Monday, May 6, 2019

From the Hand of Favor

Going through old pics is a mixture of fun and then something else. Time passes, that's a fact that photography insists upon. It is nice to get those little glimpses into what was, though. It was the trip that I was on from today's picture that caused me to really get into photography - France, circa 2008. What little cinematography I learned in school was long ago lost to excess. I don't remember what a t-stop is, etc.

I like the Terry Richards look of the picture above. Now, I know that he is not to be commended, because his sexual impulses are destroying people, but he did make his mark with a certain style of photography, one that I happen to like for candid shooting. I've done some nudes in this style, but they did not come out well, unless Terry Richards also shot crime scenes. I suppose some would argue that every picture he took is a form of evidence of same.

I don't really know that much about him, or the accusations against him, but I do remember the visual style and it is one that is fun to imitate.

Eventually women will get tired of accusation destroying the sexuality and sensuality of their shopping experiences. They will silently overwhelm those who have claimed them as their own. Advertisers are rightfully afraid, now. Well, the ones that aren't trying to capitalize on the times by standing with it. But you can't successfully suggest sex without implying a power disparity, because that is what creates the dynamic, though that is the world that is now demanded of us. What was is male privilege at its most loathsome, say some.

Can you believe women have to suffer the insults of fashion photography? It perpetuates objectification. Look at it.

The first major publication to reintroduce aspects of the lurid in their campaigns will be touted as bold and provocative. Or rather, the first one will be roundly denounced, then another one will pull it off. It will fly. That is how time passes; greater minds need lesser ones.

The online personality that I most resemble lately is Ann Coulter. I don't use her nouns. I try to occupy myself with different subjects than her, but we have the same basic outlook and use a lot of the same verbs: people are full of shit and should be mocked, claims of victimhood far outpace victimization, everybody's a fucking pussy, and individual personal freedom is more important than we have been telling ourselves.

But who wants to sound like an old crank, especially one that is indistinguishable from the harpy of the GOP? Who among you wishes that, for little old me?

That Rachel resembles her does not escape me. This has a preventative influence on some of my various sarcasms. I am trying to learn how not to be honest about every single thought that happens upon me.  That is where people begin to confuse the distinction between types and the thing itself. I know I have before.

So, anyway, Terry Richardson. I looked him up for the last month's worth of news and it seems the accusations have subsided, though so have the jobs. The once chic temptations, garish hints of unashamed sexuality and even that of - gasp - the brash suggestion of porn, have fallen from the hand of favor. Apparently there were some who felt that the expectation should not be that the rock-star fashion photographer should pursue the craziest pussy he possibly could, and would not then be rewarded for his satyrical behavior through satiation.

I have listened to their complaints, in a general sense, and have found them to be sensible when heard in great and suffering detail. It is the in the abstract where it all comes together and makes perfect sense.

Still, something about everything always  feels so wrong.