This year, for the first time since 2010, I entered some literary work in the Seattle Erotic Art Festival and recently found out that two erotic poems and one erotic short story made the cut and will be presented at this year's festival [list here]. The poems are Losing Her Composure and Re: Nude Bohemian. The short story is Corner Window Table. By the way, I'd entered five items back in February, the max allowed. Think I made some good choices with this submission? ;-)
What makes this so exciting for me is that I will be in the Seattle area then and so I can attend the festival! I'm not sure, but I think I may also get a chance to read some of my work as part of the festival. I mentioned that I have plenty of experience reading my erotic work, namely at The Erotic Literary Salon in Philadelphia. I'm busy picking out an outfit - I think I have the perfect one - and it will include the necklace above. There's a story behind it.
And if that were not great enough, my friend Randy Lagana, an artist and photographer whose work has been featured on this blog many times, has some visual work in the festival. It will be a thrill to see his work there.
I leave for Seattle in just over a week. While I'm out there I'll be meeting with some of the folks that I met through this blog. It's been a life-changer in so many ways. I'll also be spending time with family, and that's the main reason I'm going. SEAF is just a bonus.
Lots going on and lots to do between now and then, but I need to start posting here more often.
I was fired for "insubordination" from the very first real job I held. Though I wasn't told that at the time. I'd worked there for two and a half years, starting part-time while still in college and going full-time when I graduated. It was just a file clerk/errand-runner job in a huge law firm. As far as I knew, I was well-liked and applied myself to the job with the 'no matter what you do, do it well' philosophy that I've always believed. I don't do things half-assed. Yeah, I fall down a lot, but I get back up. Sometimes I dust myself off, sometimes I don't. A little dirt never hurts.
It was the end of a Monday afternoon, everyone leaving for the day, when the office manager called me in, and proceeded to tell me "we have to let you go," and that I was really over-qualified for the job, and I should have no problem finding a job in my field. Yeah right. I'd just graduated six months before with a degree in Geology and I'd kept working the file clerk job hoping to save up enough money so I could hit the road in my old VW camper van looking for a job since I was lucky enough to finish up with school just as all the likely jobs dried up. It was the times. I'd had to move and get rid of my VW in those six months, I had rent and other bills to pay. Needless to say, I was stunned into silence.
The real reason I was fired is probably a couple of reasons. They were probably paying me too much for the job, but they'd just given me a large raise two months before (in a fit of -we're expanding and doing so awesome that we want to reward everyone even though we really can't afford to-ness). And, I'd been working there long enough to feel comfortable with everyone, and since I don't have a single shred of reverence for hierarchy, I worked with a familiarity with everyone that, until a couple weeks before, had never been questioned.
One of my jobs had always been to take sandwich orders from the lawyers working on their lunch hour. I'd go office to office and ask. Never a problem with that. For two and a half years. But at some point, after the office expansion and remodel and new names added to the masthead (then up to six - I can still rattle the list off like it was yesterday - but I'm not typing it here), one of the newly promoted (though not to the masthead and maybe that's why) lawyers decided he didn't like being approached in his new corner office by a lowly file clerk, and it was decided I should go through the secretaries. But because I wasn't invited to the office meetings where new office procedures (aka RULES) were announced, and nobody told me afterwards, one day I went in and asked him for his sandwich order. Silly me. He didn't get angry or anything. Just told me that I needed to go through his secretary from now on. Huh? It made NO FUCKING SENSE to me. But I complied. Still, I was soon out of a job.
When I went for unemployment was the first I heard of the "insubordination" charge. I told my side. The unemployment folks believed me but told me the law firm might fight it. They didn't. I think they knew. I learned a valuable lesson then. Though some folks might say I didn't learn anything, LOL.
I remain insubordinate. Hierarchy be damned. Gets me in trouble time and time again. People love their hierarchies, their chain-of-command, their power. I hate them. And have been known to disregard them time and time again. And while I'm in the middle of it, I can be a basket case of self-doubt. What are you doing Robin? You'll get yourself fired. You'll get your husband fired. Your family will hate you. Your friends will desert you. But looking back on all those times, I don't regret a single one. I'm glad I stood my ground. It may not have worked out. And yeah, I've thrashed a bit in my disappointment.
This is a bit of thrashing. It's hard for me to stand my ground when people I care about see things differently. I am a child of alcoholics, always wanting to keep peace, sometimes at any cost. The cost has been too high at times. And now I am old enough to realize that it's time to live my life as I see fit, as I want to. The signs are everywhere, popping up in front of me and to each side. Signs are what we make of them. I am seeing. I am listening.
