An Expression of Color

Art / PotD

An Expression of Color

November 4, 2015

charles . letbetter - Am Ex[ressopm pf Cp;pr

An Expression of Color (2011)

It is only after years of preparation that the young artist should touch color – not color used descriptively, that is, but as a means of personal expression.—Henri Matisse

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]We are so immersed in color today that black and white imagery of any kind automatically feels old, reminiscent, perhaps even antique. We forget just how recently color has come to dominate our media. At the turn of the 20th century, though, life wasn’t so bright. With the industrial revolution at full tilt, dark, heavy smoke billowed from the factory stacks from the burning of coal and oil. The air was filled with soot, coating the entire world in its greyness. Life was difficult if not downright dreary. Tuberculosis killed millions without them even realizing what it was. The one source of color that remained was art.

Color was always a critical element for Henri Matisse. Influenced by the likes of Gauguin, Cézanne, Van Gogh, and Japanese art, Matisse used color as a means of expression unlike anyone before him. In his earliest paintings, which can sometimes be difficult to find on exhibition, color is the single driving force, having eliminated any sense of shadow or perspective. As he moved toward and gradually overtook Fauvism, it was Matisse’s raw strokes of color combined with Cézanne’s sense of structure that defined the entire movement.

With his cutouts, though, color became everything, the very soul of existence in his work. Because of his limited mobility, having barely survived treatment for cancer and severe depression, he had to leave it to assistants to prepare for him huge sheets of colored paper. There are no greys or even anything too terribly dark or light in anything he did during this period. Colors are strong, vibrant, and demanding. He would cut out the shapes while confined to bed and attach them to his bedroom wall. At one point, the artist remarked that he had so many cutouts he wasn’t sure what he would do with them all.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Today, I fear we take color for granted. We rarely think, especially as photographers, about the emotional value of one shade of red over another, or how a specific tone of blue might alter how a viewer feels about a picture. Too often, I see colors slapped together haphazardly with no thought to how, or whether, they relate to the picture or each other. We pay too little attention to how colors shape our world, to their natural order. Sure, there are times when those rules can be broken, but in doing so we need to understand the effect we are forcing upon the viewer.

Color does not exist for color’s sake. Color is more than just a boundary or a specific bending of light. Color is an expression of emotion, whether casual or demonstrative, that carries an image from the heart of the artist to the soul of the one viewing. When artists complain that no one understands their work, how often is it at least partially because they have failed in their understanding of color, how it breathes, sighs, angers, delights, brings sorrow, or radiates joy? Even subtle variations can totally change the perception of a picture.

Color is to the artist, and the photographer, what words are to the novelist. Even when one does decide to work in black and white, by making that tonal choice one is choosing a vocabulary for their work. If the structure of that vocabulary fails to make sense or stir emotion, viewers inevitably walk away because they are unable to understand what the artist is trying to communicate.

Colors should never be accidental. With every image, be mindful of what you say. Choose your vocabulary carefully.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

A Soothing, Calming Influence

November 3, 2015

chales i. letbetter - a soothing, calming influence

A Soothing,Calming Influence (2013)

What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter – a soothing, calming influence on the mind, rather like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.—Henri Matisse

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]There are connections in art defined by all things that influence us. Some influences are significant, others are more subtle, but whether we like to realize it or not, we all have some image in our mind that comes from something else we’ve seen and that image, in turn, becomes the thing that drives our creative endeavors even if they’re not within the same media.Presumably, if one had the time and resources, and could rely upon the authenticity of written testimony, all artwork, across any genre or style, could likely be connected through the artist’s shared influences.

Not everything that influences an artist, or a photographer, is art, or artistic. In the realm of full disclosure, I must admit that I am writing this morning under the heavy influence of a very good night’s sleep. I’m only half-way through my first cup of coffee and the influence of the sleep is that I’m not quite as focused and am having a little more difficulty finding the words I want. Imagine trying to get around without your eyeglasses; that’s what is influencing my writing at this moment. If I were to pick up the camera, to capture a picture of Kat lounging on the couch next to me, that same influence would pour over into my image, probably in terms of a soft focus and a higher key on the lighting.

Henri Matisse was born in a most modest home of a weaver in the very North of France, right along the Belgian border. Winters there were extremely cold and the young Matisse was rather thin and frail. His mother influenced his early vision of women, with a full bust and hips, narrow waist, slender legs and small feet. We can see that influence remaining in his work all the way through to his cut outs. She also provided influence in her work with color, mixing house paints and helping customers decide what combinations would look best in their homes.[/one_half]

[one_half padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]All his early surroundings stayed with Matisse even after he moved away from the region. The stern discipline of his father, the pigeons that roosted in the loft, the sunflowers, and the seeds were all things that would influence his painting. Then, as Henri became more serious about his study of art, his work was influenced by his teachers, William-Adolphe Bouguereau and Gustave Moreau. One can attribute Bonguereau’s training in the classics for that fact that, regardless of what other angles may be present, Matisse kept a true plumb line on all his verticals. Moreau was more progressive and pushed the young Matisse away from traditional styles.

John Peter Russell may have had the greatest art-world influence on Matisse, however, for it was Russell that introduced him to the concepts and works of Impressionism. One can see an almost immediate change in Matisse’s work. He went from dark toned still-life to brighter, more colorful settings. Not that this pleased the established art world. Matisse’s first masterpiece, The Dinner Table, was completed during this period and when first exhibited was given poor placement because of ” what they considered its radical, Impressionist aspects.”

So, the chain of influence goes on and grows long. Could we dare begin to count the number of contemporary artists, photographers, and designers who have in some way been influenced by Matisse’s work? Certainly, unapologetically, the work we are displaying here is a direct derivative of his late-period cut-outs. And, we can hope to assume, what we present here has a soothing, calming influence on someone else, who interprets in yet another fashion And so, the art moves forward.[/one_half]

Art / PotD

Fruits of Labor

November 2, 2015

Fruits of Labor (2011)

I have always tried to hide my efforts and wished my works to have a light joyousness of springtime which never lets anyone suspect the labors it has cost me.—Henri Matisse

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve had someone say to me, “I wish I had your job.” What we do seems quite easy: hold a box, tell a model to pose, snap the picture. That’s all there is to it, right? Now that we don’t have darkrooms into which we disappear for hours at a time, and instant filters that help cover mistakes, the number of people attempting to be photographers has exploded, and the overall quality of work has diminished. There’s no appreciation for the labor involved.

Sure, anyone can take a photograph, and anyone can slap paint on canvas and call it art. The very nature of contemporary visual art makes it appear easy. Sometimes it feels as only those who are themselves involved in the struggle understand what it takes to put together a truly unique and memorable image; the hours spent planning and experimenting, the failed attempts that no one saw, the disasters the occur when we get something wrong. We think that art is supposed to be easy, but it so very seldom is.

During Matisse’s Fauvist period, roughly 1904-08, the artist’s frequent subjects were nudes, one of the most popular being the hedonistic-looking scene of Joy of Life (1906), which depicts nude women lounging in an open field. Because of the nudity in his paintings, many people just assumed that Matisse, like Picasso, engaged in a very open and active lifestyle. Yet, nothing could have been further from the truth. Matisse lived by the concept that art is life by another means. There was no play, it was all labor. Nothing was easy.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]What’s more frustrating, though, is when people fail to understand one’s work. When Matisse first exhibited his painting, Woman in a Hat, as part of a fauvist exhibition in Paris in 1905, people laughed out loud and scratched at the canvas. In 1907, a painting he had sent to New York for the Armory Exhibition, Blue Nude, was burned in effigy! The affect all this negative response had on Matisse was personal. His health was affected to the point that the doctor insisted, on more than one occasion, that Matisse completely step away, leave town for a couple of months, so that he might recover.

Herein lies the difference between one who is an artist versus one who is merely playing a game: artists live their work. There is constant study, not merely of their craft, but of life and how it can be expressed. There are periods where no one understands what we are doing, nor why we would even attempt such a thing in the first place. Work that is new, different, and experimental is ridiculed, derided, and perhaps even destroyed.

When I first showed someone a photograph from the torn paper concept several years ago, their response was, “Well, that’s … interesting.” They’ve not been invited to be exhibited. None of the images have sold. Perhaps it seems silly that I would return to the concept at all. But, these are the fruits of our labor. We work through the frustration, through paper tearing, through conditions that dry the paper too fast. We hide how much work it is.

Easy? No. Worth the labor? Yes.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Nothing But Paper

November 1, 2015

The Super Hero (2013)

There is nothing more difficult for a truly creative painter than to paint a rose, because before he can do so he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted.—Henri Matisse

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]I really thought I had done a week of these torn paper designs before, but upon a thorough examination we discovered that no, I hadn’t. So, I think it is time to do so and, as it turns out, it has been exactly two years this week since we last engaged this concept. I’ve been playing with it off and on for over 14 years now and the methods have changed dramatically since we first started. Unfortunately, I no longer have copies of those first attempts.

