Androgynous

I’d like to explain what I was going for in this image and what I was thinking. First and foremost the model was twenty four years old and I have her permission as well as a models release. She’s not a professional model and she receives a percentage of sales hence her permission. Personally I prefer my models to be at least twenty four or older so they can think clearly about repercussions that may come later on in life. That said if I find a model who’s eighteen and has a lot of nudes in her book and is trying to break into modeling circles I will work with her but again I ask permission to use certain images even though I get a models release. I feel like a lot of models don’t think down the road a few years in time and my images might cause them some troubles, the same is true for older models too.
So I was looking for a model who was comfortable with this kind of intimacy. I was also looking for a girl who’d knew that it was art and I had a statement that I was trying to make. I needed a model who was androgynous enough that the subject wouldn’t interfere with my vision. In other words someone with a compact little package and not someone who was voluptuous of build and stature. I also needed someone who had a playful nature and I could ask to try a variety of possibilities in hair styles. In the end this image was the result of my imagination and vision.
The final product was harder that I had envisioned, finding a printer locally was tough. I went to no less than three labs and the answer was the same, they were unwilling to print it because they were afraid of the content. No question that it was art. No question that they were afraid. I finally found a printer who agreed but wanted to be off the hook if anything happened. Now all the labs and the owners knew me and knew that I wasn’t into child porn. My framer also knew me but the women in the frame shop were mortified to have it in the shop. I had two prints made and framed differently, the first was white metal and it looked so cool. The second was framed the way I had envisioned it in a burnished silver frame that matched the tone and the mood. I took both to the printer and show him the white one first and there was as audible gasp from him. Before he could say anything I showed him the second telling him that this was the way I saw it in my mind and he was struck speechless.
So this was my entry in the Erotic show in Austin. Amid all the art that was presented this was the purest piece that was there and by purest I mean not graphic. I don’t have a problem with graphic but that doesn’t seem erotic to me. Just my opinion.

http://www.gallerylombardi.com/exhibits/00510eexhibit.html

The Plan

The last show I was in was at the Gallery Lombardi in Austin, Texas. It was the Erotica 2005 and was held in October of that year, six days after it ended I had my stroke. Funny how your perspectives’s can change overnight, mine certainly did. The show was a real blowout, there’s were people everywhere and several of my friend and my model were in attendance. Amy the body painter was doing a live demonstration of her art and she had quite the crowd. Maybe it had something to do with the nude model she was painting. Anyway it was a very festive night and after my model and I went for a long walk and a good talk. Then I said goodnight and I drove back to my world.
Six days later I was in the fight of my life and all thought of the art world and marketing was superfluous. I had a good ride up until then, I was marketing myself to the local art centers and getting quite well know. I had decided that I was getting too old for event photography and had started to transition into the fine art field. I worked for the Blue Star Contemporary Art as there event guy and documented what they were doing in art and the community. That in turn introduced me to and number of artist and collectors. My plans for the future were coming along nicely and I was carefully following that plan and making adjustment as I went along.
I had two shows that my work was entered in the Art and Eats fund raiser for Blue Star and that piece sold. As well as another fund raiser for a Tourism group that I belong to so my work was beginning to move however slightly. That was my problem in having the stroke, all forward momentum stopped for two years. I also lost my business as well because I disappeared for that amount of time. In business your lucky if people remember your name after two weeks and I was gone a lot longer than that.
So I was facing some major hurtles trying to get my business started again. I was incredibility rusty and out of practice. I had lost not only my sense of timing and pacing, I has also lost my confidence as well. That was why it was so important to have the first session go well and to be low pressure. I was trying to find myself again, to find out if I could do the work I loved and believe me that was pressure enough. But to make a long story short because I wanted it bad enough I found my "groove" again. I have been incredibility lucky in the models and friends who supported me and believed in me. I have been blessed with an indomitable spirt to survive and to get back to the life I lived before . If I can be forgiven for one piece of advise it’s to never give up on yourself, never. It amazing what a wonderful thing we human beings are, truly remarkable.