I started reading Cheryl Strayed's Wild, about her trek along the Pacific Crest Trail, after picking it up at a reading of hers. You know how sometimes the perfect book to read shows up at just the perfect time? After the reading I had her sign my "Write Like A Motherfucker" mug. Yeah, signs.
I'm sure I will piss many people off. Make just about everyone uncomfortable. I also know that I'll backslide. A lot. But I will pick myself up and go on with skinned elbows and knees. And I will love big and aim true.
And damn! I wanted to add a photo at the beginning of this post, one of Randy Lagana's and can't. Not sure what is up with that. I've used it before on this blog. Oh well. I'll figure it out another time.
When I first started this blog, way back in mid-December 2008, it was because I figured I needed some sort of place to hang my virtual-hat as I ventured into the world of erotica. I'd started entering Alison Tyler's short short story contests, and other folks seemed to have a home base, so I would too!
At first I was pretty sure I was just talking to myself. And I was okay with that. I didn't get any comments that December. But I was venturing out and commenting on other blogs and thought "well, at some point someone will follow me home." That sounds kinda creepy, doesn't it? LOL.
I did my first post of 2009 on Jan. 5. That day I'd sent off my first erotica submission, a story I'd written many years before. But I got 2 comments from other erotica author/bloggers. The very first one was from Jeremy Edwards. That's cool, because I couldn't remember who had first commented on my blog (I went looking as I started this post), and now Jeremy is someone who, with his lovely wife Helia Brookes, are real world friends. As are many of the friends I've made through the virtual world of erotica blogs.
The other comment was from EllaRegina, whose entry in that first contest, spurred my entrance. I did get to meet her IRL, but she's been scarce these days. I hope she is well.
That year, 2009, was my most prolific year blogging, with 233 posts. I was drawn out of my shell, and that was the year I befriended artist Randy Lagana, whose work I was familiar with from a project that had been abandoned about four or five years before. I wanted to use some of his photography, etc. to illustrate my blog. I've never been one much for grabbing things off the web. I take/took a lot of my own photographs and if I used somebody else's work, I asked first. For the most part. That's just how I am.
I did an interview series with Randy, in three parts: 1, 2, 3. I should probably go back and read them. It's been awhile since I have. I had coffee with Randy this morning. We're now working together on the revival of that long-ago abandoned project, a poetry and photography journal: Stark. Randy has been taking nude photos of the poets that are included in the collection, some of them from the original selection of poets, some new. I'm one of the original ones, and I've not had my photo shoot yet. Soon.
He met me when I was new at all this, and full of enthusiasm and tentativeness. Now, not many people read this blog. I don't post often, and I'm sure those two things are interrelated. This post is an attempt to correct that. I started off blogging despite having no readers. In a way that gave me the freedom to write whatever I felt like.
I have been unable to write anything for days. I sit at the keyboard and stare. These words are an attempt to break free of whatever is keeping me from giving voice to my thoughts and feelings and opinions and fantasies and desires ... and fears. Right now the fear seems to have the upper hand. I'm filled with anxiety every time I sit down to write. I mean actual, physical anxiety. And I'm hating this.
Ever since I got back from Momentum, I've been wanting to write so many things, but I haven't been able to. And just now, looking for that link, I discovered that my blog post about Mcon is featured on their blog round up here - and wow, they say "beautifully raw account"- and I'm sitting here kinda stunned. I've been struggling. There's a direction I want to take my writing, but all the negative messages I've received over the course of my life have frightened me into paralysis. And nothing anybody can say to me can get me moving again. Only I can do that.
And I know how. But I'm so goddamn fucking scared. It's gonna require me to be strong and sure of myself - two things I don't feel I am. It's going to require me to speak honestly - not that I haven't been, but I am quite guilty of the sin of omission. There are truths that I hold back, because "nobody wants to hear them."
Last night, at least I think it was last night, I clicked on a link that Violet Blue had twittered, and watched the video of the trans girl being beaten in a McDonald's in Baltimore. It's pretty upsetting to watch (I'm not linking - find it yourself). And watching it, the question is posed in one's mind (hopefully), "what would I do?" - and I knew, in my gut, without a doubt, that I would have gotten involved. In fact, I worry I would have gone a little berserker. And see? This is the kind of writing that scares me. It's almost too honest.