The concept is based loosely on the late-stage work of French painter Henri Matisse. By the time he was diagnosed with cancer in 1941, Matisse had all but stopped painting. After treatment and a couple of surgeries, his creative sense came back with a surge. The problem was that the effects of cancer left him in bed for sometimes days at a time, not a position exactly given to using a paint and brush. So, he began working with scissors, saying:

“Only what I created after the illness constitutes my real self: free, liberated.”

Ultimately, these works would be the ones that define Matisse’s career. The special paper he used would be prepared in large sheets by his assistants so they would be ready for him to cut whenever he felt like doing so. From this period come his most prestigious works, such as the stained glass at Chapelle du Rosaire in Vence, Negress, The Fall of Icarus, the Blue Nude set, and his 1947 book, Jazz.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Trying to adapt Matisse’s concept for what I wanted to do in applying it to the human body was far from simple. For starters, the paper Matisse used was far too heavy and stiff to conform to the contours of the human form. We tried lighter weights of construction paper with no success. Finally, after many failed experiments and more than one outburst of complete frustration, I settled on color tissue paper as the medium for our work.

Even the tissue paper wasn’t easy, though. There were three significant problems we had to overcome. The first was that tissue paper, being extremely light and thin, tears easily, especially when wet. We needed the paper to be wet to adhere to the body. Second was the fact that some colored tissue paper bleeds. When it bleeds, the skin is stained and it doesn’t just wash off. After some searching, we were able to find no-bleed paper. Our final problem came with how to get the paper to stick. Again, several failed experiments occurred before we finally created a diluted gelatin solution that works.

What we will present this week are newly processed versions, different from the originals. I pulled three photos, including today’s, from the shoot two years ago. The other four are older but among my favorites. Along the way, we’ll talk about a variety of things, such as illness, that impacts an artist’s, work. We hope you’ll enjoy the week.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Shadows of Yesterday

October 31, 2015

Autumn Illusion – Shadows of Yesterday

A fresh mind keeps the body fresh. Take in the ideas of the day, drain off those of yesterday. As to the morrow, time enough to consider it when it becomes today.—Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]We’re done; the last day of October is here, cool, wet, and cloudy. I like it when months end on a Saturday and the new ones begin on Sunday. There is, for me, a sense of completeness in that small detail, as though the months have been packaged with a touch more neatness than usual. Yesterday’s worries and toils are placed in a mental scrapbook. Time for us to move on.

Our garden is now completely gone. I walked through it the last time yesterday and it seems even the pepper plants have finally given up. This year’s garden was immensely better than the year before, but we already have ideas for how we want to improve. For starters, we’ll be much more careful about where we plant those crazy squash plants, and we’ll give the tomatoes a better dose of sun. Hopes. Dreams.

Leaves that were beautifully decorating the neighbor’s tree have not only fallen, but the wind has kindly blown them all over into our yard. Our giant tree has yet to let go of its cover, but will likely do so with the next frost. I’m not one who is inclined to rake; the ground needs the nourishment that comes from the decaying leaves. Yesterday’s beauty becomes the mulch for tomorrow’s growth.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Sometime this next week we will till under the garden and prepare the ground for winter. We’ll spread some straw, maybe put down some black plastic to discourage weed growth. We remember that whole patch was just lawn yesterday, or so it seems. Building on our success means taking care to not let the challenges of another season take over while we’re distracted by the snow.

All the work, all the produce, all the joy and disappointment are now shadows of yesterday. We have pictures. We have memories. “Who can forget” moments, such as letting the little ones help squish tomatoes for marinara, remain firm in our hearts. Our garden produced more than food, it fueled opportunities to teach, to care, and to love. Who can ask more from a garden?

Now, we move on. Try new things, or perhaps different ways of doing the same thing. I pulled my heavy coat from the closet, checked the pockets for wayward cash and found none. We’ll discuss whether buying a new shovel will scare off the snow. Furniture and camera catalogs arrived to fuel dreams. Goodbye to yesterday and the illusions of autumn, hello tomorrow. Enjoy today.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Repairing Fences

October 30, 2015

Autumn Illusion – Repairing Fences

There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.—Will Rogers

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]A lot can be said for good fences: they make good neighbors, they keep cattle from roaming into someone’s corn field, they keep out the bad guys if they’re built correctly. Funny thing, fences; some people think we need more of them, like that giant wall built across China so many centuries ago. Yet, as J. R. R. Tolkien wrote:

The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out.

Two of our neighbors have fences. One is a simple chain link that boxes in the back yard, making it perfect for pets, which they don’t have, or children, which are only there every other weekend. The other neighbor has been more definitive about his property, though. He has a tall, eight-foot privacy fence around his backyard. This is because he has a pool around which he enjoys throwing parties throughout the summer. We’re thankful that fence is there not just because it keeps Kat’s little ones from playing in the water but also because we really have no desire to see our neighbor in a Speedo. You just can’t unsee that.

Beyond the privacy fence, though, the neighbor also has a stretch of chain link that stretches to the end of his driveway, establishing a firm boundary. Then, presumably so we wouldn’t have to look at the side of his garage, he has a very tall and full shrubbery. This isn’t the evergreen kind like we have, but is more tree-like with a thick covering of leaves from the ground to the sky; it is very good cover and would likely grow quite tall if he’d let it.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]The shrubbery is thick and there’s not much room between it and the side of the neighbor’s garage. What we’ve liked is that it would also arch over our yard, creating a shaded path alongside our carport, something quite welcome during the summer. We’ve had to prune our side a couple of times, with the neighbor’s permission, to keep the shrub from growing into our carport, but overall it’s a nice, welcome addition to the landscape.

Not everyone in our neighborhood likes the shrubbery, though. We have one neighbor, a fussy little old woman who claims to be close friends with the chief of police, despite the rotating nature of that position. She doesn’t exactly like the privacy fence, either, but there’s nothing she can do about that thanks to the pool. This fall, just as summer was coming to a close, the top-most leaves of the shrubbery began peaking above the gutters of the garage. Our fussy neighbor delighted in calling the city, citing a piece of arcane legislation, and demanded the shrubbery be cut back.

As Tolkien said, fences don’t keep out the world, or even nosey neighbors. We now have a much more boring view along that fenceline. Pruning the shrub caused the leaves to drop sooner than they normally would; they didn’t change color, they just fled the scene. Fences are an illusion, you see. We think we’re protected, that we can create a barrier against the people who bother us. No, while fences protect small children and dogs, all they do for some people is provide a place to pee, figuratively if not literally. Perhaps we should talk about electrifying that fence.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Falling Leaves

October 29, 2015

Autumn Illusion – Falling Leaves

The falling leaves drift by my window. The falling leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses. The sunburned hands I used to hold.—Johnny Mercer

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Autumn doesn’t mess around once it finally decides to do its thing. Only a week ago, I was able to take pictures of brightly colored trees in the neighborhood, their leaves golden and resplendent in the sunlight. I looked at the giant oak across the street yesterday afternoon and its branches now are nearly bare; a yellow blanket covers the ground around it’s dark trunk.

There are still several hours before sunrise as I write this, so I can only imagine even more leaves are down this morning. Wind howled by my bedroom window all night. Some gusts were strong enough to shake the entire house. Any leaves still on trees this morning are brave souls hanging on to futility; they, too, will fall. A horizon of dark, grey, nothingness is all nature has left us. Those not already prepared for winter had best hurry.

We keep saying we’re going to cover our windows with plastic to help keep out the encroaching cold. We’ve said that the past two winters as well; it hasn’t happened, yet. Like those leaves that still cling desperately to tree branches, we never really want to give in to the fact that winter is coming. We use the excuse of needing to wait for “Indian Summer,” and then find some other reason after that. We really don’t want to cover the windows; we want to be able to see.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Falling leaves are nature’s definitive statement on change. There’s no fudging the line as to whether the season is here or not. Summer’s out the window, winter is knocking at the door, and Autumn is doing its best to give us some kind of buffer so that we’re not still running around half-naked trying to find a way to heat the swimming pool when snow starts flying.

Neither is there any compromise on the plants in our garden. Harvest is done, even if there is one little orange-colored tomato still hanging on for dear life. We’ll leave that for the birds, or perhaps the neighborhood raccoon.

Relationships change, too. We instinctively recognize the need to gather close, to have someone with which to huddle and keep us warm through the winter. Even where there are no drunken Halloween parties to help, couples still manage to find each other lest they freeze alone in their beds. Besides, we need someone to help us rake all those damn leaves in the yard, going from yellow to brown.

There is no putting the leaves back on the trees once they’ve fallen. Brace for impact. Winter is coming.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Thistles, Thorns, and Broken Glass

October 28, 2015

charles i. letbetter - thorns, thistles, and broken glass

charles i. letbetter - thistles, thorns, and broken glass

Autumn Illusion – Thistles, Thorns and Broken Glass

Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.—Voltaire

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]There are thorns around the periphery of our yard. We talk each autumn about cutting them out, cleaning up the edges that we largely ignore the rest of the year, but this autumn we have to actually go ahead and clear them out, along with the thistles and broken glass. Autumn can be as much about cleaning and clearing as is spring; sometimes, it’s even more important to do those chores now.

