sometimes, my head explodes

motionblur November 23, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — somniare @ 11:07 pm

I stared at her lips for hours and realized that a photo is nothing without motion. Even with the hints of a stop-motion smile pushing skin into the crevice dimples lining the sides of her mouth, the fact that I couldn’t see her teeth made me anxious. The emotion was there in the unnatural state of frozen posing.

Most portraiture feels like a lie. I find myself feeling as if I am looking into the future… seeing a glimpse of the lifeless serenity that is found only after the careful hands of a delicate mortician have molded the features to appease the fragile viewers. There is an element of detachment I get, as if the subject is no longer of my time and space.

Less and less am I finding my inner voyeur satisfied by perusing aimlessly through photographs. Instead, I am left discomfited, like an awkward coroner; unsure and not quite numb to the job. Or else, faced with the conflicts of dysthanasia and questioning whether or not the subject is being kept alive by the existence of the photo in and of itself… nothing else.

What is lacking is the genuine spontaneity that is found in every unique face. When all else has failed and fallen directly into the predictability trap, an expressive face can change my whole mood. I don’t care if it’s pretty or symmetrical or tonally aesthetic… a photograph should be honest.

As I sat here writing of my discontent on the subject, I remembered my trademark blank stare. The one that washes over my face the second I sense a lens pointed in my general direction.

Hypocrisy… I has it.


dreamscapes November 18, 2008

Filed under: my evolution — somniare @ 12:47 am

I titled this with only the thought of a premise, curled up and small, like the damaged bastard fetus in a drug addicts womb.

And there it was, my color. Something dark and unnamed. Something vivid and sometimes shocking. My color soothes and abrades depending on the bend of light. I am the product of opal and onyx.

Our colors can be touched. Today I am a tired polyester. Vintage and consigned many times over the years. I am threadbare where I’ve been well worn and repaired one too many times.

I imagine that if you take a color and fold it on itself, it might make a sound. Today my hue sounds like cellos from a distance, an ebb and flow of three timeless notes conversing with each other about quantum physics. There chances of reaching crescendo are a mystery, much like their subject matter. This song is without colloquialisms and platitudes. Slow, soft, and rich.

In my fantasy, my world is an origami crane of color and fabric and song. It’s thrown into space where we’ll live there staring at the stars and loving our dimensions.


today’s obscurities November 4, 2008

Filed under: almost poetic — somniare @ 2:30 pm

Today I am:

the silk strands between broken halves of lotus root

sonoluminescence to the rhythm of hard bass and a soft hat

hazy coffee colored skies with a milky sun spot

the dancing twin in an underwater circus

receiving a postcard from an unnamed flower in cement

an unauthorized dream crossing boundaries and clinging to you