I've spent most of my lifetime hiding my "true" self (whatever the hell that is), and I worry I've hid it so long that I'm not sure even I could recognize the real me. When I got back from Momentum, I was all "fired-up" and thought I knew what I was going to do. But due to circumstances, I stifled myself (and I just remembered Archie Bunker telling Edith to "stifle"). I sorta understand why I did. And I don't like it.
Today I clicked on a link that Susie Bright posted on Facebook, about Jane Mecom, Ben Franklin's sister. In those days, a girl was lucky if she was taught to read. Jane never really learned to write. She had 12 children, 11 of whom she buried. This was another piece that hit me somewhere deep in my gut.
So, yeah, I'm stuck. When I finish writing this, I'm going to check a few things, shut down my computer and get into bed and read. And hope that tomorrow when I get up, I can at least start looking for the key to getting unstuck.
Sometimes change comes slowly. Continents shift. Glaciers grind. Sometimes change comes with a jerk. Faults jump. Rock or mud or snow tumbles. When all is said and done, the landscape is different. But it is still the landscape.
I am going to tell you how this past weekend went, but first...
I have a little exercise for you, if you care to partake. Click on the video below (way below) of guitarist Erik Mongrain playing his song "Fates" from the album of the same name (a most wonderful album - I remember waiting for it to be released a couple of years ago so I could get it - you can listen to more of his work at his website). Then click on the picture above and just look at it while listening to the song. Write something if you feel so moved. Then come back here. Or don't bother and just keep reading.
When I look at this painting, I see the rocks, the butterfly (chaos!), the strings, the mango and the hickory nut (at least that's what the green thing looks like to me). I see balance. But it's precarious. I see earth, sky, life. I see connection. This piece of Randy's is a new one to me. I'd asked him for his "most surreal" piece to illustrate a blog post that is - as I'm writing this - unwritten. I know what I want to write about, but I have no plan. Well, I had a plan last night when I was trying very unsuccessfully to write it. Hours spent with just bits and pieces spewed. So this morning I decided to try something different. I put this picture up and listened to Erik's CD and started writing. I chose the song "Fates" to link to below because that was what was playing when I got to that point in my writing. Weird.
Last Friday night, author Stephen Elliott came here to this part of the world to read from his latest book. It did not go at all as I would have liked it to go. Yes, I was the one thinking it was a disaster. I don't like conflict. I hate it in fact. Sends me back to a place that is not a good one to even visit. I used to live there. I don't anymore. At least not much. My husband mentioned that it seemed as if I just melted away while all the ruckus was going on. Melted might not be the right word. More like what happens when you put a styrofoam peanut in a microwave. It shrinks and shrivels.
Earlier in the day, I'd gone through The Journey in New York City. It is an art installation of seven shipping containers, interiors each designed by a different artist, exploring the journey of one young woman trafficked into the sex industry. My reasons for wanting to experience this work are many-fold. As erotica writers we want to portray sex in a positive way - because that is the way we believe that it should be. But in this world, it is not always so. I personally don't know what the kind of life shown in these containers is like, but I kept remembering a friend I'd visited once. She had been a prostitute. It had not been a glamorous life. She drove me around her town and showed me the places she'd known - a tour guide of sorts. It was one of the more surreal nights of my life. Here's a stanza from a poem I wrote about that experience - wrote it years ago - and still it's unpublished despite sending it out over and over again. It's a good poem - one with truth in it. At least I think it is. But sometimes I don't know how good a judge I am of my own work. I'm still learning about writing.
Tonight you do the reverse division.
Figure the numbers;
nights on the streets times number of tricks.
Slam head-on into the immensity of it all.
I'd read about The Journey - this work of art, quite awhile back, but just recently saw it mentioned on Violet Blue's blog here, and knew I had to go. I am so grateful she posted that it would be in NYC or I might have missed it. The installation is not at all pleasant. But I let myself experience each "passage." The second container, dark and noisy - you just close your eyes and listen - was the one that got to me. It was not easy. In fact it was damn hard. I was not alone, but I forced myself to not hang on to my companion. I let myself go to places I've not gone in awhile.
Some of us are damaged children. We hide the scars. Or wear them for all the world to see. Or something in between. We doubt ourselves. Refuse to believe others when they try to tell us there is something good about us. Some of us write. I started writing when I was young. But I stopped. I listened to the loud voices telling me that writing was not something worthwhile, and not to the ones whispering this is good. It took me many years to get back to my "river." Stephen Elliott, in Why I Write, speaks of this river. I knew exactly what he was talking about when I read that.
