on agosto 3, 2009 7:12 am.
Filed under: Lovely bestiary Tags: Lovely bestiary
Her silhouette reveals as emerging from the totally black canvas of the cabaret.
Small tight feet in kinky boots, sexy pin-up fish net stockings, velvet garter, unbelievable prude bitsy hands keeping the gates of the land of promise.
I’m not sure if I like her. The energy of the shooting comes more from morbid curiosity than from true sympathy. The camera seems pulled to the orphan male shoes by the disturbance and the bewilderment of an absence. I stop looking at her face, benumbed, careless, insensitive and start wondering about the man, entangled and later devoured by black widow.
It was not my eye that beheaded the goddess, but the camera’s.
Oh, the forbidden pleasures of symbolic revenge.
Published on julio 30, 2009 8:10 am.
Filed under: Lovely bestiary Tags: Lovely bestiary, Madrid
“‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
‘Oh, you ca’n’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’
‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.
‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’”
Lewis Carroll
Alice in Wonderland
There I am, slightly drunk and gripped by the lovely bestiary collected in the memory card. There I am, mesmerized by three beauty spots under the small boobs of the Red Queen. I wonder how the fluffy soutien stays in it’s place, but most of all I notice deep sadness or melancholy in her eyes, some kind of homesickness, some kind of saudade. And I want to hold her in my arms and say that everything is gonna be alright, but all I can do is rehearse a smile at her Ooops and be grateful to photography for providing me the endless occasion for human closeness, and for this night, for these gurus in how to take myself more lightly, the master class in the admiration of diversity. And most of all, for the ultimate sentimental reminder: sometimes we are the only thing that other stranded person has in a given moment.
Published on julio 29, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Color or colour, Lovely bestiary Tags: Lovely bestiary