We don’t employ any yard workers other than ourselves. Our lawn is not one of the trim and neat, well-manicured pieces of property. We do well to keep the lawn mowed and probably wouldn’t do that quite as often if we didn’t have a neighbor who religiously reports us, and everyone else in the neighborhood, to the city should our lawns begin to look a touch unsightly. We wouldn’t give a fuck except for the $200 fine. In the places we can’t mow, there are thorns.

Most the thorns are behind, around, or under shrubbery. Thistles grow along our side of a neighbor’s privacy fence. He has a pool. We’re glad he has a fence. Broken glass can be found alongside the house, where panes from the storm windows didn’t quite get put up on time. None of those things actually bother anyone because we seldom venture into those areas, so they don’t get addressed. Thorns and thistles grow, the broken glass just lies there, a thin layer of roughness.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]This autumn, we may have to address some of that growth. There is an area in one corner where a previous owner attempted to cultivate flowers and decorative shrubbery. We don’t pay much mind to it because we’re not sure exactly what is and isn’t supposed to be growing there, except for the thorns. The thorns grew quite well there this year, to the point they’re no longer hidden. Were it safe to play outside, they might pose a danger.

Playing outside isn’t’ safe, though. There are more human thorns than those of a botanical nature. They run the stop signs, plowing through the neighborhood streets at speeds that would be illegal even on highways. Gunfire peppers the otherwise quiet sounds of the neighborhood, though I find it interesting that no one ever seems to get hit. The human thorns here apparently have really bad aim, for which we are thankful.

Throughout life, thorns are going to happen, whether botanical or otherwise. Some, like those that grow with certain flowers, we can do nothing about. Others, though, need to be cleaned out every once in a while, even if they don’t seem particularly bothersome. Looking across our lawn, or the neighborhood, the thorns aren’t really visible, but we know they’re present, a danger lying in wait. They are yet another of autumn’s illusions and the only remedy is to pull them out by the roots.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

A Different Spice

October 27, 2015

Autumn Illusion – A Different Spice

Once you get a spice in your home, you have it forever. Women never throw out spices. The Egyptians were buried with their spices. I know which one I’m taking with me when I go.—Erma Bombeck

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]There’s not much left to our garden. Long vines and huge leaves from winter squash plants have all withered and died, leaving behind a strange, other-worldly array of expired tentacles grasping at the dirt. Beans just disappeared. Cucumber plants shriveled to nothing. Zucchini plants that were once four feet in diameter are now reduced to tiny mounds of memory. The color is gone. A huge square of gray dirt dominates our lawn, looking more like a disappointment rather than the glorious success it was a couple of months ago.

Kat has taken most the spice clippings inside. We’ll have more than enough oregano, thyme, and basil to get us through the winter. All that remains are a few tomatoes that refuse to give up, and one very stubborn habanero plant. Habanero isn’t really a spice, though that’s the side of the garden on which it was planted; it’s one of the hottest peppers in the world, several times more than jalapeno. Kat wanted to try it. To my knowledge, she attempted to eat one.

Spice did well in the garden this year, for the most part. I’m not sure what happened to the lavender, but everything else on that side of the garden grew exceptionally well. Bell peppers and sweet peppers came in a little late for some reason, but once they started they were abundant. That one habanero plant, though, started early and there are still three small ones on the vine. We won’t pick them; there’s no reason to bother. They’re just too hot.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Spice and peppers are a lot different when they’re fresh versus what one buys in the store. By the time anything makes it to the local grocery, it has had time to mellow a bit, having been picked early so it wouldn’t spoil too soon. Organic spice has a slightly more pungent flavor as well, and we definitely went the organic route with everything. Spice packets in my freezer are pungent and it doesn’t take much to flavor a sauce or a soup to the point the entire house is full of the fragrance.

Those habaneros were just too much, though, which is saying something. Kat enjoys a lot of spice and heat in her food, much more than my old intestinal digestive system can tolerate. She’s one of those people who put hot sauce on hot sauce, leaving everyone else to wonder how she’s not breathing fire. These peppers were too much. Just cutting one open made my throat hurt.

I know that saying about variety and spice and having plenty of spice in one’s life is definitely a good thing. Life is full of choices and to the extent one is curious there is no reason to not to experiment, try different blends, see what works and what doesn’t. Life is not meant to be bland, but full of flavor. When autumn comes, however, some things are best left to die on the vine; another illusion allowed to pass.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Compare And Contrast

October 26, 2015

Autumn Illusion – Compare & Contrast

As a means of contrast with the sublime, the grotesque is, in our view, the richest source that nature can offer.—Victor Hugo

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Walking through the neighborhood late yesterday afternoon, the contrast of beauty versus the grotesque was on high display. Trees with gnarled trunks and twisted branches standing next to tall, straight oaks and maples resplendent in their color were inescapable to the point that even the young male child, whose attention is more often on things such as dirt and bicycles, couldn’t help but notice and comment.

He called the bent trees ugly, which received immediate correction. Contrast is not ugly. Contrast is our source of appreciation both for what is beautiful and for what is different. We admire more the statuesque oak when we realize that growing so straight and so tall is not inherent, but a gift from nature. We are amazed also at the tree that has fought off challenges of wind and disease, scarred and misshapened.

Contrast also the trees that found enough moisture to color their leaves to those who merely dropped theirs like on might casually toss aside a used tissue. The ground is littered with both. The crunch beneath small feet another contrast to the rainbow they picked up and tossed into the air.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Life is dramatically full of contrast. Being awake is sharp against the desire to fall back asleep. Strong coffee from my own french press this morning is a contrast to memories of over-boiled sludge. 73 is the temperature registering on the thermostat in the hallway. 43 chilly degrees is what the Weather Channel app on my phone warns is waiting outside. Checking an app versus reading a thermometer.

A torn window screen, dirty, cast aside, attempts to cling to its frame to avoid being trampled into the dirt. Practical as the screen once was, beauty was never part of its physical description. Yet, I needed it in front of my camera. I held it up to the sky not for the beauty, but for the contrast. I did not need beauty, for that had already been captured. The screen was different.

I failed geometry. Finding the area of a circle escapes my talents even today. Contrasting shapes and planes of reality messes with my sense of balance. Neither leaves nor lives are well centered. Screens become grids that reach off into nothingness without obscuring or defining. Contrast full versus empty. Welcome, another illusion.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Autumn Illusions

October 25, 2015

Autumn Illusion – In The Sun

My sorrow, when she’s here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.—Robert Frost

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Flip the page. Start a new week. No longer are we talking about a once great magazine soon to be relegated to memory, like the formerly dominant titles, Life or Look, neither of which anyone under the age of 50 is likely to remember. Seasons pass, times, change, and their passing isn’t always what we expect of them.

Recent weeks have been dry and yesterday’s attempt at rain did little more than taunt a parched ground with a hope that never came. Not here. Instead, random gusts of wind blew swirls of dust down the sidewalk like a small dog taking its human for a walk; the wind yapped and howled at everything it saw while the dust impatiently meandered along.

Autumn is definitely here. She’s solemn this year, quiet, thoughtful in her actions. While she has moments of being bright and vivid, they come randomly; more are they punctuations of color rather than whole sentences. Drive down a road full of brown and there’s suddenly a comma of red. A little further down the road one finds an em dash of bright orange. The punctuation is glorious and appears in careful spaces just often enough to give one a sense of autumn, but all that lies between is a meaningless jumble of disappointment.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]There is a point at which all the photographs of autumn run together. Maple leaves, so resplendent in their colorful stage show, perform the same act year after year after year. Was that photo taken in 2009 or 2012? I can’t tell. Although, one might argue that it doesn’t actually matter. Photographs we miss this year we can try again when the numbers on the calendar are different. Does it really make that much difference?

Who else feels that autumn arrived already exhausted, like that great aunt who has been traveling for a month trying to see everyone in the family? When she finally arrives at your house, the excitement she once held for her trip is already gone. The car broke down. Her favorite blouse ripped. Cousin George’s dog crapped in her shoes.

Flip the page. Who knows what may happen? Certainly, things will be different than they were last week, and different than ever before, but different doesn’t seem to matter. Will this week be sexy, or artistic, or just a poetic mess that no one really understands? Autumn is full of illusions and today is one of them.[/one_half_last]

Art / Photography / PotD

Losing The Girl Next Door

October 24, 2015

charles i. letbetter - not the girl next door

After Horst (2009)

Everybody always says that I’m the girl next door, which makes me think that y’all must have a lot of weird next-door neighbours.—Kelly Clarkson

When Hugh Hefner started Playboy® magazine in 1953, part of his concept was to represent the “girl next door;” someone whose sensuality was a bit understated, who had a good-girl reputation but secretly couldn’t wait to get out of her sweater. At the same time, though, there has always been a bit of glamor, with popular starlets and celebrities frequently gracing the pages over the years. The blend worked. The celebrities might not be approachable, but perhaps, just maybe, the girl in the gatefold would be. With each issue came the possibility that maybe, just maybe, that spindly-legged girl who was your neighbor might be worth a second look or more.