Between each container, you pass into a between place, through those large black hanging strips that you see on loading docks. A place to catch your breath. You stand on the pavement, back in the city momentarily. Then you push your way through into another space. Maybe one made to be a room, dirty with smells that make you want to retch, but you don't. Or maybe a gallery of surreal snapshots, the photographer himself standing in for the prostitute, following their instructions. Stand like this. Turn this way. One of the shipping containers is a black hole. At least that's what it seemed like to me. Walking towards a oval shape of such light-eating nature, I had to put my hand out for fear of bumping my head. But there was no "there" there, and I stood completely surrounded by nothingness. That was the experience for me. At the end of the last container, when you're almost done, there is a narrative piece about how this young woman is doing. I can't remember the words, but I can remember starting to feel panicky, because for the first time I was touching the hem of my own trauma again. I'd done the long work to move past it years ago. But it never completely leaves. Lately I've been in a place where those days seemed a washed out memory. Did I go through that? What exactly is it that I remember?
When we emerged back into the busy midday streets, I was shaky. We wandered over to Washington Square Park where I talked and my friend listened and I hoped it wouldn't start raining. It was the first of many times over the weekend that I would cry in public. We walked through the streets on our way to Grand Central Station where we were to meet Stephen. I'd met him before, I knew what he looked like. There were too many people there and I couldn't focus on faces. We talked on our cell phones and found each other. Finally we were on the train.
We got to my house and ate tacos my husband had cooked. They tasted wonderful. I was worried. It was raining and that maybe would keep people away. It did. Friends did show up. There was a part of me that was surprised at that. The bookstore lady - who had snarled into my life a couple of days before - came back to snarl some more. I didn't want to be bitten, so I retreated like a beaten bitch with her tail between her legs. Maybe I would have done something different if I'd been somewhere other than in my scared little girl place. But maybe not. And what's done is done. Something shifted and now the landscape is changed.
The next morning, I drove through rain and fog, while Stephen sat in my back seat, typing on his computer. At one point I mentioned that I'd hardly spoken with him the whole time. He said he'd noticed that. My friend was in the front seat. We talked. He talked to Stephen. We all sat quiet. I dropped Stephen off at his next stop, a cute little town full of places for weekending New Yorkers. It was hard for me to say goodbye to him. I felt like I'd missed something. Something crucial.
And so here I am, trying to express feelings that can't really be put into words.
I think of a quote from Andre Breton - "All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name."
I think of when I was thirteen and wanted to be a writer. There was a lanky, stringy-haired boy, he looked like a young Neil Young, and he wrote haiku about the end of the world while I wrote about sun shining through trees. I liked him. He liked me. I was attracted to him. I was scared of him. One day he put his arm around my shoulders and I jumped. He never tried again.
I gave up writing. But it never gave up on me. Now I'm back, but have no idea where I'm going.
Like Stephen, I write to communicate, but I need to be able to communicate my truth, and I've been afraid to, because fear kept me safe. If I no longer fear... If I look at the truth...
It hurts to see the truth. To look past my ugliness and see something good.
And then to let other people see us as we really are.
It's usually not a pretty sight. But maybe the most beautiful of sights.
I've not been able to concentrate well this week, though I'm writing a lot. So blog posts have not been top of the list. But you know me. Can't let more than a few days pass without writing something here. So, I thought I'd post one of Randy Lagana's photos and just free write from it. I love this photo. A lot. Hey! How about you join in and free write something in the comments! Come on, don't be scared.
