Author of Breasts Don't Lie

Posts tagged ‘Scheimpflug’

Nude Ice Dancing and Artistic Revelation

Skaters' Legs

It was another one of those days. I thought, “Don’t look below the neck.” So I kept my eyes raised. Then, as happened at the last photography shoot, my silly attempts at professionalism didn’t matter.

On this second shoot for “69 Scheimpflug Street” we had sinfully beautiful models. Models with bodies marked by the events of their lives. There was some initial embarrassment on my part, some hesitancy on theirs. After their shucking of clothes, everyone got down to the work. The images were strong and vibrant. The models did good.

At one point in the afternoon, we thought we had all the images needed. I looked at Andrew, the artist behind the camera. He said, “Let them go.” I stepped back to look at the totality of the couple. The camera kept clicking. Then the magic happened. The work became seriously luscious and sumptuously difficult eroticism. In these moments when playfulness showed up, the images became the fantasy we were hoping for. They captured a quality that can’t be planned. We were brilliant.

Looking over the images, I had to stop myself from crying – the models revealed themselves. Then we, the planners, got playful.

“It looks like they’re ice skating,” Andrew said.

“Yeah. I think he’s about to throw her in a triple Salchow,” I said.

“We photographed nude ice dancing,” he said.

“On a sofa,” I said with a snort.

We giggled. We Photoshopped ice skating boots onto the male model. We belly-laughed so much we came close to falling off our chairs.

I keep wondering how often do we get in our own way – out of a sense of professionalism, hesitancy, or embarrassment? Do we edit out the playfulness in our lives? Do we over-plan the fantasy out of our lives?

So I didn’t plan this weekend. Lots of things happened – some good, some trying. But the weekend felt organic. I had space to move and breathe. People called up with ideas. I called with ideas. I forgot my phone at times. Events, gatherings fell into place. Responsibilities got met. The weekend was lovely and relaxing. And full but not crazy full.

This Monday morning, I feel ready, peaceful, and a little luscious. This is not to say that we don’t need some planning.

More we need a sticky-note, “Allow for a little spontaneity. Make space for the unexpected. Give yourself enough time to look and live below the neck.”

Marketing Scheimpflug’s Lust

Whitneyblog

The first part of our first photo shoot along with my first set of stories is finished. That’s a lot of firsts. AG shot images that are beautiful and disturbing. My stories are lush and arousing – I hope. Exactly what we were going for. We are excited. But now we need to market them, stir some excitement, get some buzz going, ____ (add the appropriate phrase here).

So I gathered notes about the usual forms of getting the word OUT THERE – and immediately thought, What’s up with the multiple layers of social media marketing brouhaha? I mean – Google +, LinkedIn, Twitter, FaceBook, and Tumblr.

Does anyone really understand what Google+ accomplishes that is different from anything else out there? Most writers are clueless about how to promote themselves and their work using this site.

“It seems like a cross between FaceBook and LinkedIn,” I said.

AG said, “So you’re on Google+?”

I said, “Yep, not sure what it does but hey, seems easy enough to use … “

So things, images, blog posts, and other doodads will go up there.

LinkedIn doesn’t seem like a good place to examine lust even using the Scheimpflug Principle – our project’s nudity and passion would be fighting other users’ glossy business pictures.

AG said, “So you’re not using LinkedIn?”

I said, “Nah, I’ve been thrown out of two discussion groups already. Seems like a wash for my type of writing.”

(Yes, I have been politely asked to stop responding to discussion groups run by a moron from Australia. She proposes women do not like sex. Maybe women don’t like sex in Australia but the women I know in the US like sex. I digress with crankiness.)

FaceBook is a possibility. I have personal and book pages – is that the correct word?

“We should make a new FB page,” said AG.

“Yep but both of us should have the password so both of us can post,” I said.

“Can you do that on FB?” AG asked.

So another task to add to my burgeoning To-Do list along with checking on FB’s guidelines for nudity, lust, and general issues with sexuality.

Then there is Twitter. I need a remedial course in Twitter. I have an account and followers who I am sure are breathlessly waiting for me to do something, post something, hashtag something. Good bloody grief. WTF?

“Can you tweet?” I asked.

Silence and perplexed looks followed from AG as he looked around for birds. I asked a tech savvy friend. He sent a one-page email. I printed it out, looked at it, and then took myself to lunch, with wine. Couldn’t make any sense out of it.

So tweeting is out.

Tumblr followed. Okay, back to Wiki How. Seems easy enough. Confusingly, I have an account already. Well okay then. What’s my Tumblr name? I don’t remember and can’t find where it’s recorded. What’s my password? Who knows. Two days later, both were residing in my little black book of IDs and passwords. Does anyone else keep a book of passwords? I lose the book and I am so screwed. (In the good old days, little black books were so much more fun.)

I said, “I think we should do a Tumblr page, post, whatever.”

“Sure,” said AG. “How do we do that?”

“I am not sure but I’ll dig into it. Only thing I am sure of is we need to have a whole lot of stuff to go on it. Like two weeks worth of daily doodads before we sign up. Do we have two weeks worth?”

“I’ll start cropping photos,” AG said.

So we are in the social media-marketing conundrum. This is a full time job. Who does this?

I have hired three marketing people who have disappeared. I figure I get two weeks of work out of them, pay them and they flake off. It is disheartening. Expensive.

What happens if we develop a beautiful exhibit around lust with stories in words and pictures and no one comes? Because they don’t know about it —

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