Over the years, that combination allowed some of those girls next door to become celebrities in their own right. Anna Nichole Smith, Pam Anderson, Holly Madison, Barbie Benton, Carmen Electra, and Jenny McCarthy come immediately to mind, but there have been several others. As the stigma of being nude faded with the sexual revolution, more girls dreamed of being on of Hef’s girls next door. Then, in 1981, the J. Geils Band captured the hopes and fears of every young man in America:

Does she walk? Does she talk?
Does she come complete?
My homeroom homeroom angel
Always pulled me from my seat

She was pure like snowflakes
No one could ever stain
The memory of my angel
Could never cause me pain

Years go by I’m lookin’ through a girly magazine
And there’s my homeroom angel on the pages in-between

The song Centerfold jumped to the top of the charts not because of its musical qualities but because it so accurately captured how we felt about the girl next door. There was no one who, if they were totally honest, didn’t at least once think about opening the pages of Playboy and finding their high school crush on the pages, whether that objective was realistic or not. The ever-elusive girl next door was the heart and soul of Playboy, the thing that made the magazine stand out more than anything else. We loved every one of those girls and wouldn’t have minded one bit had one moved in next door.[/one_half]

So, what happens to the girl next door if Playboy drops nudes? Does the gatefold go completely away? Probably. What about the centerfold questionnaire, you know, that part where the model says she likes long walks on the beach, quiet nights in front of the fireplace, and other likely fictional things that fueled are fantasies? Those are likely gone as well. If Cory Jones’ work at maxim.com is any indication, and there’s no reason it wouldn’t be, what we’re more likely to see are overly-airbrushed swimsuit models who look about as realistic as a Picasso. The entire concept of the girl next door is likely gone.

I dropped over to playboy.com this morning, just to see what Jones has constructed there. He removed nudes from the website, making it safe for work, back in 2014 and their numbers jumped. Why? Did men actually prefer a website with no nudity? Not likely. The reality there is that without nudity on its pages the URL was allowed past corporate filters that previously blocked it. More people were accessing the pages because most people still do the majority of their online browsing from work (though, that is changing rapidly as more people use their smart phones). So, what’s at the top of playboy.com this morning? An article on Indian-spiced cocktails. Below that, an article on overcoats, then one about Transformer toys, then pieces on viral videos, boxing, and remembering loved ones. If you want to even see a female, you’re going to have to scroll. So much for the girl next door. There’s hardly even a girl on the front page at all!

I found it hilarious that, when clicking “girls” on the playboy.com menu, the piece at the top of the page is a video of Miranda Kerr jumping around. Clothed. Yawn. Want to see Miranda Kerr naked? You’ll have to pick up a fashion magazine. W magazine, August 2015, is the latest of a long line of fashion nudes Ms. Kerr has done. You can find the editorial online here. But not in Playboy.

By dropping nudes, Playboy is abandoning the girl next door, one of the most basic underpinnings of the magazine. One has to seriously ask what Playboy has left to offer that one can’t find thousands of other places both on the Internet and in print. Cocktails? Seriously? The whole fucking Bartender’s Guide is available. Fashion? Please, every title imaginable sits in front of Playboy on the shelves, and is probably cheaper. What Playboy has always had was the girl next door, naked. Without that, there’s just no reason to pick up a copy of the magazine ever again.

Art / Photography / PotD

A Heart For Sex

October 23, 2015

Curved (2011)

Sex is the driving force on the planet. We should embrace it, not see it as the enemy.—Hugh Hefner

“Ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough for sex.”

I have always chuckled a little bit at that line from an ad for a major erectile dysfunction medication. I’ve also heard apocryphal stories about Hef keeping a bowl of the little blue pills by his bed. I rather doubt that story is completely true, but the man is now 89. I think we can give him a bit of a break on the subject. I still find it humorous that an amorous individual might need to check with their physician, calling the poor guy in the middle of dinner, with, “Hey Doc, the wife didn’t burn the roast tonight. Ya’ think it’s safe for me to hump her?”

Realistically, though, sex can take a lot of heart, especially when it’s more than a physical act but rather a primary driver of one’s business. Publishing a magazine where sex is the primary motivator is far from being a romp in the park, despite the fact that Hef managed to make it look that way. Playboy® was never about page after page of increasingly raunchy photos, but about a lifestyle in which sex wasn’t something hidden or repressed as it seemed to be in other publications. Hef once said:

I have very strong theories about magazine publishing. And I think that it is the most personal form of journalism. And I think that a magazine is an old friend.

Hugh Hefner, when he started the magazine in 1953, had a heart for sex that wasn’t all that different from some of his contemporaries in the research fields, such as Masters and Johnson or Alfred Kinsey. The post-war period of the late 1940s and 50s took the cover off sex and sexuality that led to the sexual revolution of the 60s. There was a desire to understand and appreciate and experience sex in ways that extended far beyond the physical act. For all the criticism he received, the content mix Hef brought to his magazine perfectly reflected a heart for sex that fueled a revolution.

If Playboy continues to stumble, it may well be because its current leadership fails to have that heart for sex that Hef has. Current CEO Scott Flanders, who interestingly enough is an Indianapolis native, His academic studies at the University of Colorado were in economics, not journalism, and from there he went on to law school. Prior to coming to Playboy, Flanders took a beleaguered Freedom Communications Company and managed it straight into bankruptcy in 2009, whereupon he left. He sees Playboy Enterprises, which he joined in 2011, as a brand management company, not a publisher.

Playboy’s chief content officer, Cory Jones, who had the unpleasant task of telling Hef the magazine was dropping nudes, is a digital strategist who is successful in generating high hit counts and unique views. While he does have some experience working with men’s titles, such as Maxim.com and mandatory.com, he has no relevant experience in print, which, as titles such as the New York Times and Vogue are discovering, cannot be managed in the same fashion as online publications. Jone’s attention is strictly on the numbers, using whatever form of pandering necessary to get there, as is evidenced at mandatory.com.

The people at the top of Playboy’s org chart simply do not have the heart for sex that Hef had when he founded the magazine and through the years that made it great. Without that emphasis, Playboy is set up to fail. Not everyone was meant to be a magazine publisher. Publishing what was once the nation’s leading men’s magazine reminds me of the Richard Adler and Jerry Ross song from the musical “Damn Yankees:” Ya’ gotta’ have heart, lots and lots and lots of heart.

Unfortunately, the people at the top of Playboy seem to be lacking that heart for sex. Perhaps the magazine could use a little blue pill of its own.

Art / Photography / PotD

Relevant Culture

October 22, 2015

String of Pearls (2010)

It’s much easier to be successful than it is to be relevant. The tricks won’t keep you relevant. Tricks might keep you popular for a while, but in all honesty, I don’t know how U2 will stay relevant. I know we’ve got a future. I know we can fill stadiums. And yet with every record, I think, ‘Is this it? Are we still relevant?’—Bono

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Marilyn Monroe. Jane Mansfield. Elizabeth Taylor. Ursula Andress. Kim Basinger. Linda Evans. Joan Collins. Drew Barrymore. Belinda Carlyle. Bo Derek. Tara Reid. Jamie Pressley. Denise Richads. Dita Van Teese. Tori Wilson. Nancy Sinatra. These are just a few of the celebrities who not only posed nude for Playboy®, but did so at a time that made their presence in the magazine culturally relevant. From the very first issue in 1953, Hef used celebrities as a way of making sure the magazine mattered, that what appeared in the magazine would be conversation fodder for water coolors and bar rooms everywhere.

Having content that was socially relevant took the magazine from something one hid under the bed or in a closet, to one that was regularly discussed at dinner tables. It didn’t matter whether one approved of the content, it was the fact that people were talking about Playboy and its nudes that made the magazine relevant. For a celebrity, being in Playboy was an instant invite to the late-night talk shows, a career booster like no other. In fact, for a set of celebrities such as Pam Anderson, Carmen Electra, and Anna Nicole Smith, their careers would not have existed without their appearance in the magazine; it was just that relevant.

Playboy has long held a very unique and even peculiar place in American society. As hard as the mainstream media tried to demonize the men’s magazine, Hef continually produced content so incredibly relevant that people had to pay attention. The magazine’s interview with Georgia governor Jimmy Carter in 1976 was one of the factors that propelled Carter into the White House. Nancy Sinatra’s spread in 1995 helped rejuvinate a career that had been dormant for two decades but was about to explode again with the Kill Bill movies. Drew Barrymore and other former child stars took to the pages of Playboy to let the industry know they were ready for more adult roles. Granted, the spreads worked out better for some than it did others, but the point is that the nudes, as well as most all the content, were relevant.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Now, ask yourself the last time you rushed to pick up a Playboy because of who was going to be in its pages? When was the last time that anyone actually cared about who was doing a spread in the magazine. While management’s decision to completely abandon nudes happened only a week ago, they’ve quietly been moving away from that format for the past three years with an increasing number of pictorals not going any further than implied nudity and several non-gatefold sets not even getting close to anyone being naked. With the base reason for picking up the magazine dwindling, the rest of the content, such as the interviews and fiction, have been largely ignored. Playboy is no longer as relevant as it once was.

