Musings and wanderings in the Daemon Wastes...

Category: Personal (Page 9 of 10)

Warning: This post may offend (Apologies to LJ subscribers who got it twice)

I’ve come to a startling and yet satisfying conclusion. While a large proportion of my social circle will (I expect) take untold glee in bashing seven shades of shit out of the new Transformers film (“Transformers – Revenge of the Fallen”), I have come to a liberating realisation; it’s not art, so I can just enjoy it.

I’m not afraid to admit that I like to read so-called “great” poetry, I enjoy (yes genuinely enjoy) watching Shakespeare, at least when his work is well staged I do, and I am well and widely read in what many would refer to as ‘the classics’. I love attending the Opera, art exhibitions and quality live music across many genres. Bluntly I am cultured, and when I want the intellectual satisfaction of indulging in culture I am fitted for the task. There are times, nonetheless, when entertainment can be honestly and openly garnered from less subtle sources, and I feel duty bound to remind my peers that this may well be one of those times.

I have no desire to protect Michael Bay from his detractors – you are right he is the King of cliché visually and in terms of the way he directs actors – nor do I wish to make the case that his most recent film should in any way be discussed as though it were art. No, my desire is to encourage my friends and acquaintances that there is nothing so utterly self-defeating as holding a film like the new Transformers movie up to the harsh light of our shared intellectual scrutiny. You have two options; either watch it and revel in its banality and inconsistency, its sensationalism and it’s accomplished superficiality, or don’t watch it. There is no third option…

You may think that there is a third option. You may mistakenly think that there is a place in this world for you to watch this film and then turn your undeniable analytical skills to the task of dissecting it, attempting to put meat back onto the bones of this paper butterfly so that you can complain that it is poorly done. You may, as has so often been the case before, feel that there is something clever in pointing out what some of us had already taken as read; that this is mindless, unconvincing almost entirely plot-free drivel with little or no characterisation and the worst dialogue one might be able to imagine. You see there are those of us who knew that going in, who decided quite rationally that there is a place in our lives for the entertainment equivalent of candyfloss (cotton candy to our American friends), and we are OK WITH THAT!

Time after time after time I have been forced to put up with facetious, knowing critiques of entertainment, be it film, tv, books, comics or whatever, that I already knew were intellectually sub-standard, and been made to feel as though I am anything from an “easy to please doormat of taste” through to an outright imbecile for enjoying them and yet I am quite aware of the fact that I am neither of these things. When I don’t like something I say so, and as for the imbecile thing… Oh what’s the point, I __do__ know I’m not an imbecile.

If you want to look clever, give me a well rounded and stimulating discussion on the film π by Darren Aronofsky, or let’s have a chat about why Citizen Kane may be a great film, but it has long since lost the title of ‘the Greatest Film Ever Made”. Let’s hear why you think “American Psycho” is an over-rated pile of horse-shit, but you’d better know your onions about the American novel of the late 20th Century before we get going down that route, because I do…

Here’s the bottom line; an end to all hackery, right here, right now. Until you’ve made your own multi-million dollar film you don’t get the spotlight while you tell the rest of us the bleedingly obvious as to why a film about giant robots from outer space that can talk and turn into mundane forms of human transport turned out to be an intellectual and artistic failure. We know it’s not Art, you don’t look clever telling us why it’s shit because it fails to be Art.

Quickly, before I finish, I think I ought to own up to the fact that until I was well into my late twenties I was just as much a part of this smug culture of armchair intellectual dilettantism for the middle classes as anyone else I know, and I want to say two things about that. One “I’m sorry; for every time I trespassed in this manner, and to everyone who won’t get back the time they had to spend listening to me using big words to tell them shit they already knew and had already decided did not matter to them”. Two; I’m pretty certain that what changed for me was genuinely trying to create something and realising that it’s nowhere near as easy as it looks… Oh experience how thy fruits are naught but humility and peace…

P.S. In case you were wondering (or worse still thinking of embedding the Kermode review in a comment) I’ve got a lot of respect for Mark Kermode, and I will admit that I found his “video review” for TROTF on the Kermode Blog genuinely funny, but then I know him to be a clever and insightful man and he did all of that to play to his audience. That being said, if he really wanted to impress me, he’d say something like my thoughts above to his ‘devoted followers’ if only to remind them that sometimes a movie is __JUST__ a movie…
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There are more to come…

…but I wanted to share with you, my lovely reader, the first two photos that I have processed from this weekend’s shoots.