When I first started this blog, I put up the "Content Warning" page. I soon dropped that though. My reasons are myriad. I don't consider my "content" to be all that outrageous. And I honestly believe that people should be responsible for themselves when it comes to looking for imformation. Also, I wanted people to find my blog. At the time the warning page was known to stop the spiders. Supposedly that's been fixed. Those warning pages are like the entry pages to some websites - just a waste of time (especially the ones that make you wait through a seemingly endless animation). I use the internet to find information. And yeah, I'm an adult. And a parent. Speaking as a parent, if you don't want your kids "accidentally" finding something, it's your responsibility to police them. And yeah, kids are sneaky. But if they are, you have to ask yourself why. That's a whole other subject. *puts down on list to tackle*
But still. I have no control over what some person somewhere is doing. When you do a google search - or any other search for that matter - you get a little snip of what the results are. You can filter your searches too if you know you don't want to find "untoward" things. Needless to say, I don't filter my searches at all. But I did a little test. I clicked the safe search button and then typed in "erobintica." Usually (without filters) - my blog is the first result (duh, I'm the only erobintica out there) - but with the safe search, it was not. My amazon profile was. But my blog did not show up - a lot of other folks blogs did with links to mine. It's all so silly. *goes to undo safe search so I don't piss myself off*
It is up to you whether you click on something or not. And it's up to you what you search for. Nobody lands on my blog searching for "apple pie recipes" - at least not yet. ;-) Though now that I've typed in "apple pie recipes," maybe they will. *Waves*
I find it amusing to see what searches have brought folks to my blog. Personally, I think most of them are probably disappointed, since it's obvious from what they typed in that they were looking for porn. My Blow Hard Tour post still is landed on a lot. All those folks looking for dick sucking. Most recently someone typed in "euphemisms for sucking dick" and guess what? A portion of my post was a list of such words. So, they found what they were looking for. I think that's a good thing.
Personally, I don't like the warning page. I go through it when I'm going to a blog that I know is worth looking at. But ya know - they're scary. OMG, what horrible things lie beyond this curtain?
I don't know what is up - but it seems that now Alison Tyler (who's had her blog for how many years?), is behind the curtain. Here's her "official website." And some of her other blogs were taken down (makes me sad because one of them had a photo I'd sent her for it). Right now she doesn't need all this hassle. She's always posting her search strings. We know what folks are looking for when they find her blog. Hmm. Well, I was going to link to a particular post and I can't seem to.
Well, I need to go sweep floors and get some stuff done. For some reason, this whole thing pisses me off. I will be back to ponder it more.
I'm curious as to what other folks think about the content warning page - I know some of you use it and some don't.
This is a continuation of an interview with Randy Lagana. Please take the time to go back and read Part 1 and Part 2.
Your work that shows just a portion of the body - how do you decide (and why) what "parts" to work with?
I have a series of monochromatic paintings on my website that are composed to show only body parts or conceal the face. These paintings are portraits of elements that the human body can possess and express. I want the viewer to recognize these elements in him or herself. A face would always make it somebody else. I want the viewer to at least say, “that body looks a bit like mine and it’s beautiful, powerful” or something positive.
When I focus on parts, I’m working with the shapes that are interesting on their own and when placed within a frame create interesting negative space. Secondly, I do this with the intent to create an image that has a bit of abstractness. Abstract art “does not depict objects in the natural world, but instead uses shapes and colours in a non-representational or non-objective way.” When I say “a bit of abstractness,” I think I’m being very accurate, as I don’t move very far away from a representational depiction. Maybe one day I will create true abstract piece of art.
Sometimes, as with “Lean & Lovely” (left) and “Bound,” (right) my intent is to be “in your face,” cause some discomfort. I enjoy creating an image that you cannot escape from. The model for “Lean & Lovely” asked me why I framed the shot as I did. This shot represents to me her absolute truth and courage. She has removed her clothes and even her pubic hair, leaving nothing to hide behind because there is no need to hide. This is a totally clear and unobstructed view of the source of everything.
What are your thoughts, as an artist, on anything you feel like talking about now?
The first painting I did, kindergarten finger paintings notwithstanding, was in 7th grade art class and that’s when I found something special in the world. I was hooked the moment I put paint to canvas and since then I have been captivated by art, especially painting. Even when I’m not actually painting, I’m looking at everything as if I were painting it, him, or her. People and their outward appearances, their emotional state, and their behavior fascinate me. I have a degree in psychology and have worked as a police officer, a drug counselor, and a parole officer. I am totally intrigued by people.
I begin to paint long before I squeeze paint from the tube. What I paint is a decision based on varying factors. I may start with a thought or a question. Sometimes it’s simply that I’m entranced by the color and texture of say a mango and so I paint mangoes. Other times, I’m motivated to paint by a provocative question such as, “are we not all beautiful?”
People quite often ask, “what is the meaning” of a painting. Whatever a painting may mean to me, is what it means to me. When people ask this question, I usually say, “tell me what it means to you first!” I believe that the viewer’s interpretation is no less valid than mine. Some people have “seen” something in a painting of mine that I never saw nor intended, and I really like that. However, most of the time, there is no great philosophy buried in my paintings. Sometimes the painting is just about the beauty of a mango.