Over the past few years, Playboy has stepped away from the controversy that once surrounded their nude spreads. As the quality of the photorgaphy diminished, so too did their choice of celebrities and models. One of the challenges they now face is that international fashion magazines, such as Vogue Italia, not only have more nudity than does Playboy, but they are more culturally relevant (because of the relationship to fashion) and the level of photography is arguably light years above anything Playboy is producing. Photographers such as Steven Meisel and Nick Knight are shooting the new celebrities, fashion models such as Cara Delevigne, Joan Smalls, and Karlie Kloss in nude editorials that render the mediocre nudes in Playboy almost boring.

Playboy could still come back to a position of being dominantly relevant, but it is not likely to do so by dropping nudes. The success of fashion magazines publishing creative nude spreads demonstrates that the right style of nude photography is still amazingly relevant and capable of selling print issues. Change has to happen, but dropping nudes isn’t the answer now and won’t be the answer in the future.[/one_half_last]

Art / Photography / PotD

A Shadow of Former Glory

October 21, 2015

The Smallest Light (2008)

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.—William Wordsworth

The November 1972 issue of Playboy® sold over seven million copies. This month, they will be lucky to see 500,000 copies leave store shelves. What made that 1972 issue so popular? Was there a special interview? Were the articles particularly on point? Where the editorial cartoons especially biting? No, it was the gatefold of Lena Söderberg, shot by Dwight Hooker, that made the issue leap off shelves. In fact, it remains one of the most sought after collectors’ editions to this day. For years, a cropped version of that picture of Lena has been used as the ultimate test for dithering in color computer imaging. The gatefold is also a topic of conversation in the 1973 Woody Allen film Sleeper. Ah, the glory days.

Much of the glory, however, is gone and the reasons have nothing to do with the magazine’s iconic nudes. There isn’t a printed periodical in the country that hasn’t been severely challenged by the Internet, for starters, and more than a few great titles have completely folded as a result. Online “magazines”, not unlike online shopping, took traditional publishers completely by surprise and even those who attempted to adapt early often did so in ways that were not sustainable. Only a few titles, such as the New York Times and Condé Nast’s Vogue have recently figured out how to make their print and online presence work symbiotically. For Playboy’s circulation numbers to have fallen dramatically isn’t surprising for that reason alone.

Playboy’s circulation problems didn’t begin with the Internet, though. Numbers had been declining long before online publishing was even a thing. Circulation in the 80s was lower than the 70s, and the 90s numbers were dramatically lower than the 80s. Blaming the Internet for the magazine’s decline ignores the fact that the glory that was once Playboy was long gone before live streaming and pervasive free porn ever became a factor. Playboy was already standing on the edge of a publishing cliff. All the Internet did was push it over.

If the Internet isn’t the cause of Playboy’s troubles, though, what is? Where is the luster and glory that made the name so well known? The list of reasons could be long, but overall they can be summarized into two primary categories: 1. Hugh Hefner left the magazine, and 2. the emphasis changed. One of the most seismic declines in circulation came when Hef turned control of the magazine over to his daughter, Christie. There were already some challenges even before than happened, but, inevitably, Christie’s vision for the magazine wasn’t the same as her father’s and it had been Hef’s view of how life should be lived that had driven the magazine since its inception. Sure, his name has always been on the masthead as editor in chief, but once his voice was no longer dominant, the magazine faltered.

More critically, though, Playboy the company became the primary competitor to Playboy the magazine. Special Editions introduced in the 80s were much heavier on photographs and contained extended set not shown in the magazines. Those who were primarily interested in the pictures picked up titles such as “Girls of the Big Ten” rather than the full magazine. The introduction of videos in the 80s also distracted some magazine buyers. Over the years, Playboy the company has become more dependent upon revenue from licensing than publishing, and that distraction has stolen glory from the magazine.

Playboy dropping nudes from its magazine is a reactive strategy that is likely to only hasten its demise. While Playboy’s management is quick to tout the five-fold increase in unique views the website had when it dropped nudes, expecting print readers to respond the same way is foolish and naive. Playboy dropping nudes is like the New York Times eliminating investigative journalism or Vogue deciding to drop fashion editorials. Gutting their primary source of glory is likely to have the opposite effect and may well find its editorial staff looking for new jobs.

Art / Photography / PotD

Abandoning The Revolution

October 20, 2015

String of Souls (2010)

Sexuality surrounds us like a dangerous aura. The same reverence that is given to the spirit is not given to the flesh. We have had a sexual revolution, but the sexual revolution only has made sex more pervasive. It hasn’t granted the level of reverence and respect that it should have.—Gioconda Belli

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]When Playboy® chief executive Scott Flanders defended the magazine ‘s move toward non-nude images last week, he said, “The battle has been fought and won.” Mr. Flanders, the magazine’s first CEO outside the Hefner family, was referring, of course, to the battle that was the sexual revolution. Without question, a lot has changed in our attitudes towards sex and sexuality since Hef started the magazine in 1953. However, to abandon the very thing that has brought the magazine this far is rather like General George Washington defeating Cornwallis then, instead of becoming President, Washington moves back to Britain. Was all that effort for naught?

There is absolutely no question that Playboy® was a major contributing factor in changing the landscape of American sexuality. The magazine’s participation in that movement wasn’t always welcome, either. Those of us who are old enough remember know feminist stalwart Gloria Steinem went undercover as a Playboy Bunny in an attempt to discredit the magazine. Others have criticized the fact that, while the country was struggling with the matter of civil rights, Playboy diverted the attention of white men by shoving the sexual revolution in their face. In the magazine’s defense, their interviews with both Malcom X and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. were exemplary examples of Playboy’s continual contribution to contemporary issues conversation.

Yet, for all the talk, it was always the pictures that stood out. Sure, the articles were important and timely and informative, but without that famous gatefold, would anyone have bothered reading them? Probably not. Looking at the progression of styles and poses in the photography across the years is almost like a visual encyclopedia of America’s changing attitudes toward both sex and beauty. Hair styles, grooming choices, accessories, backgrounds, and changes in body types are all indicative of the effect Playboy has had on the sexual revolution.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]But is the revolution really over?®® Is there nothing else that should be explored through conceptual nude imagery?

Whether one liked the magazine or not, one of the things I’ve always admired about the magazine is that they didn’t back down in the face of criticism. At first, Hef was demonized for the nudity. People screamed, ranted and raved when Jennifer Jackson became the first black Playmate of the Month in 1965. Mouths frothed when Marina Baker, Miss March 1987, talked about being bisexual and even more when Stephanie Adams, June 2006, came out as the magazine’s first lesbian centerfold. Playboy didn’t back down or apologize.

What’s important to our current conversation, though, is without the pictures none of those women’s contributions would have been relevant or recognizable. They all would have just been one of the millions of women battling against a status quo that shut them out. Photography can do a lot about bringing attention to issues and creative, conceptual, nude imagery is critical to that effort because of its ability to direct our attention when other methods fail. Issues of equality, such as #freethenipple, still remain. Imagine a gatefold who’s had a mastectomy; that would be leadership that Playboy is uniquely positioned to provide.

What Mr. Flanders and others at Playboy seem to miss is the fact that “winning” the revolution is only the beginning. We need a magazine that takes us from the revolutionary aspects of photographic nudity to using that imagery to teach respect for sexuality, especially in the face of overwhelming amounts of porn. Who is better positioned to lead that movement toward reverence and respect than the magazine that helped get us to this position? Now is not the time to abandon nudity, Mr. Flanders. The work has just begun.[/one_half_last]

Art / Photography / PotD

Lighting Matters

October 19, 2015

A Little Light Through A Window (2011)

The great photographers of life – like Diane Arbus and Walker Evans and Robert Frank – all must have had some special quality: a personality of nurturing and non-judgment that frees the subjects to reveal their most intimate reality. It really is what makes a great photographer, every bit as much as understanding composition and lighting.—Caleb Deschanel

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]If Playboy® magazine’s chief content officer Cory Jones thinks that nudes have become passé, perhaps one of the reasons might be that the magazine has dropped their emphasis on creatively and seductively lit images. Back when the magazine started in 1953, the gatefolds were pinups in the classic style, with a careful attention to maintaining a sense of illusion. Lighting was critical. The photographs from the first few years, the ones that caught your grandfather’s or great-grandfather’s attention, look to us now almost like a set of realist paintings. They were carefully shot and carefully processed to portray a specific image that implied luxury and refinement. They were classy, not slutty.

During the 1960s and 70s, Helmut Newton came to the magazine and set the world on fire with his black and white images that were naturally lit. While the concept sounds easy, just show up someplace with decent indirect lighting and shoot where there are no shadows, photography for Helmut was never that simple. He would scout locations and check for the perfect time of day when the lighting was going to be precisely the way he wanted. Then, he was picky as hell about things such as reflection and making sure that poses put shadows precisely where he wanted them. There was never anything accidental or surprising about Helmut’s photos; what you saw was exactly what he intended.