My friends over at What We Saw Today had a post some days ago about smoking. I’m against it though I was a smoker for a time before my stroke. So I guess it’s a typical case of do as I say not do as I do. Tobacco smoking is a nasty dirty habit that does untold damage to the human body not to mention the bodies around it. That said I have use it in my images for affect. Smokers mainly but I’ve been known to ask models who don’t to pretend for the effect it has on the viewer. The young lady above was a smoker and lit up the first time she was in my house so I decided to use her smoking as a prop. Again and again I’d ask her to light up as we worked on this series. Finally she begged off because she was getting dizzy. Then I had the problem of getting all the smoke out of my place.
Another time I was working with a nonsmoker on a series of shots where I had her change panties from white to black to boy’s under-wear till I got her without panties at all. But a small cigar remained in her mouth or hands at all time. But she didn’t inhale and I can testify to that if need be!
The point being that it can be a great prop used to get the effect to convey an emotion or just to subtlety change the viewer point of view. It can also be interpreted as an endorsement of a dangerous habit. The trick is to use it sparingly and not in every photo or it takes on another dynamic entirely. Be sure to go to their blog for the full story and the lovely images.
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This is Leslie my young model friend who how now lives in the land of the frozen North. We had two sessions all told, she and I became good friends and we ended up talking a lot. She share her private life with me once she became confident that I didn’t want anything more than a friendship. Models are funny that way, some don’t want to be friends at any cost. But most are friendly because of the intimate nature of our work together. Most of my girls drop me a line from time to time and we may meet for coffee or lunch occasionally. Also let me make it quite clear that I respect them for the people they are. I may not agree with their lifestyles or life-choices but I respect them. I certainly didn’t like people judging me when I was that age and I try to keep to that line. A few times it didn’t work that way but I can only try. Next time some new stuff I promise.

On My Own

The day Lorri left I had real mixed emotions, fear being one and a feeling of exhilaration. In the last few week I had done all the thing I’d be putting off and I felt ready to making it on my own at last. I was cooking again after a fashion and showering alone. I managed to brush my teeth with the help of an electric toothbrush and more importantly I was getting out shopping again. I was feeling confident in my ability to cope with life for the most part and I knew that time was on my side. I felt my emotions were beginning to subside a bit and I thought I was returning to myself again whoever that was. So I saw Lorraine off at the airport and returned to my life by myself for the first time in about four months.
But I was going though panic attacks as well only I didn’t know I was. On my daily walks through the neighborhood there were dogs running free and I was unsure how to deal with them. One morning we had a bit of rain, enough to wet the streets but not enough to stop my walk. As I rounded the midpoint of my route the smell of the wet pavement hit me and something came over me. Suddenly I began sweating, my arms and legs felt like rubber and I just knew something bad was about to happen. I thought of sitting and resting on the curb but I was convinced that if I sat down I’d never get up again.
This was new and I didn’t know what to do or how to stop it. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and I felt like the air was trapped in my lungs. All I could do was keep walking or call Emergency Services and go to the hospital and have another bill added to the list. In the distance I spotted a bus bench up ahead and doggedly walk on with legs of rubber. Once seated I started trying to figure out what was going on, my hands were shaking and I felt so weak. By instinct I started breathing rhythmically and deeply while I tried to figure what in the smells I had reacted to. In the process I started to feel a little better so I when further down the street to the coffee shop I knew had a better bench. By the time I got there I was feeling less panicked and less shaky but I sat anyways. I realized the breathing was helping and I closed my eyes and concentrate on my breath. Slowly I felt everything returning to normal and I could feel my pulse slow back to a normal rhythm. Finally I pushed it out of my mind and walked on home to the safety of my apartment and forgot about it. I wondered briefly if it was heart related and just part of my condition. That is until about a week later as I rounded the corner to my house, suddenly I was in a panic to quickly get into the house and lock the doors. I made an appointment that day, I needed help figuring out what my problem was all about. Stroke patients are apparently advised to go on a anti-depression medication to help them cope with the travails of their new lives. I had always been proactive with my doctors and with my log of blood pressures I had an edge with talking to her. She knew that I was monitoring myself and not prone to random complaints. So another medication was added and it began to help but first I had to go though hell till it began to work in me. Deep dark feelings of despair and unworthiness, suicide fill my dreams for about a week. I read over the adverse reactions for my medication and realized that was it. But no wonder I don’t like medication and have been skeptical about the safety and efficacy ever since I can remember. But any port in a storm and I was in a maelstrom of emotions with which I couldn’t cope with and I needed the help.
(Part III)