Do you have a question for me?
Robin, I have two questions for you. 1) What do you do to overcome writer’s block? 2) How do you know when you are done with a piece?
Randy, I'm often afflicted by writer's block. It seems to come on especially if I'm wanting to write. I'll sit down at my computer or with a notebook and ... nothing. What I usually do is just anything else. Read, take a walk, do domestic stuff like laundry or dishes, or go pull weeds. Though sometimes I do just sit and struggle and make myself miserable. I'd like to say that I'll pull out some writing exercise and do that, but I rarely do those when I'm blocked. What's ironic is that if I'm busy with stuff other than writing, I'll get all sorts of ideas. So I've learned to keep a tiny notebook with me at all times. It lives in my purse and comes with me on walks.
When it "feels" done. I know, very scientific and exact. With poetry, pieces can be fiddled with for years and not be done or be completed and submitted within a day or so (those are very rare). And being published doesn't guarantee they won't be revised. It's a little different with stories. They're not done until I'm ready to submit them. And usually it just comes down to a deadline. At some point I have to quit revising and send it off. That's hard to do. And then I try not to look at it. Because if I do I will find things I'd change and drive myself nuts.
Well, Randy, I hope you enjoyed doing this interview as much as I have. Thank you for taking the time to answer these questions thoughtfully and in such detail. I'm hoping if anyone has any further questions we could continue this in the comments section.
I'm fascinated by the creative process, be it word-based, music, or visual. And I do think I'll do more of these interviews. I've already got some ideas.
This is a continuation of an interview with Randy Lagana. To read Part 1, go here.
Did you start doing photography just as an adjunct to your painting (to have photos to work from) or for other reasons?
I have always used photography as a tool for my painting. Quite often after sketching an idea for a painting, I shoot photos as reference material for the painting. If you say something to me, I do not take it casually and one day a friend asked if I had ever considered the photographs as the finished art. This idea floated around in my head for awhile until I decided I would give it a try. I shot a roll of black & white film and was very pleased with the results, certainly enough to pursue expressing my creativity through photography. A short time later I had an idea to photograph our friends in the nude and without really thinking about it (I act in this way quite often, just blurting things out) I told Jen my idea. She of course responded, "Great, let's ask them!" and I said, "You can't do that." People pick partners who have qualities they themselves would like to possess. I admire Jen for choosing a course of action, being committed to it, and pushing through any fear she may have. I try to be like her in that way and so I got committed to asking our friends to pose nude for me. I also forced myself to subdue my fear. I was fortunate in that the first few people I asked all said yes. That encouraged me to press on and through the experience I felt greatly empowered by it and learned that it was rewarding for me just to ask the question.
Many of your photographs (both nudes and nature/landscapes) are in black and white. Yet you use color in interesting ways (like Beauty and the Beast - which I love, and the sepia ones, and the blue ones, and...). Could you just talk about that? When you play with the colors, are you looking for a specific effect or just seeing what happens?
Sometimes I just feel that an image would be better if it were warmer or cooler and so I tint them sepia or blue. I felt Ancient Magic (left), a shot I took of Stonehenge, needed that antique look that the warmth of sepia can provide. At other times I am just experimenting to see what may happen. When I first saw Beauty and the Beast (below, right) I was disappointed because it was slightly out of focus. I liked the pose and thought it powerful, but slight blurring weakened the impact. So I played around with the image in Photoshop to see if I could salvage it. I kept layering one effect on top of another until the image was as you see it now. Beauty and the Beast was a happy accident, in fact, I'm not sure how I got there and may not be able to duplicate the effect. Other slightly fuzzy images have been saved from the trash heap. Highlights & Drapery (left) and Legs (below) are two images that are slightly out of focus and did not work as straight forward photographs.I bleached the color slightly to give it a 1960's hand-colored look and then added a diffused glow.
Your nudes are stunning. Talk a bit about why they're important to you. You'd mentioned it being "much more interesting and more truthful" - here's your chance to elaborate.
Robin, it pleases me very much that you find my nudes "stunning." I am interested in many, many things and want to paint and photograph them all! However, I think I am most interested in people and especially nudes. As I said, they are "much more interesting and truthful." Clothes can help you feel powerful, thinner, happier, braver, etc. Without clothes we have the naked truth, literally. I think that if you can feel happy and brave without a stitch of clothing, then you truly are happy and brave, or whatever it is that you feel when not hiding beneath clothes. I'm not a nudist nor am I advocating nudism. However, I would recommend having the experience at least once to see what you may discover about yourself.