Then, starting in 1976, Arny Freytag pretty much took over Playboy’s® gatefold and did so with highly-specialized lighting schemes that sometimes used as many as fifty flash heads to create just exactly the precise amount of light he wanted across every inch of the photograph. Arney didn’t just make sure the lighting for the model was correct, but he cared about the background as well, whether it was a complicated room full of furniture, or something seemingly as simple as a rumpled sheet. Arny would fuss endlessly over the precise placement of lights, taking endless Polaroids® until the lighting was to his critical satisfaction. [/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Such were the years of Playboy® at its heyday. As Arny got older, he didn’t shoot for the magazine as often and the difference was dramatic. Lighting was terribly inconsistent from one photographer to another. Some insisted on blowing out the highlights and the background. Others, especially once the magazine moved to using digital cameras, created images that were as flat as the paper on which they were printed. Shadows showed up in awkward places. Sunlight glared down on models with no filter or any form of diffusing. Editors and photographers alike seemed to rely more on Photoshop® to fix the errors rather shooting good pictures to begin with. With those attitudes, anything would quickly become passé.

When Hugh Hefner started the magazine, there was an inherent emphasis on quality because he wanted a men’s magazine that would stand out with class and not be like the low-class smut being produced at the time. He knew that was the only way to win over the large-scale acceptance of the men’s magazines necessary to make it profitable. There was no room in Hef’s magazine for bad lighting or poor photography. Even non-nude photographs, such as those accompanying the famous interview portion, were by photographers who knew how to light a portrait correctly.

Playboy® faces a tough battle ahead if it plans to go up against men’s giant such as GQ and Esquire with the bad lighting some of their photography has shown the past 20 years or so. There simply is no substitute, now or in the future, for a photograph that is lit properly from the very beginning. If an editor wants to capture readers attention, good lighting is an absolute necessity, even if readers don’t recognize it. Sometimes it’s the details that keep a magazine from being passé.[/one_half_last]

Art / Photography / pop culture / PotD

Anything But Passé

October 18, 2015

An Insufferable Desire (2008)

I believe that history has shape, order, and meaning; that exceptional men, as much as economic forces, produce change; and that passé abstractions like beauty, nobility, and greatness have a shifting but continuing validity.—Camille Paglia

Passé. Nudes are passé. At least, that’s the story according to Playboy® magazine’s recently-appointed chief content officer Cory Jones. The magazine announced that this past week that it is initiating a complete re-design and re-branding, beginning with the March 2016 issue. Jones said, as part of the announcement, “You’re now one click away from every sex act imaginable for free. And so it’s just passé at this juncture.” And with that, every male, and more than a few females, around the world sighed the deepest of sighs. There’s no arguing with the prevalence of nudity and porn on the Internet. And yes, it does make the current content of the magazine passé. Such wasn’t always the case, though, and that it is now is partly Playboy’s own fault.

Before I totally give in to ranting and raving, which I have a whole week to do, let’s be very clear about a few facts surrounding the magazine’s decision. First, what you see on the newsstands today is not Hugh Hefner’s magazine and hasn’t been for quite some time. Hef turned control of the magazine over to his daughter, Christie, in 1988 after he suffered a stroke in 1985. So, if you didn’t turn 18 until sometime after that date, you’ve not seen the magazine as it appeared under Hef’s control. Christie started making changes immediately and continued trying to keep the general content of the magazine moving forward until she stepped down in 2008, but even under her, the quality of the nudes suffered.

The magazine has been totally out of family control since earlier this year, and while Hef ostensibly has “approved” the change, his physical and mental condition has deteriorated to the point that one can legitimately question whether he really has a true concept of what’s taking place. The magazine’s website eliminated nudes over a year ago, which may be more understandable given the online competition, but then, the web version never has been anything more than a shadow of what the magazine was under Hef. One might even go back to Christie’s decision to move into video as the beginning of the decline.

Here’s the rub: poor quality nudes, such as what have appeared in the magazine for the past twenty years, have always been passé. Part of what made Playboy® the magazine it was under Hef’s control was the quality of its nudes. Not just anyone could shoot for the magazine and get their work published. Consider the list of photographers who once shot for the magazine. Arny Freytag, Pompeo Posar, Suze Randall, Mario Casilli, Herb Ritts, and most notably, Helmut Newton. The people who were behind the camera for the magazine during its heyday, who were responsible for its definitive look, were not hacks, but well-respected photographers with significant careers outside the magazine.

What happened? Expediency took the place of quality. Video was new and flashy and those early VHS tapes didn’t have to be good to sell well. Before long, the quality that had built the empire was completely gone. Never mind that attitudes about nudes and sexuality were changing, the photography by the mid-1990s came nowhere near the artistry that had existed before. Photoshop® and post-editing took over, lighting and creative posing and staging, which can be expensive, took a back seat. Models began looking more and more plastic.

So yes, the nudes that have appeared in Playboy® magazine the past 20 years are incredibly passé and changing that is a good thing. However, eliminating nudes completely is the easy way out. By going with a more glamour-oriented photography style, the magazine puts itself more in competition with titles such as GQ and Esquire. There, too, they will struggle if the quality of their photography doesn’t improve, and there’s no indication that it will.

Great nude photography will never be passé. However, mediocre magazines always will, and that’s exactly where Playboy® has landed, a fact that makes us all very sad.

Art / PotD / Social Commentary

Love, Everyone

October 3, 2015

Welcome Home (2013)

Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.—Buddha

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]What’s wrong with people? I look through the news this morning and all I see is hate. Republicans hate democrats. This religion hates that religion and both hate anyone who disagrees with them. White hates black, black hates white, and they both hate brown. If I were to do a quick, informal estimation, which is exactly what I’m doing right this moment, I would say that roughly 80% of what has been tossed at me this morning ultimately contains a hateful message. Where is the love? Where is the empathy? Where is any attempt at actually wanting to get along with other people.

Here’s the great paradox of the 21st century: we’re willing to spend billions of dollars (collectively) looking for love, trying to find love, improving ourselves so that we’re more lovable, but we don’t do a damn thing toward actually loving other people. We are as selfish about love as we are everything else in our lives. We want it all to come to us, knock on our door, overwhelm us with emotional goodies, and reaffirm our sense of how valuable we are to the world. We define love not as something we feel toward other people, but by the quantity of warm fuzzies other people give to us.

In other words: we don’t have a fucking clue. For all the talk about love, we fail to realize that love is an act of giving, not an act of receiving. Love is not something that happens to you, but something you distribute to others. Love is not doing something based on what you feel, but what you feel based on what you’ve done. Love is active, not passive. Love is not something to be found, but something we create, from the center of our being, so that we might give it to someone else. Love is not narrowly limited to a familial relationship, but an over-arching sense of inclusiveness and responsibility to the greater good of humanity.

Love holds no bias, nor fear, but includes everyone.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]So, we are, and have been for a while, at this point in the United States where we have had more mass shootings (where more than four people are shot), than there have been days in the year. We foolishly ask why this keeps happening. Some want bans on weapons. Some want tighter control on those with diagnosed mental disorders. Some want everything locked down and stored in a box where no one can get to it. None of those are solutions. We cannot solve with legislation what was not caused by government in the first place. There is only one reason we keep shooting ourselves: we’ve forgotten how to love.

It was a mere 45-50 years ago that we, my generation and those just older than us, were all about peace, and love, and happiness. We were sure that we could change the world with love, and ultimately we were correct, but we didn’t see it in the way we thought we would see it. We thought love would give us things, take away responsibility, make life more relaxed. What we failed to realize is that love creates responsibility and when we fail that responsibility, we fail love. Love doesn’t just chug along like a toy train circling the Christmas tree. Love requires maintenance, effort, and a completely selfless attitude.

Where is the American society failing? Don’t blame government, Republican orDemocrat. Don’t blame religions, present or absent. Don’t blame race or economics. Blame the total and complete absence of love. We’ve stopped loving, we’ve stopped teaching our children to love, and we’ve stopped letting love be the guide by which we live our lives. In a world where we’ve all but thrown love out the window, is it any wonder that society has gone to hell in a handbasket?

Love, everyone. You won’t learn how until you try.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD / Uncategorized

All Tied Up

October 2, 2015

Creatively bound (2012)

Women’s fashion is a subtle form of bondage. It’s men’s way of binding them. We put them in these tight, high-heeled shoes, we make them wear these tight clothes and we say they look sexy. But they’re actually tied up.—David Duchovny

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Some of you are going to have difficulty believing this, since you possibly have never seen one, but there was once a time when people only had one telephone per family and that one was connected to the wall. You couldn’t take it anywhere. It had a big dial that consumed its face and one had to dial as many as eleven numbers one at a time to call anyone. There was no 911. If you needed to talk with someone in the next town over, it was considered long distance and you had to talk to an operator for that to happen.

