"What do you think we're going to do to you?"
"...like the bridge or guide that led to a new aesthetic philosophy."
And you may ask yourself, how did I get here? That’s certainly what I asked myself as I stared into Khatija’s eyes in the living room of that previously unknown house in Rosedale. Perhaps that’s why my countenance expressed such confusion. Such awe for the possibilities of life, which she mistakenly interpreted as concern. But it wasn’t trepidation, I was just stunned by her beauty and the surroundings. And that she continued to engage me.
Stunningly beautiful reader. No offense to Deelishis or Jessikah Maximus, but there’s sexy stripper chicks that’ll give you a quick hard-on, and then there’s women like the legendary Iman that make you want to be a better person. A refined grace that when it stands before you and engages with a smile makes you want to stand-up straighter and adjust your tie.
Before my move to New York, Iman had always been the prototype of perfect feminine beauty. And when it came to outright sexiness, that was Naomi Campbell. For me anyway. I just didn’t grow-up around a lot of Asian girls in Detroit, or meet a lot of Asian gals in Denver. But this caramel-colored Khatija was like the bridge or guide that led to a new aesthetic philosophy. Part Spanish, part Asian, part black, part London. Entirely confident with a radiant smile. And she was no mere girl, as I found out later.
But Khatija’s not what this post’s about. At least, not per se. Again, I’m not sure what this is about exactly, which is probably why its taking so long to write. But I sense its something to do with the vibe in that house with Khatija and Jamaican Whitney and that Rosedale photographer after he emerged from the basement to shake my hand and set-up the video camera.
I was a bit concerned as to what the photographer’s reaction to my unannounced presence would be; but he turned out to be a somewhat short, friendly, Jamaican guy--probably as old then as I am now (45). He wore tan, linen shorts with a matching, short sleeved shirt; beads round his neck, and sported a kind-of squarely-cut, Thelonious Monk beard for which there’s probably a name that I don’t know.
After introductions were made, we proceeded to set up the camera while the models leaned against the wall and complained.
“Come on, we’ve been here two hours already! Now you’re first goin’ to start wit’ her?!”
But that’s the way these artists and great capitalists are. Like car enthusiasts or Indian tabla players they’ve got no sense of hourly time. They move within their own cycle. People assume genius is a positive thing, but these guys are most often a bunch of obsessive, sick fucks who’ll stick with a seemingly inane idea long after a sane person would have got bored or gone to bed.
Anyway he set up the cheap camera on a tripod, using his old, wood-paneled TV as a monitor, after which he went upstairs to quiet the son’s music down. When he returned, Khatija demonstrated the best angles and lighting to shoot Whitney, then we did a quick run-thru for practice. Then, with all the models standing round in a semi-circle to watch, we recorded the first take.
Of course the first take’s always best--just ask Jay-Z or John Cassavettes. All the girls clapped when Whitney finished her soliloquy, but of course we weren’t done yet. Whitney wanted a second take, and then a third take. Then we had to shoot from different perspectives since she was adamant that the tape had to show at least two different angles.
After awhile my interest began to flag--what can I say? There’s a reason why I’m Lodo Grdzak the bumblefuck blogger you’ve never heard of and not Jonathan Franzen or Jeff Beck. My mediocre ass can only stay focused for so long. And it was hard not be distracted by all those girls in bikini’s and cotton dresses.
“’ey,” Whitney said to me as she snapped her fingers in front of my face, “What’s da matter man? I’m not get’ing the same vibe like we had before.”
“I know,” I told her, embarrassed that she called me out in front of all those gals, “but now we’re in front of all these beautiful women. And we’ve done the scene so many times!”
A fair explanation if I say so myself. I know the photographer laughed. But Whitney just threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Ugh--stupid man!”
* NOTE: I don't know what the weather's been like 'round you reader; but here in New York, it's been 65 degrees all week (first weeks of March!). Wouldn't wanna be a Polar bear, but great days for Lodo Grdzak. Supposed to rain tomorrow, so I'll try to write. But next installment may be a few days.
** ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics contained herein were stolen off Google Images and are used simply to enhance the story. Copyrights may exist.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar