Reflected and Refracted (Many Times)

Otherwise known as the Spring '09 Marc Jacobs show. Very glad to have gone, cannot believe the amount of ogling and eyeing and namedropping and celebwatching and coveting of exorbitantly-priced rags that characterized the experience. But that's what its all about, right? I was happy to be a fly on the wall (or, rather, 4 rows behind my boss).





(Enlarging the photos is suggested; I promise they look better that way!)

For anyone who cares about my thoughts as to the actual collection: I thought it was superb. (I'm sorry that it's hard to make out from the pictures, so hit up style.com)
Jacobs, in the wake of the September New Yorker profile that pitched a meta-superficial gymhog with a newfound admiration of tattoos ("bros before hos," really MJ?) showed a decidedly un-glamorous, circus folk meet Ms. Hannigan look (my co-worker called it Harriet Tubman-Chic) that seriously breaks with his own images and reverent aspirations of beauty. And I love that. Also the man is brilliant. He imposes plaid on taffeta, atop chinoiserie prints, swaddled in double breasted fitted blazers, metallic sheen-y obi's and prancing on espadrilles. So basically he's covering the market on what anyone might want to incorporate into their wardrobe--though perhaps not all at once. But moreso, his deepest talent lies not be in his craftsmanship, because I don't think anyone would argue he's a Valentino--his clothes are not that well-made or architecturally groundbreaking. But they are so prone to editorializing--Jacobs lures us with his poignant and ubiquitous referencing. His greatest skill is that of a stylist. He plays with what women want (unapologetic, near-Lolita like girliness), what we don't (dirt, grunge, ugliness), and who we want to be (one of his muses, obviously).

But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what she thinks:
(Can you spot all the eds in this picture?)

Maine and the last days of summer

Some shots from Maine, in and around Portland.

Faded Glamour with two sugars

Not usually taken with still shoots, but come on. This is amazing. From Nymag.

I've never been as in love...

With anything as I am with these:


This is, of course, completely unrelated to anything.
Photo credit: Todd Selby
His blog is very very impressive, except for one glaring vision of horror. Use your imagination...
http://www.theselby.com/

UPDATE: Boots are Chloe from this season ("Susan" model). That's sad. I wanted them to either be old, one of a kind, or home-bedazzled. Then again, that means they're accessible....

Dreams of Bs As

So I've been thinking about Buenos Aires a lot recently, how much I'd like to be there again. And stay for a while. The colors are different there, more vibrant certainly, but more starkness between what's what. I guess, see for yourself. The beach shots are from Punta del Este, Uruguay, a hop-skip away from Buenos Aires (a ride a bit less frustrating than the Jitney I imagine...)




Sigh. Don't even ask me what's on that grill...

New Camera!

For anyone who's ever had a drink at little branch:

Notice how life becomes infinitely more interesting in the post-Silver Fizz haze.





And then of course, there's the morning after:

Beauty & the Unexpected

"Beauty happens. It's a startling event one collides with suddenly...in the face of another, in the felicity of a phrase, in the dancer's line....and familiarity is never its enemy."-Richard Ford

"Why the drama? Its just lipstick!"-My boss

Nighttiming

Believe it or not, I actually get paid to write in my real life. God knows why undisclosed publication does this, but evidently, they do (although i have only seen one check since I supposedly started receiving compensation *ahem* seven months ago). Nevertheless, the point is not that I am fantastic and brilliant, but that I in fact, do not (nor ever will) get paid to take photographs. So this blog may go in a more aesthetic direction, people, in the attempt to either protect my cashcow (my golden pen, ha) or reaffirm that I should never get paid to take photographs.

A friend recently sent me an article about Nikola Tamindzic, who is a photographer of the cobrasnake/Terry Richardson variety, and who has made a name for himself as Gawker's image capturer. He's kind of exactly what you expect him to be, and relentless and exploitative while doing it. Also he likes naked women, a lot. You can find the article here

In any case, he did offer this gem of a quote:

“I like that hour between 3 and 4 in the morning when desperation sets in, when you see all the anticipation of going out starting to fade. The masks drop and everybody realizes the night is not going to be everything they were hoping for.”

I don't usually shoot my friends at the end of the night. Or strangers. The lights shine brighter when you're empty, which is what Tamindzic is talking about. But I do often find myself taking photos of the unremarkable after the events of the night have set in. You look at all the things you know, the hallmarks of your daily life, and they are both unidentifiable and serene.
\The feeling never lasts long. And usually the hand-eye coordination is not in any condition to be operating a camera.