Lorraine

While I recovered and took my therapy my friend Lorraine very graciously came to take care of me. She was a new driver and had gotten her license only the day before she flew in. She not only did the driving she cooked and saw to my needs and care. She monitored my Blood Pressure and she had to watch me while I showered so I didn’t slip and fall. I am very grateful to her for her help and care. I truly was unable to do anything for myself and I don’t know how I could have ever survived without her. I became very dependent on her advice and council in this time. I had developed a real fear of change and became very dependent on my daily routine.
I had three week to fill before I could start therapy at all, the Christmas and New Years holiday had to be survived first. That first day I was out I felt a need to get some things done and Lorri agreed though it was against her better judgement. Three things all told and I could sit in the car for most of them but they exhausted me. I’ve never been so tired in my life even after a long ago case of pneumonia hadn’t exhausted me that bad. Some days we’d walk to the corner store or to the coffee shop so I have time to rest before starting home. Mostly we watched a lot of movies and I noticed a pattern with me. Movies like Robert Redford’s "Bagger Vance" I couldn’t watch without tearing up. First from the sappy nature of the film and then because I was being manipulated. I really resented that and it brought back feelings better left alone. I also found I couldn’t follow English movies or Scottish accents particularly were uncomprehensible to me; and following a complicated story line was way beyond me.
I was on a emotional roller-coaster with upswings and downward plunges that could be breathtaking. I’d have feeling of unworthiness and deep despair and then periods where everything was fine and things were looking up. I tried to cope as best as I could and even talked with my doctor but nothing helped. As time progressed Lorri and I went for longer walks but I was having trouble keeping up. My leg and hips seemed out of kilter, the pain in my joints got worse and worse but we still walked. I realized with a growing despair that I couldn’t work this way and I was in a quandary over what I was to do.
Money was tight and even though Lorri told me not to worry I couldn’t help but worry. Then to make matters worse my bank account seemed to be getting depleted faster and faster and there wasn’t anything I could do about it in my condition. I couldn’t think straight and couldn’t concentrate on my problems for long so I just drifted in place. That was the worst feeling in the world to just mentally drift and to not really be able to care. I knew that in time I’d take care of it but I couldn’t even prioritize it into my life right now. Everything that I knew about my life was crashing down around my ears and I knew it but there was nothing to be done. Like a train crash you see happening in slow motion but somewhere in the back of your mind you know that it’s real time.
After I was well into therapy Lorri started talking about returning home and that send me into a panic. I wasn’t ready to let go of the lifeline she was providing and beyond that I didn’t want her visit to be all about my stroke. I asked for bit more time and told her I wanted to try driving firsts and then we could take some trips. We ended up going to Galveston and had a lovely time of it there. It’s about a five hour trip from where I live and we took back roads so there wasn’t as much traffic and I could go slow. But the last two hours of the trip were in pre-rush hour traffic and I was frazzled by the time we got to our place and then the elevator wasn’t working. But we had a great visit away from home and away from all of my problems and stresses. Then it was getting time for Lorri to go and for me to face the realities of my life alone.

