Funny to read the last post. Since that outpouring of joy I've been dumped hard, been off on disability leave from my straight job and generally had a kinda hard time of it health-wise. Haven't done any shooting out of the house for nearly 3 months- last shoot was late September, I guess. I barely made it home from that, & wasn't much use to anyone for a week.
One of the cheerier shots from that night. It's starting to be obvious even to me how too many months of chronic pain was inflecting my work...
Doing significantly better now, but still moving a little slow. Trying not to pretend I'm all fixed up emotionally, . Past the constant crying part and now trying hard to enjoy the silver linings
There are some.
The cinnamon girl & I are still doing fine, and being off work and out of the other full-time relationship means we've got oodles more time to spend together. That's been exciting & sweet, and it may have birthed a new mode of artistic collaboration. More on that as it develops.
Art-wise I'm having a little bit of an epiphany. Haven't *yet* got the new sites up, but am inching closer. Sometime in the past few months of relative inactivity I think my conceptual self has caught up to the tech guy. My new projects aren't really quite of the ground yet, but already hey feel a lot more connected and a whole lot more challenging than anything I've done before... In preparation for the main project I've been reworking what used to be my bedroom into a 1940s doctor's office, soon to be complete with a medical table (in good shape, with stirrups, etc.) that we found on the way out to dinner one night. Seriously.
I was doing plaster casts with Puppycat in the upstairs bathroom. (Long story, butt they're eventually gonna be props for the same project. Boy do I look funny shaved!) Things got out of hand somewhere between the second casting and the vaseline application preparatory to the third casting
Puppycat did extraordinary and extraordinarily rude things. I howled. The cinnammon girl yelled up from downstairs to make sure we were OK. We assured her we were, but in the ensuing conversation discovered we were all about to collapse from hunger.
I cleaned up and we all went out to supper. Minutes from the restaurant, we encountered the doctor's table, out with the garbage by the side of the road. Mint condition. I''d been pricing them online for months- way too much moolah . I freaked. my lovers were impressed too, but it was nearly closing time for restaurants and we were hungry enough to eat our own tongues. We spent the entire meal on 3 separate cell phones, going through the phone book trying to find a mover who'd go 20 blocks with a single table at 11:30 pm.
No dice.
Dinner over, I sat dejected on the table one last time, going through the taxi companies for one with a van available who would take a 200lb table..
Not one.
My phone beeped. It was overflowing with text messages. Top of the stack was an old one from my recent ex. .
I thought about deleting it, and instead found my finger on the 'reply' button.
I dropped her a line. She responded. Text messages don't suit awkward small talk. I called.
She was home. At some point, I mentioned that I was sitting on a beautiful medical table that I had no way of transporting. She thought about it for a second, then told me her her charge for moving the table would be gas & rental plus two big Turk chocolate bars.
This is how I came to be running into that parking lot 27 minutes later (flustered by the lack of chocolate selection in all the neighborhood stores) to find my ex, Puppycat and the cinnamon girl all seated smugly in a big blue pickup truck. The motor was running. The table was loaded. They were laughing at me.
We got it as far as just inside the front porch. My ex didn't want to come in. The table remains downstairs, awaiting another burst of energy and some help. Any pair of people out there have a strong back, a kind heart and an interest in medical fetishism?
One of the cheerier shots from that night. It's starting to be obvious even to me how too many months of chronic pain was inflecting my work...
Doing significantly better now, but still moving a little slow. Trying not to pretend I'm all fixed up emotionally, . Past the constant crying part and now trying hard to enjoy the silver linings
There are some.
The cinnamon girl & I are still doing fine, and being off work and out of the other full-time relationship means we've got oodles more time to spend together. That's been exciting & sweet, and it may have birthed a new mode of artistic collaboration. More on that as it develops.
Art-wise I'm having a little bit of an epiphany. Haven't *yet* got the new sites up, but am inching closer. Sometime in the past few months of relative inactivity I think my conceptual self has caught up to the tech guy. My new projects aren't really quite of the ground yet, but already hey feel a lot more connected and a whole lot more challenging than anything I've done before... In preparation for the main project I've been reworking what used to be my bedroom into a 1940s doctor's office, soon to be complete with a medical table (in good shape, with stirrups, etc.) that we found on the way out to dinner one night. Seriously.
I was doing plaster casts with Puppycat in the upstairs bathroom. (Long story, butt they're eventually gonna be props for the same project. Boy do I look funny shaved!) Things got out of hand somewhere between the second casting and the vaseline application preparatory to the third casting
Puppycat did extraordinary and extraordinarily rude things. I howled. The cinnammon girl yelled up from downstairs to make sure we were OK. We assured her we were, but in the ensuing conversation discovered we were all about to collapse from hunger.
I cleaned up and we all went out to supper. Minutes from the restaurant, we encountered the doctor's table, out with the garbage by the side of the road. Mint condition. I''d been pricing them online for months- way too much moolah . I freaked. my lovers were impressed too, but it was nearly closing time for restaurants and we were hungry enough to eat our own tongues. We spent the entire meal on 3 separate cell phones, going through the phone book trying to find a mover who'd go 20 blocks with a single table at 11:30 pm.
No dice.
Dinner over, I sat dejected on the table one last time, going through the taxi companies for one with a van available who would take a 200lb table..
Not one.
My phone beeped. It was overflowing with text messages. Top of the stack was an old one from my recent ex. .
I thought about deleting it, and instead found my finger on the 'reply' button.
I dropped her a line. She responded. Text messages don't suit awkward small talk. I called.
She was home. At some point, I mentioned that I was sitting on a beautiful medical table that I had no way of transporting. She thought about it for a second, then told me her her charge for moving the table would be gas & rental plus two big Turk chocolate bars.
This is how I came to be running into that parking lot 27 minutes later (flustered by the lack of chocolate selection in all the neighborhood stores) to find my ex, Puppycat and the cinnamon girl all seated smugly in a big blue pickup truck. The motor was running. The table was loaded. They were laughing at me.
We got it as far as just inside the front porch. My ex didn't want to come in. The table remains downstairs, awaiting another burst of energy and some help. Any pair of people out there have a strong back, a kind heart and an interest in medical fetishism?
I dunno. It just seems like a big double-standard for someone to say "here, you can use my content!" by posting it on the internet with that license on it, and then say "no, you can't use it, I don't like you!" when informed that I'm using it. Especially since I didn't need to tell her at all; I was just being polite. Had I kept quiet, she probably never would've found it.
Glad to hear there will soon be more dirty smut in my inbox, though.
I owe you an e-mail or two. I never thanked you for the copies of the photos you took of me, so, thank you! If you ever want to work with me again, I'd be more than happy.
xoxo