The initial group of friends I invited to pose nude all said, "yes" and then immediately provided a list of conditions. "First I have to lose ten pounds; no profile shots, I don't like my nose; no frontal shots I have stretch marks on my thighs" and on and on it went. I started to wonder "how am I going to do this?" I attempted to make my case for wanting them just as they were, I wasn't looking for airbrushed images. I'm happy to say that once we got started all the caveats were forgotten. And then there was an additional unexpected result for almost everyone who has participated. Many of my models told me at the end of the shoot that they would do it again and that they had experienced a tremendous sense of freedom. First fear, push through, and then freedom!
I spend about ten minutes at the beginning of each shoot photographing the model dressed so that he or she may get accustomed to the bright lights and the whole environment. The moment of disrobing is still an anxious one and the robe is kept close by for breaks. Many of the models quickly found such a level of comfort that they felt no need for the robe during breaks. We would sit on the sofa, enjoy something to drink (non-alcoholic, as I prefer the model's eyes not to droop and the mind to remain clear), and chat as if we were at Starbucks socializing over a cup of coffee. It is a very unique experience.
Here is another part of photographing nudes where the truth must be absolute. An artist friend once asked me how I get people to pose nude for me and I said that I just ask them. And then I added that you must be sincere about your intent. I have had people respond in such a way that they must have thought I was asking them to do something else. That response is always a disappointment to me, but I can only control my side of the interaction.
What has it been like working with your models? Are they professionals or just "everyday" folks?
My models are "everyday folks" and that is for a couple of reasons. When I first conceived the idea for this project, I wanted everyday people and not professional models. My original idea was a bit gimmicky. I thought I've never done this and my friends have never done nude modeling, so this will be interesting from that point alone. I also wanted to show that we all have beauty just the way we are. After the first few sessions, I realized that faith and trust were the heart of this project. I was overwhelmed by the amount of faith and trust my friends had in me. Consider the title of my book, Would You Pose Nude for Me? Robin, I know you have considered this question since you submitted work for the poetry project, but most people have never been asked this.
Not everyone I asked said "yes." One person said, "No one wants to see me naked." Over the years I have considered exactly what that response means. Of course I can only imagine what he really meant, but I bet it was about his fear. Or it might have been that he just did not want to say "no" and said that instead. Another possibility is that he did not feel safe. I believe that we feel the most vulnerable when we are without our clothes. My friends trusted me enough to put themselves in a very vulnerable place. Some allowed me to blindfold them and handcuff them. If that isn't trust, I don't know what it is!
If you've been reading this blog for awhile (or not), you've seen some of Randy Lagana's images (here, here & here, here, here & a lot more). I also linked to his website in my sidebar. So who is this guy?
About five years ago I was introduced to Randy's photography. A stack of his black and white pictures was passed around at a writer's group meeting by someone who was brainstorming a project involving Randy as the photographer. Poetry and nude photographs of the poets along with our reactions to the whole process. I say "our" because I submitted work and was accepted. There was a lot of deep thinking on my part, along with discussions with my husband and therapist at the time (both said "go for it").
That project unfortunately never came to fruition. But Randy's images stayed with me. I'd check his website every now and then to see what new work he'd posted. Then when I started this blog and started using images (because a blog without pictures is all too often a boring blog) I thought of Randy. But I didn't want to just use them, which is so easily done these days. So I emailed him and told him what I was doing and asked if he'd be interested in letting me use some of his images. I was so nervous - almost sure he'd say no.
But he said yes, and I've been thrilled to sometimes have the perfect image of his to go with what I'm writing. And a friendship was born. We've had lunch a few times and we just had him and his wife over for dinner. I've always enjoyed my conversations with him and eventually it occurred to me to do an interview with him for my blog. But I've NEVER interviewed anyone before. Let's just say - it's not easy! Trying to come up with questions that don't sound stupid and require more than just ayes/no answer.
This is a fairly long interview, so I'm breaking it into three parts - three days. So, without further ado (there's already been enough ado) , Randy Lagana.
Do you have a particular image in mind when you start to work? Or is it more vague? Even though I'm not a visual artist, I was raised by one (my mother) and both my daughters are, as well as my son though he'd dispute that. I tend to think of visual art in the same way as I think about poetry - there is usually a little spark, a word or phrase, maybe even a full line or two that gets the artist started, but the finished piece does not always end up quite as planned,if planned at all.