Part II

I received a full month of therapy in the hospital and after I received out-patient therapy for about a month and a half . Three day a week for two hours each day I had physical therapy for my arm and leg. I was still very weak and on my cane I hobbled from the car but in therapy I wasn’t allowed to use my cane. First very basic walking with the help of the parallel bars I’d walk back and forth. Then I’d sit on the mat and we’d do exercises to strength my arms and leg. Then as I improved we’d work with a ball tossing it back and forth from only a few feet apart. Then my therapist came up with a tennis ball and a trampoline and I’d throw it at a target and it would bounce and I’d try to catch it. I fell in love with this game because of how it made my arm remember how to throw and I got better and better at catching the damn ball. It really helped real time to make that hand/eye coordination link in my brain work. After I finished my routines for the day I’d ask for more time to work throwing the ball and I felt a great sense of accomplishment doing it.
My therapist was very pleased to see not only my progress but the zeal I put into the exercises. Not only was I attending every day without fail I was motivating them to find harder exercises to give me. And that was key to my recovery, from the very first I challenged them to find more ways to help me to improve. While in the hospital the head therapist attended a seminar on helping stroke victims improve in new and innovative ways and I was her guinea pig. She even came up with this ladder idea which required extra help to steady me as I climbed up a few steps. It wasn’t the steps that were so helpful it was the remember action of climbing the steps. All things I had done in my past life and things that had become imbedded in my mind and my body. But now I was finding new pathways in my brain, same brain but a new way to get to get around the blockages that were stopping me.
A word here on humor, keeping a sense of humor and making it fun to those around to help you. The first few days I was in the hospital a therapist came to work with me while I was having breakfast. Apparently I told her it was uncivilized to ask a man to do anything before having his coffee. None the less I expected to get better and I though of my stroke as a temporary condition and I kept a sense of play and not a sense of doom to overcome. I didn’t whine about my condition or exercises or ask "Why Me?". I had a pretty good idea of why me but I didn’t let that affect my progress or desire. Many people I saw were trapped in themselves and were concentrating on what they’d lost and only that. I had a life I wanted to be able to live again as a free and independent male. Nothing would stop me from that life..., even a stroke. I refused to fall into that trap of being helpless and having everything handed to me and having people wait on me hand and foot. Even the therapist I had to stop from picking up something I had dropped. No one had to walk on eggshells around me or my condition. I knew instinctively that the best way to get my life back was to get into my old routine. I was bound and determined to return as soon as possible to the old/new ways I had about doing things and nothing would stop me.
Leslie (Part I)

Leslie

Leslie was one of the young models to visit me in the hospital, thank god for cell phones. She is a very interesting young woman, eighteen when I met her through her site on OMP. We had a preliminary meeting at a coffee shop along the Riverwalk and she was intrigued by my portraits. I told her she had too many nude on her website and she very frostily told me she had someone managing her website thank you very much. Like so many young people she was positive in her direction and had a bit of a chip on her shoulder. I immediately pegged her as an at risk person who needed some positive feedback and maybe some gentle guidance. Anyway she agreed to come to the house for a session, at the time I could strip everything out of the bedroom and turn it into a studio. She came out of the bathroom in the nicest short bathrobe, sat-down and lit a cigarette very cool and in control like. For five minutes she read me the rule and regulations about how the shoot would go, I wasn’t to ask any personal questions and her sex life was private. She inhaled deeply and blowing out the smoke ask if there were any questions. She was watching me intently, very challenging like and I replied, " Yeah, do you get nekked"? And she tossed off the little robe and looked at me like feast on this pal! So I looked at her for a few moments and replied "Naw, let’s get you into a dress". We’ve been friends ever since.
A shoot is what you make it, it takes a bit of hard work and confidence in the photographer ability to respect you but you can play and have fun. That’s key, I respect my model and I respect them for working with me and sharing their skills and talents. I expect my girls to work hard but I don’t ask the impossible of them and best of all I feed them after because I know they come on a empty stomach. Never in my years of working with women have I had any problems . It’s because we both understand what we’re there for, models are not there to put on any free-show for anybody. And if their uncomfortable with a pose I ask of them they can see a polaroid at anytime. I love my girls as people, as individuals who give me their best and I respect that. And sometime if I’m a little too rough with them they understand that what we’re getting is worth it.

