April's table of contents:

Friday, April 14, 2017





Pt 1:

i. a cruel gentle trajectory 
ii. all the ions (inside my body) starting arguments they cannot win
iii. the minor key
iv. after 4 b4 rain
v. "as if color could be further revealed by slitting" 
vi. choose which mirror you look into
vii. anatomy: fingers tracing lower spine tingling
viii. in your flickering eyes a prism 
ix. do we grow younger & younger every year?
x. below my feet a thousand lights
xi. rust
xii. chase the sun until it falls off the bench 
xiii. waltz in the 4th dimension
xiv. us, alive








Horreur Sympathique ii.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

i. in the blink of an eye
ii. the careful thoughts you disguise
iii. versailles 














iv. crimson string 
glass

do you promise a 
shattered
vermillion
lie?



v.  finding decadent 
sinews,

i vanished 





vii. into
the beating of arteries
and tonight's
reverberations

folie à deux

Wednesday, March 15, 2017


Nathan and Juke wear Jacquemus, Adidas x Raf Simons, 
hififnk, Oak+ Fort, Uniqlo x Lemaire 


8:20 am
trying to love you more, you taught me to kiss the crook of my thumb and index because in it, I found a soul in the shape of a broken 
habit, one that learns and unlearns habituating, learning itself. 

Look at you, a little poem, 
wondering why the 
blue was so wide,
and your flesh even wider. 

_______

Nathan gave me this poem- part of a larger poem he wrote, near the end of our photoshoot, just several days after Ren Hang passed. Looking through these photos, he was unquestionably on our minds that day, lingering on the edges of all we went after. 

a flower called desire

Wednesday, March 8, 2017







"Protea is both the botanical name and the English common name of a genus of South African flowering plants, sometimes also 
called sugar bushes. In local tradition, the Protea flower represents change and hope. These unique flowers have existed since 
prehistoric times with some estimates dating them to 300 million years ago. " 

Horreur sympathique

Saturday, March 4, 2017



Reading Last Poems, Baudelaire:
1. Horreur Sympathique
2. The Alchemy of Pain 



Remembering Ren Hang

Monday, February 27, 2017

all photos from renhang.org

The visionary Chinese photographer Ren Hang passed earlier this week at just 29 years old, suddenly and heartbreakingly leaving the world with one less truly singular talent. As friends shared posts and articles, I realized how his work has touched each one of us in unique and personal ways. I asked several friends- themselves photographers, artists, writers, LGBTQ advocates, to reflect upon the influence and inspiration Ren Hang provided, and these are the thoughts they shared with me. 


Summer:
Given a time when open sexuality is taboo in present-day China, Ren Hang's photographs were subversive portrayals of queerness. I'm very moved and saddened by his death. He had a very unique and sometimes comical vision, his art was very touching and personal. 


Ian @youngtilapia
I was flipping through his book at Skylight yesterday. Quickly turning the pages because I found them more shocking than Terry Richardson's work. Shocking because one spread would be a beautiful image of a person, and the next spread is that same person in an sexually aggressive situation. It's very inspiring to me because he works with simple elements, i.e the nude with a single prop, like an octopus or cherries and lets his creativity run wild. His work is instantly recognizable, which is the mark of a great artist. 


Rachel @niwa_davis:
I remember seeing Ren Hang's work and immediately having this strong magnetism to it. Hang's poetic compositions and languid forms brought recollections of deep longing and a lasting reservoir of despair. As a mixed Asian American woman these photos created a weight of understanding within my own depression. Where one feeling isn't purely linked to one thing, just as each of his pictures play off one another, to create an expansive, ghostly exploration into the vessels which are the bodies we occupy. 


Derek @derekmacario:
I think I first came across Ren Hang's work from Zioxla's Strange Plants II book. Hang unapologetically showed Chinese bodies how he saw them. Bare, nude, in nature/ plants, with fashion, and with animals, his subjects were personal to him. He was able to be intimate and honest with his images, presenting viewers surreal scenes, notably in his way of incorporating optical illusions. I love the series of indoor images he made titled, "My mum" and how he turned the spotlight on the figure who presumably raised him. 