There are many ways an image comes into being for me. Sometimes I have a painting in mind, a specific scene, subject matter, or theme and I just need to get it out. And sometimes I'm just struck with an idea! I genuinely enjoy that method, the outside force infusing me with the creative spirit. Other times it's not so glorious. I see a color scheme I like and the painting grows from there. On occasion I get fascinated with something I see and can't wait to paint it, like a mango. I've painted those a few times. As you have said, I quite often head out in a certain direction with a specific destination in mind and end up miles away and in a different, but possibly better place. I really enjoy creating when I'm a spectator, appearing not to be in control, and the painting unfolds before me. That altered state of consciousness is a marvelous experience.
You have a number of pieces, paintings & photographs that are related, using the same basic image - thinking of Bound (left) and Bound Freedom (scroll down) & Love (below left) and Nicole's Love (below right). You said in your answer before "When I turn the sketch into a photographic image..." and I was wondering, do your ideas flow both ways? Sketch to photograph. Photograph to sketch or painting. In the examples I gave (feel free to provide others), which image came first in your mind?
Robin, the ideas definitely flow both ways. I have sketched for a painting in mind and then shot photos as reference to paint from. I have also made sketches of poses I wanted to photograph. I have a folder filled with hundreds of ideas sketched for photo sessions. Many times it is easier for me to show my model or models a sketch of what I want than it is for me to describe it in words. At the time of the photo shoot, the purpose of the sketch is to get the photographic image. When I am stuck for something to paint, I have mined these photos for inspiration. With only two exceptions: The Persistence of Magritte and Only By Moonlight, all the images you see in the Nude/Paintings category on my website are from photos I took.
You may notice that Divine Proportions (above top) and Grace (above bottom) are the same figure, one is flipped the other way round. When I was painting Grace, my wife looked at the reference photo and said, "Nice ass! Whose is it?" I gave her a look of disbelief and said, "yours!" (I just made a rather interesting freudian slip, I had typed "ours," then corrected it, but now that I think about it "ours" might be more appropriate.) Then it was her turn to have the look of disbelief. I guess we don't really get to have a good view of our backside. Bound Freedom, Marked Woman, and Once in a Blue Moon are creations that incorporate photos from my various shoots. I took the actual photos, manipulated them in Photoshop, and adhered them into a paintings. Nicole's Love was first a photographic image that later served as reference for the painting Love.
When you start working on something, do you just want to keep working till it's done or are you able to quit and walk away and do something else (with ease)? (I'm asking this one because I have a hard time quitting when I'm really going and I can get pretty cranky - ala last night when I had to quit to fix dinner - arggghhhh!)
When I'm working and it's all going well, I don't want to stop because it doesn't always go that way. Sometimes a painting just doesn't seem to be working or more accurately I am not able to produce the effect I'm looking for and that is when it is good to be able to walk away. When I try to force my way through, it never seems to make a positive change. I need to get away from the painting, think about something else, and come back later with a fresh viewpoint.
You've done book covers. Talk about how that came about and what that's like.
Years ago I was a police officer and I was following in my father's footsteps because after I discharged from the Marine Corps, I really did not know what I wanted to do for work. When I was a teenager I had thought about art as a career, but my parents were both children of the Great Depression and somehow I received a message about security. So artists do not have security. At the end of every job they have to look for a new job. However, I could never stop painting. While I was a police officer in Ridgefield, CT, I met an artist, Harry Bennett, who saw my work and convinced me that I could have a whole new career in art as a bookcover artist. He had painted romance bookcovers for more than twenty years and made a very nice living. So I began to pursue a career painting covers for Science Fiction and Fantasy books. I did this and some advertising art for a short period and during that time I quickly realized that the crushing deadlines were unacceptable. The deadlines and a personal situation helped me decide to pursue a different art career. But having said all that, let me say that it is very gratifying to read someone else's words, select a scene, and paint it for the cover of a book. I used to attend a number of SF/Fantasy conventions and still attend LunaCon every year. I have had people approach me at these conventions to sign a copy of their book that has my painting on the cover. That experience is quite a head trip. I had the opportunity to use my wife, Jen, as a model for one bookcover, a frontispiece actually, and as a bonus the book was written by one of Jen's favorite authors, Anne McCaffrey. At LunaCon Jen was asked for her autograph and she was quite stunned! Even on a very small scale it is a tremendous rush to be asked for your autograph.
