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Archive for February, 2009

gestural

February 22, 2009 Leave a comment

Inside, the smell of turpentine and oil paint coats every surface.  Outside, the sky is grey as melting snow.  You’re at your easel by the window, watching the snowy drizzle outside in the few moments before class starts.  The soft drumming of water drops falling on pavement thrums a melodic rhythm in the space behind your eyes, lulling and heavy on your eyelids.

It is as if from far away that you hear the professor calling class to order.  Fighting inertia, you turn away from the window.

And come face to face with a nude male standing in the center of the room, cast from chocolate – extra dark.  You groan inwardly at the sugar-coated metaphor even as your tongue flicks across dry lips.  You watch as the model stretches quickly before striking his first pose.  His body is all sinew and tight muscle, and you have to look away, down at your paints, to stop the sudden fluttering below your stomach.  Working quickly now for this five minute pose, you examine the smears of color on your palette.  How can you bring out the richness of that velvet skin?  You mix some earth colors together – burnt sienna, burnt umber – and add a smudge of alizarin crimson and phthalo blue.  A little cadmium yellow gives the paint a hint of a glow.

Your paintbrush now saturated with the rich mixture, you finally turn back to the model.  He is good, body tight as he maintains his position without too much wavering.  Another point of admiration.  Your eyes trace the curve of his spine, then sweeps down his defined pectorals, sleek 6-pack, and finally comes to rest on his serenely flaccid penis, hanging between splayed legs.  You can’t help admiring its length, even non-erect, and a small shiver runs through you as your imagination plays with his cock, working it up to its full, majestic erection and guiding it, first past your lips and down your throat, then slowly inside you, incredibly thick and filling in a way you had forgotten was possible.

A flash of white jars you out of your reverie, and you look up – straight into his eyes.  Heat rushes up your cheeks, and your eyes drop back to your still-blank canvas.

Just in time for your professor to call time.

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HNT: This Old House edition

February 19, 2009 Leave a comment

dsc_0538cropI should be working on my installation that has to go up tomorrow, but I just took a nap so I think I’m good for the rest of the night!

I’ve always loved working with tools and machines, and I first learned to use various woodshop machines in my middle school’s “Industrial Arts” class.  We were taught how to use the table saw, radial arm saw, drill press, soldering iron, and many other tools.  The school has since placed many restrictions on what students are allowed to use – they can’t even use chisels in the fine arts class anymore!  I remember cutting out a jaguar from plywood with the band saw in 7th grade, and now they can’t even whittle.  So sad…

Well, since I’m procrastinating anyway, I might as well add a photo of a little series I did with strawberries in a bowl of water:

dsc_0616sm1I made the bowl at the pottery studio.

Okay, okay, back to work!

Categories: art, photos, sundry

’cause sharing is caring

February 16, 2009 Leave a comment

I’ve had Art Nudes on my blogroll for awhile now, but I don’t check it nearly as often as I should.  What a wonderful surprise today to go there and discover photographer Bill Durgin and his amazing and surreal figure studies.

fig_12

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Seeing these photos really gives me the itch to make my own photography.  I have so many ideas I want to try out!  The only problem seems to be finding a willing model…

Categories: art, links, photos

Worthless

February 14, 2009 Leave a comment

Lately I’ve been feeling sluggish, and today I recognized the signs as an incoming bout of depression.  Lots of things have been contributing to it – the stress of my upcoming show; my family visiting on a college-party-weekend – when I was planning on splitting my time between working on my show and having some fun on campus for once; the usual emotional barrage and sexual hypersensitivity of menstruation; and just the daily struggle of getting through a job and life during a New England winter, when all my body craves is fatty foods and sleep.

And it begins: the more stressed I am, the less I want to do anything, and the less productive I am, the more depressed I become.  The more depressed I am, the less I want to do anything, the more stressed I become.  Vicious cycle, ad nauseum.

And the irritability: having a studiomate who shares similar night owl habits has become progressively annoying as I spend more time not doing anything in the studio.  I blamed her impeding on my workspace for my lack of productivity.  Then tonight she revealed the fruits of her late-night labors: very personal Valentine’s gifts for friends, including me. A horrible friend, for thinking such vindictive, petty thoughts.

And thus, the guilt: I blamed my studiomate for my own inability to work under stress.  I blamed my family visiting for cutting into my worktime.  What work?  I am barely making anything, and my show goes up in a week. And I wanted them to visit.  It meant reconnection, homebaked goods, free groceries, and time away from campus.  Selfish bitch.


There is a webcomic I subscribe to, Wapsis Square, where the personal demons of each character literally crawl out of hiding when a character is feeling vulnerable.  I like the way the artist visually depicts the way something like depression, self-doubt, and guilt can completely take over your body and surroundings:

20050118

Don’t listen to him.  He doesn’t know you like I do…
You’ve been thinking about me, I know how to help…
I always know how to help.

20050119

It’s amazing you’ve come this far, being so worthless.
It’s not really giving up, if you’ve never really contributed anything.
What’s the point?!  No one will miss you.
Nobody.

I recommend reading through a few strips beforehand to get the bigger picture.  Well, really, you should start from the very beginning, but it’s a long strip with a rather convoluted plot.  But the point is made.  Having something like depression becomes one continuous dialogue with the embodiment of all my doubts, misperceptions, issues with confidence, and guilt.  My darker half.  And it is frightening to find the echo of that dark half in the dialogue of these strips, eating away at my sanity.