One of the worst sins during that period of American history was keeping the phone “tied up.” This was especially serious if you shared a phone line with your neighbors, something called a party line. There was no party. At least, ours wasn’t. Sure, you could pick up the phone and listen in on their conversation, but we had boring neighbors so there wasn’t any fun in that. Instead, they complained that we always kept the phone line tied up. Poppa had calls coming in at all hours of the night and if the phone rang at our house, it rang at our neighbors’ houses, too. They weren’t especially happy.

Poppa had competition for the phone once I became a teenager. Well, sort of. I liked the concept of calling and talking to my friends, but we were all geeky and stuff and once we exchanged whatever piece of information we needed, we’d just tie up the line not saying anything.

The worst was one evening when I called the girl I was sort of dating. We tied up the phone for the better part of three hours. The conversation consisted largely of, “What are you doing?” Followed by, “Oh, not much. What are you doing.” This went on for three fucking hours. I think half the town was annoyed with us by the time we hung up, because anyone who tried calling Poppa during that period couldn’t even leave voice mail. Instead, they just got this frustrating alternating tone called a busy signal. [/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Keeping the phone line tied up became serious in the 90s when we started getting modems and connecting to this thing called AOL online. They gave out free CDs at the stores and for $15 a month you could connect to their computer system and read the same news that was in the morning newspaper. We were cool. We were high-tech. We kept the phone line tied up for hours. I lived several hundred miles away from my parents by that time, but I also had their only grandchild. They tried calling often to see what he was up to, but the phone line would be tied up almost every time.

We don’t have any of those issues now, of course. Talk all you want. Text all you want. Tie up the phone all damn day if you wish. Pay a huge phone bill. I find it interesting that we consider a $50 a month phone bill inexpensive. Heads would have rolled had Poppa ever gotten a fifty dollar phone bill. I remember him once challenging a $36 bill. “No one could talk on the phone that much,” he told the customer service representative. She agreed and adjusted the bill.

Who knows what telephony will be by the time my children are my age. The technology is changing so rapidly that they likely will not have to use a device at all; voice communication will be built into clothes or, at the very least, wearable accessories. Tap an icon, order pizza. Tap a button, have a friend join you. There will be a button for calling your mother; you’ll avoid it. No one wants to tie up the shirt listening to their mother complaining about how she never gets to see the grandkids. Wearable phones means one could, theoretically, be tied up with their phone rather than on their phone. The future could be kinky.

I bet you looked at the title and picture and thought I was going a very different direction with this, didn’t you? Sorry, but I didn’t want to be that obvious. Being tied up has too many possible scenarios. I didn’t want to “tie up” your entire day.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD / Social Commentary

Shame, No Shame

October 1, 2015

All Wash(er)ed Up (2010)

In the face of patriarchy, it is a brave act indeed for both men and women to embrace, rather than shame or attempt to eradicate, the feminine.—Alanis Morissette

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]I grew up being taught that everyone had a responsibility to work hard. Both my parents worked long hours. I had my first paycheck at 14. Sitting around idly isn’t something I do well. I fail to understand this act of binge-watching television series because after about an hour everything in my body tells me I need to be up being productive. We were taught that it didn’t matter what you did, that all jobs contributed to the greater good and deserved people’s respect. Looking down on, or shaming someone, just because of their occupation was about as rude and ignorant a thing one could do.

So, as I’ve grown up and gotten a taste for how the world actually is, I am continually disappointed when this particular sin of shaming other people shows up, typically denigrating a friend for something they’ve done to feed themselves and/or their family, complete with name-calling and harassment. As this has happened within my circle of friends three times in the past five days, I’m calling bullshit on the shame patrol. There is no shame in working hard, no shame in getting one’s hands (and body) dirty, no shame in sweating hard, and certainly no shame in doing jobs you don’t especially like just to keep the lights on and food on the table.

One of the earliest impacts on my sense of work ethic was a WWII veteran named Warren Hartsocks. A short, stocky man who never lost his buzz cut, Hartsocks had dropped out of school to join the military. The US Army taught him to be a mechanic and that’s what he proceeded to do the rest of his life. If you came across Hartsocks during the day, he was likely wearing a well-stained wife-beater t-shirt and baggy grey pants, equally stained. He was missing most his teeth, eternally had an unlit stogie in the corner of his mouth, had a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush, and in the summer his body odor could get pretty strong. People called him a dirty, foul-mouthed mechanic and tried to avoid him, but he worked hard for every dime he made, was a gentle soul, and took the time to teach me how to fish. [/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]The list of occupations society often shames is too long, but here’s a list of the ones that I see most often:

Retail workers, because, you know, those clothes at the mall just jump on the rack by themselves.
Construction laborers; that house you live in just built itself.
Mechanics, like you can change a fucking tire by yourself.
Strippers, cam girls, etc., one of the truest forms of capitalism’s supply and demand.
Grocery baggers, who carry your chips and ice cream so you won’t snag a nail.
Janitors, because lord knows you’re too busy to empty the damn trash yourself.
Farm workers, laboring sunup to sundown because you just have to have strawberries in December.
Meat packers, constantly covered in blood.
Food service employees, because minimum wage would make them too rich.
Truck drivers, on the road too long to get you those damn strawberries.

I can only think of one occupation that deserves shame: Politicians. Our country’s founders envisioned elected office to be one of public service, not privilege or power, and certainly not one that led to wealth. The concept was that a person would give a period of time to serve the people from their elected districts, not pander to ridiculous ideologues and corporations with deep pockets. Politicians inherently serve only their own interests at the expense of the rest of us. They have taken us from being a democracy to an oligarchy. Public office was never designed to be a position of profit, but one of giving to one’s country.

Too many days I go to bed totally disappointed in the human race. We shame those who work the hardest and praise those who contribute to our demise. Perhaps the real shame is on us all.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD / Social Commentary

Being Awesome

September 9, 2015

charles i. letbetter - charles i. letbetter

Being Awesome

It is possible to become discouraged about the injustice we see everywhere. But God did not promise us that the world would be humane and just. He gives us the gift of life and allows us to choose the way we will use our limited time on earth. It is an awesome opportunity.—Cesar Chavez

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Awesome; some people have it in abundance, other’s couldn’t buy it if it were packaged and on the dollar store shelves. Awesome goes beyond the ability to do something different and extraordinary. Awesome is the ability to remain cool, graceful, compassionate, and approachable while setting an example worthy of being emulated. Those who are the most incredibly awesome can’t seem to help themselves; the awesomeness almost seems to come oozing from the pores in their skin. In contrast, others seem to botch everything they do and serve more as a life lesson in how not to do things; no matter how hard they try, something always goes wrong.

One of the first awesome people I ever met was the late pianist, Van Cliburn. I was only six years old when the rather reclusive, and to some, difficult, performer gave a brief exhibition somewhere close enough to us that my parents were able to take me. I had been taking piano lessons myself for a couple of years at that point, but was nowhere near the prodigy he had been. I was mesmerized watching his hands fly over the keyboard.

After he finished playing, everyone had gathered around for autographs and my mother was trying to guide me that direction, but this was also the first time I had seen a twelve-foot grand piano. I was as interested in the instrument as I was the person playing it and slipped away from my mother and sat my short little self on the piano bench. From my perspective, the piano was huge and scary.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”] I let my fingers lightly touch the keys, being very careful to not actually press one down; I was shy and attention was the last thing I wanted. But as I sat there, pretending to play scales and finger exercises, it was probably inevitable that a finger would slip. When it did, the sound coming from the piano seemed massive, though it was just a single tone. I pulled my hand back quickly and looked around for Mother, expecting to be in trouble.

Instead, the tall, lanky frame of the great pianist came over, sat next to me on the bench, and said, “Go ahead, play.” I was scared, so he took my small hands in his massive ones and placed them on the action. All I could manage to play was a simple scale. Van Cliburn, being awesome, was full of praise. “See, you did it,” he said quietly. “Don’t be afraid. You can do great things.” Awesome.

I’ve met plenty of other awesome people over the years, enough that the stories could go on for hours. The thing about truly awesome people is that one never expects them to be as awesome as they are; it just seems to happen. Yesterday, a friend took me by surprise and quietly invited a large number of people to like our Facebook page. As the numbers began to jump, it took me a moment to figure out who was responsible. Betty Blade Holly is one of those people who can’t hide the awesome.

I know there are others. Maybe you’re one of them. Don’t be afraid. Be awesome.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

A Little Solitude

August 29, 2015

Sitting Alone (2004)

When I did my self-portrait, I left all the pimples out because you always should. Pimples are a temporary condition and they don’t have anything to do with what you really look like. Always omit the blemishes—they’re not part of the good picture you want. ― Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Okay, I get it: not many people lie or appreciate the style we’ve posted this week. With the exception of Wednesday, which was admittedly different, you’ve stayed away. We’ve not had a week with such low hit counts. Too bad. Fortunately for you, this is the last I have in this style. Next week we go back to more traditional imagery.