I want to thank everyone that volunteered, and especially thank Kat and Bex for not only volunteering AND showing up, but also for both being fun and rewarding people to work with, and for allowing me to get a little bit closer to the “end” of the particular project that they feature in, which I am prepared to to say will be closing (at least the first round of it) as soon as I have another 5 subjects photographed for it, as long as those five subjects include AT LEAST three male ones… To which end, gents, please feel free to volunteer… 😉

So without further ado, here are the first pictures from last weekend…

Kat:
Kat - Low Key Light Painting

Bex:
Bex - Low Key Light Painting

Your thoughts and input would be much appreciated, as ever…

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Time rolls ever on and on…

365 Portraits - #170 ~ Dorothy 'Nan' Godby

So this last weekend was an unexpected trip home, and while it was really marvelous to see Chorley and be in the North West, and it was lovely to see my Mum and Dad, the mere fact that they are in the country might make some of you realise that stuff is not as it should be. The truth is that my last remaining grandparent, my Dad’s Mum, has been taken very ill, and to borrow a metaphor from racing, this will be the last furlong for her.

As such I wanted to go and see her before things got much worse, while she could actually enjoy seeing me, and I could see her again as close to the strong and vital old lady that comes to mind of when I think of her. So it was, with only six days notice that I tried to book rail tickets heading up to Manchester on a Friday and back South on a Sunday to be confronted by a potential bill of nearly two hundred quid, so I flew. Now I know that taking a domestic flight is environmentally naughty (possibly unforgivable for a 35 minute flight), but please note that my first impulse was to travel by train, and I only even considered flying once I’d discovered that it was nearly as cheap as fifty percent of the price, at just a little over a hundred quid. Even despite all of that I am really glad that I flew, because the saved time was like gold in terms of being able to spend as much time as possible with Nan, and also with Mum and Dad and even getting a chance to see my brother and his fiancée before catching my flight home, and at times like these it’s good to have as much time as possible.

My Nan looms large in my life, in particular, as I spent a good deal of my pre-school years in her care during the day. My parents are both doctors, and once her maternity leave was up, my mother had to return to General Practice, as my father was actually in the process of leaving the Royal Navy and reading Medicine and Surgery at Manchester Medical School, and so I spent my days with my Nan, as her husband was also still working. We had many rituals, like walking down the cobbled lane behind their house (known as the bumpy road), singing “Here comes the Galloping Major”, and visiting Bolton’s covered market on the bus. I can remember watching “Chorlton and the Wheelies” and “Jamie and the Magic Torch” in her front room, and later, just before school, starting to play card games with her, a trend that would continue for many years with her and my Grandpa, particularly learning Cribbage. There were the endless plays and replays of Austrian / Bavarian ‘Oompa’ music on the record player, and no end of other activities that we would while away the days doing together, either at her home on Hunger Hill between Bolton and Westhoughton, or at my family home either in Sandyacre Close in Over Hulton, or Brentwood Road in Adlington.

It is hard to explain that I am very sad that she is so ill, that she is dying, and yet I am not disconsolate with grief (as yet). I was expecting her to seem much more ill before I saw her, and though she was clearly in a lot of discomfort, and I suppose quite frightened, once she was distracted enough by our company she was cracking jokes and laying down the law in the way she always has. It seemed as though there was nothing to mourn, at least not quite yet. Clearly there is a sadness that she’s been handed a tough deal, and that she has pain and fear to deal with, and that is horrid for her, but at least good medical care and some compassion will make that as bearable a process as is possible.