It does help, reading ahead a few days worth of Wapsis Square, to find that she overcomes her demon, and there is ultimately much-needed comic relief.  An odd way to find my way out of my own labyrinth, but I have always been a visual person.  Rereading these comic strips have been surprisingly soothing and therapeutic.

Time to go home, go to bed, so that I can wake up tomorrow and finish preparing my own Valentine’s gifts.

Categories: emolicious, life, links

An homage to storyspinning

February 13, 2009 3 comments

Way back in 2006, when I first started chronicling my budding sexual experiences online, I searched for like-minded souls and started a modest blogroll to keep track of sex bloggers I enjoyed reading.  That list has undergone many changes these past two-and-a-bit years: as writers wax and wane, close their doors, or just stop writing online.

One fellow submissive whose writing I continue to look forward to seeing in my Google Reader is Sarah McBroden’s Submissive Reflections.  She has been writing a sporadically-updated-in-parts story about a woman who calls herself Angel.  Sarah just recently wrote a part 7, and because it had been awhile since part 6, I reread the story from the beginning.

It is so good I need to share it.  I love the way she writes, very simply but somehow also very intensely.  I remember how it affected me so strongly I enthusiastically sent the link to M (only to be secretly crushed that he found nothing scintillating about it, and sympathized with Angel’s husband).

Here is a snippet from an earlier segment:

She looked at him, ready to ask why then she realised that she didn’t care. She turned and bent over, using her hands to hold herself steady against the cold tiles. The water from the shower drummed against her back and she felt something slick and cold being poured between her ass cheeks. The unmistakable smell of baby oil filled the air.

She wanted to tell him no, that this isn’t the way it is done. Her husband always propped her up on some pillows and made sure she was comfortable before stretching her ass open with one finger, then two and three before even going near her with his cock. But this wasn’t her husband and his cock was already forcing her ass open. She moaned and pressed harder against her hands.

Then there is the indomitable Chelsea Summers, now-sporadic writer at Pretty Dumb Things.  Her sometimes aggressive wordiness and elliptical style may not be for everyone, but I myself love the way she writes.  One of my favorite of her fictional narratives is orlando, bloom.  So read, and listen:

“Fucking me isn’t like fucking anyone else,” Orlando said.

No, of course not, I said, fingers nimbly unbuttoning the buttons of the shirt, opening the shirt to expose a sternum as commensurately pale as the throat above it. Only Orlando’s passionfruit mouth and flushed cheeks were not an ethereal shade of pale. The dark hair, dry now, mostly, curling in intimate tendrils made the skin glow paler.

Smooth, pale skin, and easy, easy as ice, as vanilla, as cream. Easy as posies.

Easily Aroused is another longtime favorite of mine.  His writing is salacious and lusty and usually accompanied by equally delicious photography.  It’s really quite hard to pick one favorite, but this is one story from his archives that comes to mind:

The front door opens straight into the lounge. She shows me around, then guides me through the dining room and into the kitchen. I scrutinise all three rooms as though they’re the only things on my mind, nodding politely, giving the appropriate responses as she talks. Keeping my mind on the task is far from simple. At every opportunity that presents itself, I switch my focus back to Maya. My cock is already semi-hard. If I open my thoughts to her, picture myself slipping the jacket from her shoulders, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, I’ll be erect in no time.

I turn my attention from the Aga range to look at her, and catch her watching me intently. Her cheeks colour immediately.

Speaking of easily aroused, The Provocateur manages to do just that to me with each of his posts.  I’m never quite certain how much of his writing is fact, or embellished truth, or complete fantasy, but in a sense it is all storytelling, the way he sculpts his words.  Here is a bit of Demimonde to draw you in:

The restaurant is not open but the door before us is. As we pass through the empty restaurant we can hear the musical movement of dishes and pots and pans and the scents of preparation. The bases and the heat of cuisine wafts in and around us, concealing us from the noonday outside.

She drops my hand from the lace of hers and walks up to the window. Sighing, she looks down and out and over the afternoon city. She says conquer me.

She says, seduce me. With a word. Or four.

Categories: links, sex, sundry, writing

Contradictilicious

February 11, 2009 Leave a comment

contrary

My greatest strength is my greatest weakness.  I am lazily ambitious.  Life is hilariously absurd and intensely serious.  I can lose myself in the deepest of philosophical questions, or find something like this video to be immediately satisfying:

Also, I want theseThinkGeek is the most wonderfabulistic website ever.

Quite fascinating, the results of my latest little poll.  I would have thought a classroom or office would be most easily accessible, but it looks like Mother Nature has the greatest appeal!  Or perhaps the greatest amount of privacy.  Thanks to everyone who voted! I’m going to try and think of a new poll over the weekend.

I have no idea what I’m doing.  And I’m okay with that.

Categories: ethereal, geekpost, humor, links, sundry

it all adds up

February 9, 2009 5 comments

2 hours working on art show + 2 hours cooking dinner + 2 hours coding a website = … one new masthead.

Yeah, finally got tired of the ol’ banner.  Good way to learn some Photoshop tricks, too.

With that, I’m off to bed.

Categories: admin, art