That doesn’t mean I don’t stand behind the work, mind you. I do. I like the pieces we’ve shown this week. They’re different. They eliminate the details and force us to look at form and shape, making a distinction between highlights and shadows. We let them sit in solitude, away from all the other images, and they’re often neglected. I don’t even have any of them printed, which is my failing. I should. They deserve some attention.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Solitude is what today’s image represents as well. I remember how much the young woman loved this picture when we first showed it to her. She said it was an almost-too-perfect representation of who she is. She likes being alone, and because she chooses to not interact with as many people, other people leave her alone as well.

Solitude is not a bad thing. It gives one space to think, to work things out, to be yourself when no one else approves of who you are. So perhaps it’s fitting that we end the week with this image, sitting alone, taking some time to ourselves, contemplating our place in the art world, derided by most, enjoyed by a few. Solitude is short-lived, though. We have things to do, and we shall do them. Onward.[/one_half_last]

Art / PotD

Flip Phone

August 28, 2015

Communicate Everywhere (2005)

Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets ― Andy Warhol

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Here is the proof that 2005 was eons ago: that flip phone design was brand new. I’d chosen that particular phone primarily because it reminded me, a lot, of the communicators used in the original 1968 Star Trek series. Of course, they didn’t quite work like that. One still had to push buttons and wait for someone to pick up on the other end of the phone and half the time coverage sucked so you couldn’t hear what the other person was saying. Still, the look was cool, in my opinion, and there’s just enough geek in me for that to matter. I would happily flip my phone, communicator style, and use the voice function to place a call. The future had arrived.

Until I visited New York, where the images for this photo were taken. We were out shooting in Central Park on a horribly cold and windy day in February and, for some reason I don’t remember, pulled out my phone. The model giggled. I thought she was laughing at my geekiness. She then explained that, at the time, flip phones were a favorite of local pimps and drug dealers. While there were probably hundreds of thousands of people running around Manhattan with similar phones, the stereotype was prevalent enough that pulling one out while standing on a street corner was likely to get the unwanted attention of NYPD.

I was careful about where and how I used my phone after that conversation. Placing it in these photos, with the same model, was our inside joke. Nothing said pimp quite like a flip phone on a woman’s naked chest. We convinced ourselves that it was the duty of art to make fun of such social idiosyncracies and that even if we were the only ones who understood the meaning behind what we were doing that the message was still valid. One thinks such things in New York when the snow is falling. Realities of the world are somehow altered and art was as good a justification as any for being naked and playing with phones.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Ten years later, flip phones are making a comeback, largely in frustrated response to the increasingly large smartphones that everyone else seems to be carrying. My phone is so large that people often ask if it’s a tablet. While I like the benefits of my phone, such as being able to see it in the dark without having to squint or hold it at arm’s length, there are times when the shirt-pocket convenience of a flip phone would be nice, at least on a temporary basis. Of course, there would be no facebook on that phone, and trying to send text messages was an absolute pain in the backside. Still, carrying something that is the size of a thin brick isn’t exactly fun and games all the time, either.

The evolution of phones over the past fifteen years has been nothing short of amazing. They have completely transformed our lives and our expectations for communication. It really wasn’t that long ago that we were all tied to land lines. If someone wasn’t home or at their place of employment, they couldn’t be reached. Now, if someone doesn’t respond to their phone, either voice, text, or social media, in a matter of minutes, we are immediately concerned about their health and safety, or upset that they might be ignoring us. There is no escape. Phones have now made us available to everyone all the time. Even in bed.

With the exposure of the recent Ashley Madison hack, I have to wonder how often people used their phones, rather than a computer, to make that connection. Rather than being an object that identifies a pimp, the phone has become the pimp, selling out our information, our lives, our souls, and maybe even our bodies to the highest bidder. They track everything we do, report back to the NSA when we connect with certain people or go to certain places or use a certain vocabulary. Thinking along those terms, I look at today’s image and laugh even harder. Phone. Pimp. Damn straight. [/one_half_last]

Art / pop culture / PotD

Learning To Live

August 27, 2015

Coming Clean (2005)

People need to be made more aware of the need to work at learning how to live because life is so quick and sometimes it goes away too quickly. ― Andy Warhol

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Late March, 2005, I was preparing for my move to Indiana when a young woman approached me about taking some nude pictures. Her one requirement was that they all be framed and processed so as to keep her identity anonymous. She had recently graduated from a prominent university with her Juris Doctorate, would be sitting for the bar the next week, and had an internship at a prominent human rights organization. I couldn’t help asking, given the direction her life appeared to be going, why she would risk taking any nude pictures at all. Yes, they would be sufficiently anonymous, but should anyone ever see or find her copies of the photos it could be just as detrimental to her career. Her response was nothing I expected.

“How can I defend the rights of other people’s lives if I have no knowledge of how to live myself?”

I have long since forgotten the young lady’s name, so I’ve no idea where her path has taken her, but her statement has stuck with me. Her insight at such an early point in her life was astonishing. Too often, especially when the intent is good, we become so concerned about what other people are doing that we pay little or no attention to the fact that our own life is passing us by. We reach middle age, or later, realize that the flexibility of our youth is gone, and try to compensate with the time we have left, not knowing how much time that may be.

While millennials have been roundly criticized by their predecessors as being too slow to grow up and take responsibility for their lives, perhaps they have more sense than their elders did in their twenties. Young adults today are more likely to postpone marriage and families and long-term responsibilities for one primary reason: they want to experience life before doing so becomes an act of chasing old regrets.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]We have expanded the longevity of life to the point where it is now reasonable to expect a fair number of people to live past the century mark. 65 is no longer the old age marker that it was a mere thirty years ago. Yet, we have to ask ourselves what good it does to exist for longer periods of time if we continually put off learning how to actually live that life? What good does it do us to argue over when life begins or ends when we completely ignore the quality of the substance between those two points?

Time is not nearly on our side as much as we may think. Accidents have always been a risk as long as humans have existed, but an increasing risk is what we are doing to ourselves. Just yesterday, a 24-year-old reporter and a 26-year-old cameraman left television station WDBJ for what they thought was a routine interview, shot live for the station’s morning show. They had no way of knowing their lives would be taken from them on-air. Later yesterday, in Sunset, Louisiana, the lives of a mother and a police officer were unexpectedly cut short. The United States has now had more mass shootings this year (247) than there have been days in the year (238). That we are the only Western, allegedly civilized, country to have such a problem is damning.

I firmly believe that people who understand how to live life neither interfere with nor take the lives of others except as a legitimate act of self-defense. People who learn how to live do not threaten the lives of others. While there are no one-word or single-action solutions to any of the social problems we face, there is something to be said for removing oneself from the mayhem and focusing on living one’s own life. Don’t just learn to live a little; learn to live a lifetime. One never knows what day opens the last page. Embrace each moment. [/one_half_last]

Art

It is only after years of preparation that the young artist should touch color – not color used descriptively, that is, but as a means of personal expression.—Henri Matisse

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What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter – a soothing, calming influence on the mind, rather like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.—Henri Matisse

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I have always tried to hide my efforts and wished my works to have a light joyousness of springtime which never lets anyone suspect the labors it has cost me.—Henri Matisse

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There is nothing more difficult for a truly creative painter than to paint a rose, because before he can do so he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted.—Henri Matisse

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A fresh mind keeps the body fresh. Take in the ideas of the day, drain off those of yesterday. As to the morrow, time enough to consider it when it becomes today.—Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

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There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.—Will Rogers

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The falling leaves drift by my window. The falling leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses. The sunburned hands I used to hold.—Johnny Mercer

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Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.—Voltaire

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Once you get a spice in your home, you have it forever. Women never throw out spices. The Egyptians were buried with their spices. I know which one I’m taking with me when I go.—Erma Bombeck

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As a means of contrast with the sublime, the grotesque is, in our view, the richest source that nature can offer.—Victor Hugo

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My sorrow, when she’s here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.—Robert Frost

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Everybody always says that I’m the girl next door, which makes me think that y’all must have a lot of weird next-door neighbours.—Kelly Clarkson

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Sex is the driving force on the planet. We should embrace it, not see it as the enemy.—Hugh Hefner

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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.—William Wordsworth

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I believe that history has shape, order, and meaning; that exceptional men, as much as economic forces, produce change; and that passé abstractions like beauty, nobility, and greatness have a shifting but continuing validity.—Camille Paglia

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Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.—Buddha

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Women’s fashion is a subtle form of bondage. It’s men’s way of binding them. We put them in these tight, high-heeled shoes, we make them wear these tight clothes and we say they look sexy. But they’re actually tied up.—David Duchovny

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In the face of patriarchy, it is a brave act indeed for both men and women to embrace, rather than shame or attempt to eradicate, the feminine.—Alanis Morissette

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It is possible to become discouraged about the injustice we see everywhere. But God did not promise us that the world would be humane and just. He gives us the gift of life and allows us to choose the way we will use our limited time on earth. It is an awesome opportunity.—Cesar Chavez

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Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets ― Andy Warhol

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People need to be made more aware of the need to work at learning how to live because life is so quick and sometimes it goes away too quickly. ― Andy Warhol

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