Bodies Or Not
Tuesday, an amazing long Tuesday in what appears to be the beginning of an amazingly long week. Nice day outside, though, plenty of sun, not too hot, this being Oakland, but the atmosphere in the office had the feel of an empty place. Some talk of other companies rumored to be hiring, knots of former employees at these companies encouraging one or another to jump ship. I realize, less rooted as I am in family and mortgage, what it's going to take to get me to bail (someone would have to ask), but I'm surprised when I hear others with spouses and mortgages and car payments seriously considering an escape. Escape to what? Well, to freedom, bubba! To the snappy cold slap of starting over! At another morgue, in another city, at the end of another rainbow in, say, Montana. Well, Montana. Maybe not Montana. But Illinois, the Carolinas and even (dear god) L.A.
Wednesday. Another day like Tuesday, but the energy was good and the attitude, for whatever reason (I have no idea anymore) was excellent. I dropped off twenty rolls of black and white negatives at the camera shop to have contact sheets made, film I'd taken in the seventies and found in an old binder, everything from a friend's wedding to a press party at a San Francisco striptease club. Most of them worthless, I discover, but I wanted to see.
Picking them up I ran into a young photographer I'd met when she worked at the camera shop who was picking up contact sheets of her own, color shots of a couple working out for a spread in an x-rated magazine. I'm thinking, as I'm going through them, good grief! Get closer girl! Fill those frames with faces! Which is not the idea when you're shooting consensual sex for whatever men's magazine, but it's a pretty good indicator you've found your own bent (faces - faces - faces) when the first thought is to crop out all the interesting body parts to catch the passion in their nostrils. Well, well. Good to see she's still shooting, though, naked bodies or not.