Emotional nudity. Vulgar nudity. Artifice. Release. Sadism or say, masochism, or say, endorphins. Modifications and the affects of well-living. Fleshy faces and all other parts. The hidden bits. The stuff behind the stuff you say. Scars. Tango. Bad hair, big teeth, open palms. Thumbsuckers. Trailer parks and high rises. Elevation and deflation. Assurance and wonder. Mystery from nature, not attempt.
I'd like to meet:
Everyone full. Anyone willing to get in front of the camera. Other photographers, artists, or lovers of visual things or lovers of women or lovers of men. Especially lovers of all those things. People who read the forgotten sections of the newspaper. Under-explainers and those who talk too much when they're nervous. Anyone who still gets nervous. Good energy exchangers. The gal that names the paint colors, the guy that names the lipstick. People who don't mind giving us a key to their house in exchange for surprises left behind.
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Movies:
the fuzzy ones, the blurry ones, the isabelle hupert ones, the desaturated ones, the high definition ones, the ones we watch in your bedroom when you're there, the ones we watch when you're away, the one your mother filmed of you when you were ten, the one your lover filmed of you last week. the movie theatre over the movie any day.
Books:
interviews, transcripts, (anti-)intellectual poetry, Joan Didion, Jack Gilbert, children's stories with unrevised endings, adult's stories with children's myths, J.D. Salinger, how-to's and guidebooks, supplementals and footnotes, art theory that doesn't smother itself in the flame, Priscilla Becker, letters to the editor and your most used love letter. Annie Dillard.
