By choosing to live above the ordinary level we create extraordinary problems for ourselves. I am here to live, not to calculate. And that is just what they do not want you to do - to live! They want you to spend your whole life adding up figures. That makes sense to them. That is reasonable. That is intelligent. They die comfortably in their little bed of understanding, to become useful citizens of the world. I pitied them, and in short order, I deserted them one by one, without the slightest regret. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. Everyone has his own reality in which, if one is not too cautious, timid or frightened, one swims. This is the only reality there is. And a night comes when all is over, when so many jaws have closed upon us that we no longer have the strength to stand, and our meat hangs upon our bodies as though it had been masticated by every mouth.
It is about that moment. The perfect moment, stolen to tempt the appetite of time. The allure is in detail. The stillness. The light. Light is the way the story is told. It is the narrative, and in certain moments its effect is poetic, and that fascinates giving a transformative quality, a power of turning ugly, the ordinary or the insignificant into something scintillating. It interests. Feel the nostalgia that exists somewhere between the beauty and sadness, create the suspended tension of the stolen moment as you feel the longing of time searching for that which you've taken. This photograph tastes like the back of a fucking L.A school bus crushed up with leaves and mice leaving a taste of rancid tar and turpentine bullshit. Fuckin' Raid, but a sensation that to time becomes insatiable in its unattainability. A photograph fuels the hunger, and this is delightfully naughty. How arrogant to dare to flirt with the monster of time. Pictures allow us to savour. To slow down. Go back to it again and again. Let a photograph affect you and do not anticipate. It will resonate long after you walk away.
Choco Barbie ASHANTI features Afropop table dancing on a tripod's ball head, operated by VALERIA. To show how Miriam Makeba 'leveled the bubble'. Bitchy VERUSCHKA thought that she shouldn't be the only wounded one in the Barbie gang and knocked her off to introduce her to 'stage diving'.
The camera can be lenient; it is also expert at being cruel, but its cruelty only produces another kind of beauty, according to the surrealist preferences which rule photographic taste. Surrealism lies at the heart of the photographic enterprise; in the very creation of a reality in the second degree, narrower but more dramatic than the one perceived by natural vision. Photographs are perhaps the most mysterious of all objects that make up and thicken, the environment we recognize as modern. Photographs really are experience captured, and the camera is the ideal arm of the consciousness in its acquisitive mood. The ultimate wisdom of the photographic image is to say: there is the surface, and now think - or rather feel, intuit - what is beyond it, what the reality must be like if it looks that way. To photograph is to appropriate the thing photographed. It means putting oneself into a certain relation to the world that feels like knowledge - and, therefore, like power. Through photography and image, I have been afforded the privilege of sharing the stories and myths of life with others. The process for me became self-revelatory. It was a process of soul-making, something all humans are engaged in, no matter their endeavor - I see a part of myself in each subject I photograph.
The 'Barbie Switch' controls the numerous stage lights for the 'Folies Barbie'. Barbies, the greatest postures under the sun, never can't get enough of lamps and light gadgets. 'Master-Slave' ASHANTI hauled it onto the stage. VERUSCHKA, the wounded poor, acts as the self-proclaimed 'Stage Coach'.
So Bwana is going on and on about how difficult it is to set the lighting for the show. Some Barbies tried double body shots of Courvoisier, but alas even that could not distract or sway his tedious lamenting. With the rhythmic beating of her head against the box: tap, tap, tap, Ashanti was trying to think. What is Barbie to do? Always willing to give a guy a helping hand, they set into action with the idea of dissembling the switch box and pre-programming the light settings. It was quite a struggle for the little Ashanti who had to drag an additional weight of repercussion for the suggestion that Barbie displays were not enough to distract the master of misery. A cacophony of tiny scraping and grunting sounds made it difficult for Valeria who was attempting to dissipate the tension that was almost palpable in the studio. She got so worked up that she got caught up in the power cord and, not realizing what had happened, Ashanti connected the cable to the wall socket. The Ohm effect of voltage, current and body resistance left the entire apartment block in absolute darkness with a faint smell of burnt plastic. "Right girls", said Valeria "grab the matches. It's candlelight tonight."
Driving along the love lane, waiting for the inspiration to find him, he sees the woods and concealed amongst the trees, recognizes a true map of the universe, just as it is, a dirty green that spreads out shapelessly, with narrow paths and screams in the darkness. It all blow's up in the mind of the artistically insane. She is bored, mindless, soulless and ugly in her flawless beauty until that moment of interaction, business connection, lustful love that they are both ignited, just as quickly gone. Creative inspiration is a fucking fantasy come to life. Dark, delicious, dangerous, delightful, ethereal. It has a pornographic effect on him. Ecstasy of the mind, a type of alive that is a fleeting flash of fantasy more palpable than reality he is alive only when stirred. "I fear the death of inspiration, the death of thought that exists in the collective mind of a numbing mass mentality," he thinks. I would rather burn alive with living. The mind of a madman is a dark maze of intensity. The girl, her carmine lips bringing to life his monochromatic existence. She is his to possess. His to capture, to enjoy till it's time for the next one. Ruthless, evil incarnate they dine with the devil who serves red mouths and youth for appetizers. "Souls for dessert", smiles Lucifer as he looks the madman in the eye. ~ Kalahari
Valeria does not wear a watch but she always gets to the essential places on time. She is adventurous and not particularly quiet. She was reprimanded in grade school because she could not sit still all day long. Valeria needs to move. She thinks with her body. Even when she goes to the library, she starts reading out loud and swaying with the words, and before she can figure out what is happening, she is asked to leave. As you might expect, Valeria is a disaster at office jobs. Veruschka has exquisite skin and she appreciates it in others as well. There are other people whose skin is soft and clear and healthy but something about Veruschka's skin announces that she is alive. When the sun bursts forth in May, Veruschka likes to take off her shirt and feel the sweet warmth of the sun's rays brush across her shoulder. This is not intended as a provocative gesture but other people are, as usual, upset. Veruschka & Valeria love to sleep on the beach and to wake up in the middle of the night to look at the moon. Both like to make love at the border where time and space change places. They do not understand why everyone else is so disturbed by them. "Just in our summer dresses, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, sipping Cognac, jumping, running. Happy. That's the way to live!"
