Thursday, July 1, 2021

Everything Spoils

I picked up a photo book I had left at my mother's years ago entitled "David Bailey: Birth of the Cool."  It was good seeing it again.  Bailey certainly changed the way fashion photography worked.  In the late 1950s and early 1960s, there was nobody hotter.  But as he said, "Remember, the '60s really ended in '65. When you had Sammy Davis come to London, you knew the '60s was over. It became a theme-park. It wasn't real. It was all about money and manufacturing, and selling the American flag and the Union Jack as pop art symbols. There was no substance, really."  

And for me, by and large, so was his innovative style.  In 1966, a movie for which he was the inspiration, "Blow Up," was released.  It was the movie that made me want to photograph.  The reasons will probably be obvious.  After that, however, Bailey's photographs became less innovative, more controlled.  He was the first to use 35mm cameras for fashion work.  He was a street photographer with models.  

But increasingly, his style became his prison, and his photography became dominated by extreme closeups on plain backgrounds.  Too much of it looked like this. 

And so it goes.  But when he was young and struggling, there was nothing like him.  But you can't really trust my opinion.  I believe I am enamored of a pre-Beatles world, that era encapsulated by "Mad Men."  You know. . . the era we are supposed to hate.  

It is pictured as an era of stark conformity, the birth of the 'burbs and their cookie cutter houses, of the Man in the Gray Flannel Suit.  But it was more complex.  Capote, so openly gay.  Kerouac, the birth of the Beats.  Warhol and the Factory.  8mm pornography.  Wait.  What?  Rewind.  How did that slip in?  

But every rebellious innovation gets commodified.  Every rebel gets coerced.  Today, I read, Ikea has released its new it new LGBTQ themed line of sofas.  It's a line.  There's a theme.  Just as Carnaby Street capitalized on the junkwear of hippies and Urban Outfitters on hipster attire. . . . 

Hunter S. Thompson nailed it, even as Doonesbury cartooned him and made him a brand.  

Nothing stays fresh forever.  Not even in the fridge.  

A last note.  Cosby is Free!  You see--you are not allowed to trick criminals into confessing.  But man, prison must have been good for him.  He went to trial a broken man, blind, barely able to walk, near death.  He emerged under his own power, fist pumping the air.  Free at last, free at last.  

Trump, I think, needs to embrace him if he wants to show his true belief in diversity.  


  1. You forgot the sad news -- Britney was denied removing her IUD. :(

    I'm writing early. I was so excited. It was surely Friday when I woke up at 5AM to prepare myself for the last day before a three day weekend.

    How did it happen? Thursday.

    It has been a very long and convoluted work week/month.

    I wish I loved my job like other people love theirs - or did love theirs. And of course, there are parts of it I enjoy. I'm learning a new language - and the patients sure do like me. But.

    I'd like to be free again - to sell expensive trinkets of the wealthy that are worth lots of money to new wealthy or wanna be wealthy people. Drive around to their houses and see their collections. Talk about art. Then drive to my lovers house and tell him all that I saw and touched. then have him defile me. Fuck. Wait. how did that get in there....

    Or own my own gallery. That's really it. That's what I want. I may have fibbed about that - having an aspiration other than fun. Wouldn't it be fun tho. Oh it would.


    My boss is pimping me out - imagine that - a woman of my advanced age.

    I should take it all as a compliment - and of course - the fractured female ego DOES take these strange things and put them somewhere to draw upon when feeling less than desirable.

    But it's an unbalanced - dare I say - not mentally stable place to work.

    It's fine. For now.

    I like this post your writ. It is funny and entertaining. I wish I didn't like the way your mind works so much. :/.

    Do you remember the early 80's? They were raucous. Christmas Party Copying our tits and asses on the huge machine that required a room all its own. Then stuffing the copies into the salesman's desks for a Monday find.

    Women weren't sales people - at the company I worked for but receptionists and secretaries. Typing pool workers. Oh, the sexual innuendos and office romances and openly offensive and totally fun banter.

    Happy Hours that lasted till dawn.

    All the while dressed in IBM approved attire.

    The men with their crisp white shirts perfectly measured to show just the right inches of white cuff out of their navy suit jacket. Lovely pocket squares. They had wives with babies and children at home - us Office Girls were pure Candy.

    Course I didn't dress like an IBM'er- even back then.

    It was a charged atmosphere - men and women working, flirting, drinking, sometimes Biblical activities (why do they call it that anyway?) I never did anything too bad with those married men. Except give them a little lift in their balls and steps.

    I did get promoted to an inside sales person.

    My mentor Eric helped me with that. Oh man was our relationship a sizzler. I did everything he asked me to do. He used to leave me notes "Wear a garter belt with stockings and when I come in in the morning and walk by your desk - spread your legs and lift your dress so I can see."

    He taught me how to sell.


    Should I watch that movie? Prolly I should. Maybe I will.

    Ever Phresh


  2. I prolly wrote about Eric already here. there. I'm old. Repeating myself. Heroine Days. :).

    Hope you and Ma are doin. by the by.

  3. Oh. Of course, I loved Don.

    But I wanted Roger to do me.


  4. Ok. I yoga stretched some of that Devil out of me. Smoked on the water pipe - ate a gummy. Before turning in I thought I would bring up - again - "The Virgin Suicides."

    Now. I have not read the book and probably will. However, I've seen the movie many, many times.

    They were such Girls. Those sisters. I still get welled up when they are playing songs to each other on the phone -- the Boys and Girls. And when Lux's ( <-- fab girl name would have loved to have had a Lux) punishment is her mother burning her albums -- c'mon. Who wouldn't have killed themselves. Trip. Fontaine left her on the Football field.

    I have never done any "research" on the movie. But I guess if you are a person of a certain type - that movie makes sense.

    What type that is -- well -- I've got a theory or two (Everyone! so then we can All discuss it and potentially learn something about each other and the world without maiming and killing each other).

    We can all have art in common. That has always been my belief. From the time of First grade when Mrs. Stein, the funky cool elementary art teacher came to class. But we can't afford art anymore in school - and it is very dangerous, also.

    And I thought I might have the energy for film discussion but if I am to read or watch something on the screen, I must away.

    Hey! Thanks for the space. I was feeling chatty today hope you know you should never feel obligated to read everything. I now know that is true because you didn't even read what was on the single fork I sent you.

    Take drugs & sleep well.

    for realz now.