CNN.com posted a commentary about the legendary blue/black or white/gold dress from Mel Robbins, CEO of her own Management Consulting Firm. She rightly stated that the reason the un-story of the ugly blue/black or white/gold dress went viral was because we as a connected nation, prefer to ignore the realities of our world.

Looking over the popular media’s coverage of Benjamin Netanyahu’s Speech in front of most of Congress; you won’t observe the content of his address being considered .

The UK’s Independent paper compared the speech to the worst hangover of your life; how anti Bibi-ites filled bars and created a drinking game based on incendiary buzzwords he uttered. They noted that Netanyahu’s thumping for re-election and that Obama won’t extend or increase sanctions .

The NY Daily News kept it to one page, spoon feeding what they believed the Israeli PM was trying to explain to the nation over several paragraphs then dropping a dime on the president by saying, “Obama didn’t think it was a good idea by merely placing the words, ‘nothing new’ and no ‘viable alternative’ in reference to their summary of the White House’s take.

Many big outlets focused on Netanyahu’s frequent use of ancient and popular literary references, as if it were a cheap gimmick and not the mark of someone who’s trying to reach as many people as he can in powerful terms.

Fox News forwards it’s main point: “Dems Throw Temper Tantrum At Netanyahu Speech”!

MSNBC posits the tattle tale list: “Here’s Who’s Skipping Netanyahu’s Speech Before Congress”

The broadest platform of all boiling the meat and potatoes down to gruel; would of course be Twitter, where pundits, pols, emotional mercenaries, anti-Jews, anti-Netanyahu, pro-everyone, and anti-all spent all of their 140 characters to thinly declare something.

I was a captive audience, watching the speech from an elliptical machine. Without knowing exactly what was verifiably true or not, the divisive Prime Minister was compelling, bore no shortage of facts and quotes from Iran’s leadership and Senator John Kerry’s take on current nuke negotiations and sanctions.

Most Americans do not dig deep for smart information. Public Radio is a wonderful source of rich reporting and interviews with actual players in a story-not just the squawk box pundits on a payroll. But a lot of energy is put into shutting down funding for NPR by people on the far right who seem to think that NPR is horribly lefty, rather than telling stories their own way exclusively. NPR won’t waste it’s time trying to expose FOX’s non-journalistic platform (Bill O’Reilly and Emily Miller prove that the truth doesn’t have to be true at Murdoch’s party).

Look at your facebook newsfeed and look at what moms, dads, uncles, buds, students are saying about this story. It’s shallow water for the most part. People say something anemic , very loudly then hurl the mike to the ground and strut away. I’m not hearing deep discussions about what IS really going on with Iran’s leadership, has Netanyahu said the same thing before and been proven to lie, are his facts verifiable, maybe the US Congress isn’t all that informed (again, more energy trying to burn Hillary Clinton for having a private email server when Jeb Bush and other Clinton haters are guilty of the same). We’re not talking about the content of Netanyahu’s speech, just the glam gossip, the gamesmanship of Spy Vs Spy. The deal that the Israeli PM is desperately trying to explain to the American Public, is deemed as a weapon of PR and not something we should’ve been aware of before Israel’s most ardent speaker felt compelled to inform us about. So what, the White House didn’t invite or sanction the speech-if not for him, the public and media wouldn’t be percolating about the Kerry negotiations at all. We should be, Kerry has put his foot in his mouth internationally since he took over the job of Secretary of State. If he gets fired, he could just play himself on Veep-and we’re blustering about formal invites when it comes to dealing with people who are not friends because they are the enemy of our enemy but our actual enemy still?

But the ugly blue/black vs white/gold dress is a meaningless anecdote everyone can chew on.

It takes very little knowledge to initiate dozens of comments and posts about it. In fact the more you can expand on this subject matter the more you feel like a scientist who’s shaving micron measurements of nano-bots and not just saying a whole lot of stupid crap in a vacuum about something that was never interesting at all. I repeat NEVER interesting.

The original line of sharing produced comments akin to drunken arguments at a hen-party. Then the hit counts and side by side image comps got the attention of people who wanted to ride the viral coattails. London’s Daily Mail posted an orgasmic piece about the actual dress and it’s designer, Roman Originals making a white/gold version and auctioning off the dress on ebay to donate to the annual Brit Charity TV event, Comic Relief. Pat yourself on the fanny, Roman Originals; way to jump on it!

Trying to shoot the story down and dumb fluff, one of the best Photography Blogs in town, PetaPixel found a fight worthy of the coliseum within it’s blue dress coverage. They created a survey, tumblr gifs showing how the eye and brain see color when it’s over and under exposed, and featured no fewer than three infographics (four times that many if you count those posted in the comments section)…on a site dedicated to an audience who already knows the deal, presumably hoping to be highlighted as a featured news byte on another page. I had to click ‘load more comments’ three times before the DISQUS discussion tapered off to a white/gold nothingness.

Business Insider gave a blow by blow, ‘and then she said, and then I did, and then we said…’ accounting of how the dress story became viral.

Finally the dress’s mania reached a tipping point when the owner/tumblr poster and her friend appeared as featured guests, waving around fabric swatches in the two embattled color schemes.

It can go no further once you’ve watched someone on Ellen; which is a bit like putting a baby in a giant bubble bath before bed time. Amen.

Amen to Business Insider which gave the Netanyahu story (it’s initial headline coverage , post-speech) 14 paragraphs, no infographics, no screen caps of tweets.

But then, I’m feeling joy over BI giving more time to a major news event than to an ugly blue/black vs white/gold dress and I’m keen not to forget that point before soaking in my bubble bath.