There is no clear picture as yet, as to how long this final journey is going to take for her? For my part I would selfishly like her to be around for as long as possible, naturally. Still, in my quieter moments, I hope that it only lasts as long as she can bear; anything more seems as though it would be cruel. I hope that she is healthy enough to see Ed and AnneSo marry in August, it feels as though that would be a good “last hurrah” for her, but I also wonder if that is too much to ask. More than anything at the moment I hope that she is still with us when I next head North, if remaining “on plan”, in July; it would be good to see her again.

There is something rather game-changing about the last of one’s grandparents approaching the end, particularly for people like me who have been lucky enough to have them stick around well into adulthood, and I do find myself considering the order of things a little more at the moment, not in a morbid way, but certainly in a more honest way than I have for a while.

Enough. With any luck the future for my Nan will be filled with family and love and as little pain and trepidation as possible, and hopefully I will get to see her again before the race is run.

Nice Day for a Black and White Wedding…

So, I am on the train back to Kings Cross after the wedding of Nick and Katie at Allerton Castle in Yorkshire, which was a thoroughly enjoyable affair.

The title of this post refers to the daring, and entirely lovely, black and white theme of the wedding (for example the bride in white, the bridesmaids in black, or the black and white invitations, table decorations and so on…), but the day was so much more than just production. Don’t get me wrong, the organisation was slick and the whole thing looked great and at least to this observer seems to have gone off without a hitch, but there were two other factors that made it so much more than that; the bride and groom were so happy, and it was a lot of fun.

I go to a lot of weddings, although not as many as some people I’m sure, and I’ve started to realise that my generation seem to have a knack for making the day fun, something that it is always in grave danger of failing to be for the vast majority of attendees.

I’ve known Nick all my life, and there was something special for me to be there at his wedding, even though our lives have diverged somewhat since our mid twenties, due to geography more than anything else. Seeing his Mum, Dad, Brother and Grandma all so proud and happy, and getting to spend time with them aswell was a real joy. I also met some cool new people, who I hope will actually keep in touch – they did say that they would.

All in all a very successful weekend – of course I’ve still got to get across London and out to Reading on a Sunday, which as we all know is just the short name for ‘Day of Rail Chaos’, so there’s plenty of time for it to all go wrong 😉

Here’s hoping you, my dear reader, have also had a pleasant and fulfilling weekend…

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At last, someone who gets me… *wink*

Despite the subject line above, I don’t actually believe that I am all that misunderstood, or that I’m completely missing the mark with my work, but I wanted to share the following critique from Matt Miller with those of you who do not frequent Net-Model, as although I don’t agree with everything he said about the photo below, he does get awfully close to everything that I am trying to portray / evoke with the picture, after absolutely zero prompting from me – frankly I hardly know the guy…
Low Key Art Nudes - Sam

“Maleghast

I have been thinking about this one today for some time, Its quite disturbing and I have been trying to think how I can put the why into words … it’s a theme of unease that permeates much of your work … I like it in the same way I like anything that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up

I’ll get the constructive out of the way first as there is really nothing to say … the single brutal light source, just enhances the disturbing qualities … just a small hot spot on the upper arm betrays what otherwise appears to be a very carefully crafted image …

So why is it disturbing? Well firstly it’s the stiff aggressive pose, in a dead centre uncompromising composition … this is contradicted by the models exposed naked body, the viewer is already back footed … She should be vulnerable but she’s not, instead she projects authority, She stares at the viewer but her eyes are hidden in shadow, they like her expression cannot be read … she takes everything but gives nothing … despite the blatant exposed nudity this is not a sexual or even a sexy image and it should never be confused with an art nude …
This image is about power projection …
The image is so carefully balanced the slightest change would change the entire dynamic of the image … if the model for a moment looked away or relaxed it would tell an entirely different story …
Bold and dangerous … just my cup of tea … “

I just want to take this opportunity to thank Matt for taking the time to give me real feedback and for trying to unravel the meaning at the heart of this image, and in so-doing giving me a lot more confidence to carry on, to continue my journey of discovery that is my pursuit of my art.

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Grey Monday…

Only people who commute to work via public transport can truly understand how completely depressing it is to wake up to grey skies and rain on a Monday morning. Why, you ask?Surely car drivers and pedestrians have as much to be depressed about; no one likes the rain. Well, here’s the thing; there is a particular smell and atmosphere when
fate groups damp people into enclosed spaces, and while commuting is pretty horrid when it’s really hot, nothing is quite up to the horror of a damp Monday morning.

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iPhone

Well it would appear that I finally have an iPhone!!

Woohoo!
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Sad News…

Andy Hallet has succumbed to Congestive Heart Failure

()

I loved his portrayal of Lorne, and I loved the songs; I am so happy that I have him on the Angel Soundtrack singing “It’s Not Easy Being Green” and I have the Angel DVDs to remember this fabulous talent that was mostly overlooked by people outside of fandom.

If heaven has a Karaoke Bar, then if there is any justice in the world it looks like Caritas crossed with The Mint and Andy gets to sing as himself or Lorne, whenever he likes 🙂

R.I.P.
May the song be forever sung…

Riding the Rails

I hate travelling by train. I know it’s irrational, but it is basically about control. When I travel by train someone else decides when I leave and when I arrive, and if I am delayed it is only ever because I am at the mercy of others. Even so, I often do travel by train; I commute to my office in London, and I am currently taking a break from driving, due to my knee injury, so trains represent a necessary evil.

There are upsides to travelling by train, and my journey towards Manchester today has benefited greatly from one of them; the opportunity to meet people. We were just pulling out of Oxford when I looked up from my book to be asked by a young woman if there was anyone using the seat opposite me. I smiled, told her that both seats were indeed free and she sat down. From that point until we arrived at New Street (where she left the train to catch another to Nottingham) we talked about our lives, likes and dreams without any sense of discomfort or self-conscious British reserve. In my experience there is a strange alchemy to these things; one rarely ends up with an enjoyable conversation after ‘breaking the ice’, but now and again something truly special and enjoyable can grow out of a simple “going far?”, or “heading home for the weekend, then?”.

Grace is in her final year at Oxford, studying PPE (Politics, Philosophy and Economics). At twenty-one years of age and all of 4 months away from holding an Oxford degree she has already worked out that she wants to spend a few years teaching in order to give something back to our society and then continuing in the vein of service, would like to work for an NGO or the Civil Service in development or diplomacy. I was intoxicated by her intelligence and wit, and very sincere commitment to doing something worthwhile with the opportunities that she has had, while still being human and unpretentious. I spend a lot of time being infuriated by a media and an older generation that speaks about my generation (which I can just about say that I share with a twenty-one year old, but perhaps not for very much longer) as if it were populated solely by selfish, feckless wasters, looking out only for number one and the easiest possible way to make a buck. I could honestly say that I don’t know a single person of my generation who actively prizes money and perceived success above happiness and as clear a conscience as one can muster as a member of a first world nation at the start of the twenty-first century.

It was a genuine pleasure to meet a fellow mind, a fellow young and energetic person on my train journey today and to simply converse, about both the weighty and the sublimely trivial, about the future and the past, and more than anything to do so merely for the joy of human company between two strangers who will likely as not never see one another again.

I hope that I will remember to spare her a thought in September, when she starts teaching full-time, and remember to thank her in my mind for doing what I lacked the courage to do when I left University; for becoming a teacher. I cannot say that I regret my decision, mainly because I still maintain that I would have made a lousy teacher at that point in my life. Even now I am unsure that I possess the temperament to be a good and nurturing teacher, but I suppose it would also be fair to say that my involvement in erotic photography leads me to wonder if I would ever be permitted to become a teacher. I know that I am not a danger to children, and that I have no inappropriate interest in them but in the current social climate, where as a single man I feel I have to be careful about playing innocently and joyfully with my friends’ kids, I fear that my work thus far might be too much of a red flag for some parents and education authorities.

Still, my current job is proving to be fulfilling and interesting, so perhaps I won’t have to think about it for a while yet. For now I can focus on doing my part to make RiverMuse a success and worry about the latter half of my career on another day.

New Life Goal…

My new life goal is:

To be invited to attend TED before I retire.

*gets back to being a creative producer*

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