Most recent self-portrait experiments

The following photos were taken a couple of months ago with the T1i and a Smith-Victor floodlight. I love modeling for myself!

Leonardo

Five years ago today was when I last saw you. This picture of you has always been my favorite. You were so beautiful, it amazed me. I sure miss you.

Alone at Last - JPG Photos

Alone at Last - JPG Photos

The Pleasure is Always - JPG Photos

Please click on the link below to vote for my photo, The Pleasure is Always, in the "Unexpected Perspective" photo challenge by JPEG Magazine. The picture was taken with a Rebel 2000 (35MM)

The Pleasure is Always - JPG Photos

Three Cats and an Apple: the series

The following images were taken with the Rebel T1i.



Three Cats and an Apple




Three Cats and an Apple in the Dark




.....in Soft Glow



Three Cats Encounter of the Third Kind



Three Cats in Profile

Room to Breathe

It was October, 2006, and I had decided to fly to New York for the weekend. There was no particular motivation for the trip except that I could swing it financially and felt I needed more adventures and experiences.

I booked a flight with then-newcomer Jet Blue Airines and found a single room in a hostel on the Upper West Side. Of course, I had no specific plan; in New York, it's nearly impossible to adhere to an itinerary unless one spends time there regularly. I had always thought Coney Island sounded like a cool place, so I did some research via the internet, which led me to the official Coney Island website. The site informed me that the amusement park was closed for the season. There were, however, events taking place year-round, which included parades, burlesque shows, and a summer film series. There even happened to be a film festival the weekend of my trip, which sounded awesome, and I kept in mind as a plan.

What I couldn't know was the impact this trip would have on me as an artist. Having bought a Rebel 2000 from a good friend a few months previously, I had spent some time taking photos with great but had yet to think of myself as a photographer. I had bought the camera specifically to photograph some jewelry I had made, but quickly realized that the perfect photo was just about everywhere.

Saturday morning, I roamed the Upper West Side for a while before taking the train to Brooklyn. The train ride took about an hour; I marveled at the vastness of the city as it grew smaller, wondered what kind of life there was inside the buildings we passed, and who the graffitti artists were who knew the rairoad tracks at night.

At the end of the E line is Coney Island. It's easy to find from the doors of the train station, just around the corner or across the street depending on which exit one uses. The weather was overcast but in the sixties and climbing.

I found the film festival easily; a group of people in studded denim, leather and erratic hairstyles, some of which had serious camera equipment, stood on the sidewalk in front of a doorway to the Coney Island Museum. I went to the doorway closest to where they stood, where a small sign indicated that a film festival was in progress.

The Coney Island Museum is on the second floor of a strip building which takes up one block and houses amusements such as bumper cars, concession stands and a small flea market. The stairs leading up are painted in carnival colors with the names of the park rides. A door on the landing says "Coney Island Museum" in freehand, while underneath, in bigger letters, is painted "NO PHOTOS, TOUCHING OR SMOKING".

I entered a long room which contained several counters, display cases, and a table. A revolving wire rack, offering Coney Island postcards, stood on a counter. People milled around and got some networking in before the next feature, "My Life as an Underdog". A man serving as cashier told me the film was shown in another room and pointed to a doorway curtained in black.

I had a little time before the film, so I headed to the women's bathroom, which was in the front part of the building. The bathroom was L-shaped, roomy and felt....friendly. Two stalls were on the left, with tall doors that left big spaces between themselves and the floor. Spring closures on the stall doors made them close with a bang. The sink was located on the wall which faced the street. Large, uncurtained windows allowed natural daylight to flood the room.

A dressing mirror faced the window. Light sockets, containing no bulbs, were built in to the mirror's frame. A block-style table served as a seat or shelf. Old magazine pages advertising soap were taped to the white cracked tile walls. In the corner were a mop and bucket. The place seemed to be an all-purpose restroom, utility closet and dressing room.

After the film, I went back to to the women's bathroom and took one photo of the mirror. As with many photos I snapped at the time, I shrugged to myself. I felt something special there, but maybe I was just a dreamer.

When the picture was developed, I realized I did the right thing. But not only did I see an image, I saw women from another time in front of the mirror; a young blonde in a slinky black dress stood against the white tile wall, laughung at her friend, an older brunette, who sat on the table. The older woman appeared to be entertaining the younger one with a story, and both wore pink feather boas.

Gingko on a Memphis street

After parking in the Peabody Hotel parking garage, I exited onto a street which was clearly not the one where I entered. The street was lined with gingko trees, their lush, green fan-leaves about to turn for fall.

