Tuesday, March 29, 2011

A Toot in the Mirror (Or, I'll Be Your Mirror)

Jason at 13

Pardon my tootage...the above photograph of mine was selected for the show I'll Be Your Mirror: The Portrait opening this Saturday at the 1650 Gallery in Los Angeles. And these three photographs were chosen for the exhibition's online annex:

Anna at 95

Miami

Self-Portrait as Man Ray

Monday, March 28, 2011

Gerry and Lo (Or, Rounding Out the Three)

So, I'm hoping that the deaths of Loleatta Holloway and Geraldine Ferraro complete the celebrity-deaths-in-threes triangulation of the past week. Ms. Holloway made the early 1990s - via the late 1970s - a whole lot more fun...and Ms. Ferraro was the original badass woman running mate. Fuck you-know-who (like I even have to say that) and her faked and half-baked tough-for-the-cameras-with-a-rifle bullshit. Gerry was the real deal.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

A Place in the Sun (Or, Queen Elizabeth)


And to think I was just about to post an R.I.P. entry for Loleatta Holloway...

Growing up in the 1970s, I thought of Elizabeth Taylor as something of a joke. She was often parodied and was often a parody of herself - the out-of-control, drunk and bloated faded superstar who was famous more for her husbands, jewelry, and various appetites than she was for her talent.

Despite it all, I was mesmerized as a kid. A woman in a turban leaves me weak in the knees.

Sometime after college, I discovered a different Elizabeth Taylor. I found the Elizabeth Taylor that existed before the sludge of gossip and unintentional camp hardened around her. I found Elizabeth Taylor the actress.

Her sheer power is obvious in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, but her blatant yet sophisticated sexuality in Butterfield 8, A Place in the Sun, Suddenly Last Summer, and Giant floored (and continue to floor) me. She was the most famous woman in the world in the 1950s/early 60s for good reason - beyond her stunning physicality, a great deal sparked behind those violet eyes. She was beckoning, but still a fantasy. It's no wonder so many men gave up everything to be with her.

I'll be mourning her death by watching Butterfield 8 tonight in a turban and dark sunglasses.