Fear is the greatest obstacle to one’s recovery that I know. In the words of the old saw, when you fear you can’t you’re probably right. When I was in the hospital and after when I returned home fear was my biggest hindrance. I feared everything the therapy, the therapist, my doctors and most of all I feared myself. Could I do the things they were asking of me and what would my life be after the traumatic injury I had survived. My lifestyle was that of an almost loner, I live by myself and though I live of the periphery of the public eye I’m not of it. I usually work in anonymity taking my photos and try to remain in the background. Here I was the center of focus (no pun intended) and I could fail or succeed at my will, it was all up to me. It took a long time to get comfortable with myself, too much of myself confidence and self-reliance were shaken to the core. I wasn’t this strong rugged individual I projected. I had some visitors, photographers I was friend’s with and some models who came by to wish me well. But they were really talking to a shell of myself, I knew that there was a fundamental change in me and my perceptions of the world about me. The models who came by were a real help, their young fresh minds and body’s couldn’t conceive of me being down for the count and getting up only just before the final bell. Instead I could lose myself in their problems and concerns, they provided an escape for me and mine.
I had no good options to getting better and I worried about the long term repercussions. Would I recover just to succumb to another stroke later or would I recover only marginally and never be able to work again and how on earth would I ever recover from the mounting bills. All this pressure and all I could do was take it one day at a time and hope my constitution was strong enough. And that’s what I did or tried to do, one day at a time, one foot in front of another and one hand dragged along for the ride. No heroic’s, no effort to hide it from myself. Just grim determination with a mind to the timetable attached to my recovery. I just had to do what I had to get back to my life. Now I find I’m in the company of some truly heroic people who struggle much harder than I do. They struggle with a mate and the hardest of all their children. My heart and hope’s go out to them along with my prayers. When I was recovering I happened to visit a church in another town and I lit a candle and said a prayer of hope for those I knew were struggling with life. Not for me because I was truly blessed but for my friends who were truly in need of some extra help. A word of thanks for the blessing in my life. A word of thanks for having a life worth living.
(I want to thank you all for commenting on my blog and giving me a space on yours. We truly are not alone in this world..., we are all brother’s and sister’s.)

As I said my stroke was Ischemic and though it could have been worse it was bad enough. As I started to get better I tried to get used to the swing of the new realities of my life. I’ve been an event photographer for most of my adult life capturing ex-Presidents, Secretary’s of State and of course Congressmen and Mayors. There was a fund-raiser for the Mayor that I was donating my time and talents to. I expected the ususal event except this one was at a private home and I though it would give me a chance to experiment and see how my body reacted to the stresses and strains. This was about two months into my recovery and I was anxious to prove to myself that I could do what I always had done and to show myself I could rise to the occasion. I was barley off my cane at the time and still weak as could be and I figured I was good for an hour then I’d slip out and return home and rest. Well it was even harder than I figured and the event wasn’t at all what I had envisioned but I was stuck. I should have know better the moment I arrived that I was in over my head and just quietly turn back and gone home. No one was there from the association I belonged to who could help me I was on my own. It was a much bigger deal than I had figured, about 200 well heeled supporter were there including many that I knew. There was the meet and greet, handshake from well wisher who wanted to be seen and contribute, then of course the speeches. I sat and rested when I could but I needed to be on my feet much longer than I figured and when I needed to reload that was a pain I hadn’t counted on. I need to squat down to get at my bag to get the film, luckily I had put my bag under the piano so I had something solid to lift myself back up. Then I had 36 exposures to get though. I was really shaky on my pins going back down the steps and knew beyond a doubt that I wasn’t really ready for my life yet but in time.