So how did a doll like me end up dress-ripped with legs splayed, used up and forgotten on yesterday's photograph? My crime was to love a man like the nightingale in Oscar Wilde's imagination. Listen to its story. A student asked his beloved to a dance who refused unless he brought her a red rose, but he had none. The nightingale overheard and saw him suffering for love so decided to help. "Give me a red rose," she asked of the rose bush. "I can't," said the old bush. "The winter has chilled my veins and faded my petals." "Please, there must be a way," begged the nightingale. "Yes, but it is terrible," said the bush. "I am not afraid." The wise bush sighed, "come back at night and sing the most beautiful melody that nightingales know while pressing your breast against one of my thorns. The blood will rise through my sap and color the rose". Convinced that it was worth sacrificing her life for love, she did. With the rising moon, she pressed her breast to the thorn till it pierced her heart and began to sing as the most beautiful rose of the bush was being crimsoned by her blood. "Faster," said the bush, "as the sun will rise soon". Still, she continued to sing till her work was complete. With her last breath, she delivered the rose to the man who gave it to the girl who said: "It's not exactly what I wanted". Devastated the man discarded the rose where it was forgotten and trampled. ~ Kalahari
A puppeteer's playground. Backstage, behind the scenes of the 'Folies Barbie Revue Theater'. Showcasing a few of the studio equipment ingredients that it takes to do a little, innocent Barbie shot.
Photography is concerned with all the ten attributes of sight; which are: darkness and light, solidity and color, form and position, distance and propinquity, motion and rest. The photographer who shoots merely by practice and by eye, without any reason, is like a mirror which copies every thing placed in front of it without being conscious of their existence. He who can copy can do, but he will produce pictures of little merit if he takes the works of others as his standard. The worst evil which can befall the artist is that his work should appear good in his own eyes. I have offended God and mankind because my work didn't reach the quality it should have. Art is never completed, only abandoned. Every now and then go away, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer. Details make perfection, and perfection is not a detail. A master knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add -- but when there is nothing left to take away.
Barbies, queens of unboxing, discovered new gadgets to play with. Their favorite, for now, is a cable release. Barbies constructed something like a photo booth to selfie themselves while the master & commander is asleep. The Barbie crew is pretty proud of its engineering skills.
The best photographs might be the ones where the people in it are not aware of the presence of the camera. So, when do we see a photograph, when a reflection? Are we in the picture? Are we getting in or out of it? We could be ghosts, animals or dead bodies, not just this women placed against this white background drop. Photographs do not discriminate between the living and the dead. In the fragments of time and shards of light that compose them, everyone is equal. Now you see us; now you don't. It doesn't matter whether you look through a camera lens and press the shutter. It doesn't even matter whether you open your eyes or close them. The pictures are always there. And so are the people in them. We can not get outside the aura. We are part of the aura. We are here, we are now.
All we ever wanted was everything and so Barbies were forced to write product reviews for all the stuff they got. Unboxing, screaming and leaving a lot of garbage isn't enough. They love it but are very critical. For Fashionistas Barbies just the best is good enough. No nice color - no 5-star rating!
It's not very easy to grow up into a woman. We are always taught, almost bombarded, with ideals of what we should be, but amidst all the many voices that bark all these orders and set all of these ideals for girls today, there lacks the voice of assurance. There is no comfort and assurance. I want to be able to say, that there are a few things admirable for a woman to be. It's always wonderful to be elegant -- elegance is a glowing inner peace. It's always fashionable to have grace -- grace is an ability to give as well as to receive and be thankful. It's always glamorous to be brave -- glamor only radiates if there are sublime courage and bravery within. Glamour is like the sky; it only blazes because the clouds are there. And it's always important to own a delectable smile. Yes, wearing a beautiful smile is in style at any age. Wear it as you wear an exquisite perfume; to be wrapped and cradled in an enchanting scent upon your face is a magic all on its own. The notes in that precious smile will remind you that you love yourself and will tell other people that they ought to love you because you know that you're worth it. The love affair created by an alluring smile between you and other people, you and nature, you and yourself, you and your memories and anticipations and hopes and dreams; it is all too beautiful a thing -- a woman is never overdressed or underdressed with a little seraphic smile.