Miles @milesfortune : 
Ren Hang, besides the visceral unhinged content of his photographs, was so impossibly human, a unique point in time. It's such a shock to now know he had such pain because he expressed such joy in what anyone else, especially in art would (and likely does) find, an unbearable weight of possibility of human ability. Emotions are our ultimate reality, our corporeal being comes second, but it's what we have to work with and I think the late Ren Hang truly loved that. 


Hernan Bas

Saturday, February 25, 2017



Stuffed, Hernan Bas

"For these Dark Romantics, the natural world is full of shadows, decay, mystery, ghosts and death... landscapes full of the fantastical somehow borne of the banal. Darkness and light, the known and unknown, are all forces that coexist in Bas's works, creating otherworldly, rich images, regions defined by the outer reaches of imagination, and a nature rendered both familiar and strange."  -Victoria Miro gallery 

His paintings feel like the fragrance of a sin, a quiet vermillion nocturne luring you deep into a jungle, lush and exploding with darker passions and unknown maladies, asking your senses to tingle and vibrate with life's vividness.  In this world, hedonism is a free soaring bird. 

If colors could describe the complexity of emotions, his pallet is a paradise of passion, angst, power, and vulnerability, a kind of trapped and brooding energy with tinges of youthful frivolity and wit.  The nuances of youth- its fleeting experiences, the entrapment, the desire, the hunger of curiosity that we suffer through but maybe hope we never lose, and the literature, history, poetry that help guide us towards our future- for me, his canvas shows all this & more. 

There's a severe lack of beauty in the world right now, and cynicism isn't the cure. Escaping into fantasy and imagination isn't the easy way out if it reflects truths of reality is it? Art that understands the insides you can't articulated, some tumultuous flux of emotion and brings it to life. 

A couple outtakes from my recent shoot based on the paintings of Hernan Bas: 




Chayse, Coney Island ii.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017


We met in Bushwick then took the J and the Q to Coney Island with
several bags of clothes between us, one pink umbrella in a ceaseless downpour of rain I don't 
remember what exactly we talked about but we laughed a lot and got very wet



 We made plans to meet at a dim sum night club in Chinatown later that night and in Tokyo the next year



Breakaway

Sunday, January 22, 2017








"Hey Hey I've got a 20 pound ball 
Hanging by a chain around my neck 
I've got to get away 
Run before I become a wreck 

I've got to break these chains 
Before I go insane 
I've got to get up and go 
Go any place I don't know 


I'm gonna leave behind 
All the twisted minds 
And all who sneer at friends of mine 
And frown at our good times 

I'm gonna breakaway 
From all the chains that bind 
And every day I'll wear what I want 
And I'll do what suits me fine 

Breakaway, breakaway

breakaway
from every day"












Toni Basil by Bruce Connor 
16mm film/ 1966

Glass/ petals

Saturday, January 14, 2017


Gold mirror. dust. a piece of glass. rosebuds. 
Dead petals & an undying crevice in chest turned photo set- 
white flash at night/ black in 11am light. 




Chayse, Coney Island

Sunday, January 1, 2017



"Initially, I was unaware that time, so boundless at first blush, was a prison."
                                                                               
 -Vladimir Nabokov


Starting 2017 off on two hours of sleep, and Nabokov's autobiography Speak, Memory. 
I'm reading every other sentence seven times, his writing is so beautiful. I also liked this bit from the first chapter:

"Man as a rule views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is heading for at forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour."


forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour....
and a few memories that helped combat a restless mind & ease a melange of emotions felt at the turn of the new year:


1. Here She Comes Now, The Velvet Underground
2. Pop Crimes, Rowland S. Howard
3. Souvenirs, Devandra Banhart
4. You Stopped Making Sense, The Radio Dept

Listening to each of these songs is reliving four experiences with you, aching dazzle of ephemerality. 



 

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