01.05.2011 in13:54 in Miscellaneous -->
Those of you who know me know that I have many heroes. I am ever grateful for each of them, as I feel as though they each play an integral role in guiding me to where I find myself now, and help me to continue to become more curious, and press on. I think of my artistic life as a star chart, and of my heroes as shining stars that have captivated me, demanded my attention again and again, asked questions of me, moved me, and humbled me. There are times in my life I see work I love so much it just hurts; work that is emotional and complex, work with mystery and intrigue, sensuality and uneasiness, tension, movement…images I have gazed upon time, and time, and time again. I have found all of this in the work of Deborah Turbeville, a tremendously imaginative fashion photographer whose style is all her own.
Only a few weeks ago, while sifting through an old hard drive, I ran across a folder of images from a personal project I photographed last summer. I immediately felt a pang in my heart and a rush of blood to my head, as it was…those images…from…that session. The one that reminded me how terribly, terribly human I am, and how heartbroken I can become. I had planned the perfect afternoon, elaborate costumes, professional hair and makeup artists, exquisite models, and a prime location for a Neo-Victorian extravaganza. The models arrived for hair and make-up, and within the hour, Boston was enduring the most sudden and ferocious monsoon I have seen to date, including hail and high winds. We had not secured a studio rental as a backup plan for Wizard of Oz style happenings, so we converted the living room into a ‘studio’, used a paper background, and a single flash for a light source while Josh hand held a scrim for two hours. Here, I had two exquisite models in front of me, all the time in the world, I so wanted to create breathtaking moments, wonderful images…and I just wanted to curl up and cry.
I tucked the images away into a folder hoping to never think of them again. In running across the images just the other day, and having just reveled again in Deborah Turbeville’s ‘Past Imperfect’, I couldn’t think of a better time to give them a chance. As imperfect as they may be, I love them just the same…maybe more.
I have posted the images here, and below, a link for you to find Deborah, too. I did finally get a day in the sunshine too…I will post those images soon.