Is yours in French? I was surpised that mine was, maybe a consequence of ordering from amazon.fr
Yes, it's essentially an intimate sketch book, although it's interesting as a way of addressing that issue of photographer-model bonding that you and Cooter are discussing elsewhere: It's pretty obvious that there was some level of intimate connection with all the women in vol 1, and obvious that there is none in the examples BC posted (which is fine, that is presumably not what his client wanted, and has no right to ask for anyway). So there are points at each end of the spectrum, then you have Bailey and Sieff floating around the middle and frequently crossing over the line, and Jonvelle who looked like he was thinking about it but probably didn't.
Photo of Soames at the end is intense... I think that can be seen without knowing the history. Interesting that the photo it reminds me of most is a self-portrait by Diane Arbus
Re shame: so that's when you learn about yourself, said cheeky young monkey ;-)
Hi Graham,
No, mine's in English, ordered through UK for currency ease, but it was actually sent from Germany. Oh, these cunning multinationals - if they don't get you one way...
But, on the bright side: I have just finshed Vol. 2 and I love it! (Saul and I are on Judeo-Christian name terms again.) Even the curator-speak upfront is far better, and the images are simply his colour magic continued in b/white. The printing is superb, but oh, those tiny images! Well, I write superb, having no way of knowing how Saul printed them, but taken at face value, they rock.
How are you getting on with
Early Color - is it the same minute dimensions?
(Jonvelle was a Canon man, so tea wouldn't have been of great concern to him...)
Soames was his (Saul's) model on a
Nova shoot in Ireland, so love got to travel, too, on the firm. Way to go!
Shame: well, I'm not sure if it's about getting to know oneself, because in that case it wouldn't have come as such a surprise - I think it could have been about suddenly having this unsolicited vision of an old guy surreptitiously snapping a twenty-something year-old from behind which, considering his way of earning a living, might have suddenly felt bloody odd and desperate at the same time... I guess one can't control the reflexes so well, damn them, especially when they come calling at such an inconvenient moment. I really wish I'd made the shot and suffered angst later in confort (sheesh, now I write in Spanish?) comfort, when it no longer mattered. It's so dumb: it was only a loose ponytail. Why guilt?
Rob
