I think I should be a photographer. I used to be, I believe, and I, like everyone else, have new tools and have learned new post-production skills. But this. . . it looks a thousand times more decadent than any nakedness I've ever photographed. This thing is absolutely terrifying. It scares me. What horrible power a photograph can have.
"You are getting sleepy. . . ."
I went through old files again last night, choosing previously ignored images and cooking them up for viewing. I can only do a couple a night, and I wonder how, when I was working at the factory, I was able to shoot in the evenings two or three times a week and still get pictures processed for the models to see. I would play music and go to work, staying up far too late. I must have been sleep deprived, but I don't remember being so. And. . . I posted on the blog every morning, too.
Oh. . . and I never missed a trip to the Physical Fitness Club.
Where's my trophy?
I haven't had a studio since January 2016.
* * *
I had to put the break in there lest I become maudlin and begin to whine about the perceived injustices I think I've suffered. There is never any good use in that. So. . . .
The maids had the kitchen sparkling. Within hours, I had it looking in need of cleaning once again. And I didn't even cook. I heated up some seafood stew for lunch and got the tomato base everywhere. I made a huge salad for dinner and got beet juice and avocado smeared here and there as well. I don't know. . . I'm just a sloppy pig. I need to build an outdoor kitchen.
The highlight of my day was going to the cable company to cancel my t.v. package. I sat for over half an hour waiting on a rep before being told they couldn't do that in the store. I have to do it over the phone. The fellow was nice and gave me the number and all the information I will need to do this. I'll be saving $200/month which seems like a lot until you put it into real purchasing value--one night in a not so fancy hotel. Am I really trading cable for a night in a hotel.
Not that I am going anywhere. I thought I might drive over to the coast today, but now that I'm up. . . I don't think so. Funny. I was so excited by the idea last night. I'm not excited by anything this morning.
Except that picture.
* * *
I can't seem to get away from it. That studio was a magical place. Red wrote last night to tell me so.
It was a place of great illusion. That's it! I was an illusionist, not a photographer. Nothing is ever what it seems. There is more that is unknown than is known. A picture is just a mist before your eyes. You think you know what you are looking at, but you never do. It is merely a simple suggestion that you willingly accept.
"Look into my eyes. You are getting sleepy. . . ."
Yes, yes. . . I'm sure I'm an unsuspecting Mentalist.
"On the count of three. . . ."
Thus the evenings passed, and everyone was happy.