Mug Shots

The following pictures were taken with a Canon Rebel T1i and Quantaray 28-90 zoom lens. Mugs deserve a little attention, too.

The nude figure

The following images were taken in participation with an art competition this summer titled "In The Nude". Because I did not have a lot of time, and had never shot a model nude before (still haven't), I decided to model for the competition myself. I didn't win, but got lots of compliments on the bottom picture. I consider it a compliment to my skills that no one knew the model was me.

Nude modeling is not for everyone. Many models just do it for the money, which is fine. However, most photographers who shoot nudes are looking for a model who can contribute more than just physical presence. It is about creative chemistry, whether it be sexual, sensual, melancholy, playful, innocent or bravado.

I hope these images will inspire any artist, especially the girl who wants to pose nude but just can't take her clothes off in front of someone. You can do it!

"Foggy Morning" wins Honorable Mention

My photo, "Foggy Morning" has won an honorable mention in this year's International Photo Awards! This is, to say the least, inspiring.

Karma Eve

My photo session with erotic poetess Karma Eve went swimmingly today (swimmingly is an adverb, by the way; it means "smoothly and satisfactory"). In addition to writing and publishing erotic stories and poems, Karma is also a spoken word artist. Please visit www.karmaeve.net for more information and/or bookings.

The Visitor

It was around 8:00AM when I woke up for the day on Monday, May 28. I was scrunched up in the back seat of my rental car in a Piggly Wiggly parking lot about twenty miles outside of New Orleans. To say I hadn't slept sufficiently would be an understatement, but I needed to make my way downtown before heading back to Nashville by noon. I changed clothes in the cramped back seat, glancing around to make sure there were no leering delivery drivers lurking, then drove across the parking lot to the drug store so I could buy film and some water.

The store wasn't open yet. A few early birds hovered and paced as they waited for employees to unlock the doors. I waited in the car. I was in no rush to be seen by the public. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I took a look at myself, hoping if I stared long enough my image would be replaced with one which was less bleary and more vibrant. I applied some lip color before getting out of the car. My walk to the store entrance was slow and shaky, the result of dehydration from way too much alcohol.

Inside, I found what I needed and approached the cashier, a rubenesque girl of about twenty-eight with long, permed hair and a closed expression. I thought I recognized that look; she didn't want to be there, didn't want to put on a happy face for me. I'd been there, of course. At that moment, in fact, I felt precisely the same way. I heard voices in the back of my mind of past customers from too many service industry jobs.....Smile, it's not that bad! I would not say or demand any such false enthusiasm from her and hoped nobody else would, either. At that moment I felt pretty low, but grateful to be on my side of the counter.

I drove back to New Orleans and found myself on a bridge which rose high over the Mississippi River. Two nights ago I'd driven over the river at dusk, excited to finally see it but not able to really get a look. Now, sunlight glittered off the water and I caught glimpses of riverboats. Impulsively I pulled into the breakdown lane and turned on the hazard lights.

Morning traffic flew by at 80 miles an hour, each vehicle making a shoop sound as it passed. I crawled out the passenger side window with my camera, shaking with the realization that I was not in a safe place. But the need to capture the river on film overrode any sense of logic. I didn't know when I'd be back, so the risk was worth it. Still, a voice in my head warned me to make it quick.

I leaned over the concrete rail and snapped photos of the river and skyline, ever conscious of the speeding cars on the bridge, the shoop....shoop.....shoop as they barrelled by, the way the bridge swayed and the feeling of danger that gripped me as I took the pictures. When I crawled back in through the passenger window I was shaking hard. In retrospect, my fear may have been exaggerated by my hangover. It was unfamiliar to me to be so afraid. Normally when friends express worry about me, I feel unnerved. This was the first time I knew I was in a dangerous place. Settling into the drivers' seat, I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to stop shivering before going on my way.

As I was putting my seat belt on, I noticed an insect crawling on my jewelry case. It was about an inch in length with antennae longer than its body. It looked black, but as though it were caked with dried mud. It crawled calmly across the case with no apparent sense of danger.

I'd never seen a bug like this and to this day don't know what kind it was. Its presence calmed me though, giving me another focus as I took several more pictures. When I was done, I lifted the case to the window, telling the insect it needed to go. In response, it crawled back toward me as though perfectly content to stay in the car. I admit I was tempted to keep it, at least for part of the drive. But in the end I decided it belonged here, that it was a riverbug.

I shook the case out the window and it finally, reluctantly, flew away. I called out a thank you, looking curiously after it. Then I turned off my hazards, pulled into the traffic lane, and continued on my way.

Jefferson Street, Spring, 2010