Oh wait, IT lives. American Idol contestant, Jax , wore this hideous 80's schank dress on live tv last night.

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Most news junkies have heard the story behind the ‘shadow’ in artist Norman Shanks’ official portrait of Former President Bill Clinton.

http://www.express.co.uk/news/world/561570/Bill-Clinton-portrait-Monica-Lewinsky-reference-National-Gallery-artist

Mr. Shanks is very clear in stating that the shadow cast by the dummy stand-in is actually a symbolic shadow of the infamous blue Monika Lewinsky dress (you know the one with the incriminating DNA on it…)

Fair enough, state and royal artists alike have been injecting their own personal points of view and making social commentary for centuries. Sometimes it was their only way to make a public statement without being jailed or executed. State and other commissioned artworks were more like popular miniseries premiering than just being paintings. Their big reveals made noise in society.

In the era of History Paintings, commissioned portraiture such as new Clinton depiction, were considered a lesser skill set and more of a money making profession. John H. Mortimer (1740–1779) , http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Hamilton_Mortimer an across the board artistic savant who flamed-out by age 38; was known for using his canvas to make his attitude about the monarchy clear during the French and American Revolutions.

Irishman James Barry (1741–1806) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Barry_%28painter%29 , a contemporary of Mortimer’s made it clear that History Painting was an “ambition for art was no less than the transformation of society through the creation of an informed ‘republic of taste’ and the development of a ‘true national character’. I think maybe the inclusion of a reference to a man’s personal affairs would rate as a distraction from the depiction of such depth.

It would appear that both of these imaginative historians looked upon every stroke and effort with visionary commitment in addition to possessing breathtaking perceptive abilities. What they and others like them through history accomplished was so much more than Shanks’ sniggering personal snipe that doesn’t seem to translate in other equally important commissions of Western leadership.

While I think it’s tragic that Fmr Prez Clinton tarnished leaving his government with a financial surplus and many other lasting positives, I would rather see a painter slip a reference into his official portrait that notes something much more dark , like the lingering impact on middle America and small business that NAFTA had, maybe a thinly veiled body part from a Darfur victim that our nation abandoned…maybe some wink in the direction of his Herculean efforts to resolve the Middle East conflict. But a semen stain and an ugly dress?

HOWEVER, it’s fair game to put yourself into your paintings by making your opinions known. To maybe transcend the creation of a mere likeness and mount a true social commentary that will have a legendary weight as generations stop to view the works at The National Gallery; which has a few hundred years less experience at these things than the Royal Academy of Arts or the Society Of Artists but had the graceful time in history when world was discussed and written about at length and not just tweeted and splattered all over social media in a day.

But it’s very curious that his other state / official portraits lack biting commentary or a nod to socio-political context.

Where’s the hint of blood of the middle-class trickling down Fmr President Reagan’s face never to result in a shared American Wealth?Where’s the rainbow snapped in half and covered with lesions as thousands of Americans, beginning with the Gay population fell to AIDS/HIV and Reagan chortled and waved at press pretending to be unable to hear reporters’ questions?

I squinted as hard as I could at Shank’s official Reagan portait and can’t find the outline of the unlatched gates of hundreds of state mental institutions and piles of homeless crazies making your sidewalk their new mailing address.

How could Mr. Shanks miss the opportunity to reveal the underside of England’s Rose, Princess Diana as her crazy public role as martyr and saint collided with rumors of fathering a child not by her husband, eating disorders, not being terribly bright, courting papparazzi…his final image of her is pretty and elegant against a plain wall. WHat he could’ve done with some distorted Baroque wall paper, where all the behind the scenes nuttiness and Royal Family bizarro-land chapters could’ve been secretly declared, like the shadow of a blue dress.

How could Mr. Shanks limit himself to festooning Britain’s Iron Lady, Mdm. Thatcher, with a royal cape and proud posture? Where are crumbs of coal and emaciated unemployed men on the table next to her? Where are the armies of Manchester Music Scene junkies, raped of hope? Could the mist of nuclear power plants be seen off to the left of her face or greased palms of wealthy friends depicted in a clever mirror trick? Not in this final portrait.

The spectacular painting of Pope John Paul II which is rich with background scenery of gothic and nearly medeival proportions, is missing any reference to the thousands of victims of child sex abuse that was condoned, hidden, shuffled and unpunished by the Catholic Church under his Papacy. This pope is primarily deemed responsible for hindering investigations into this international crime ring of sex abusers who stood on the altar and behind the bible with no fear of being stopped. JP’s successor was his information Nazi and was forced to resign very quickly to avoid full exposure. I don’t see any broken toys painted into the flooring, or crying children implied in the shadows of drapery, no symbolic blindfold on a statue. The Pope looks angelic in his commissioned portrait; not a wrinkle in his kindly face used to spell out the implications of his anti-women policies which impacted females across the globe. Let’s not forget his stance against birth control like condoms which exacerbated the problem of unplanned pregnancies and the spread of AIDS and HIV in his tenure. No blue dress stained with man goo secretly but not secretly announced in this warm and grand characterization.

Without question, Mr.Shanks is an extraordinary artist. His entire body of works are compelling, send goosebumps up my arms, they harken Lucien Freud and the greatest Renaissance painters all at once and beyond. The skin looks like you can feel it’s moisture, the eyes seem to poke out of the canvas with three impossible dimensions, his use of flesh and blood colors in everything he produces leaves one unable to view his works from one position. So why did Mr.Shanks feel it necessary to view Bill Clinton’s photo from one POV and declare it so proudly as if he’d told the best joke at the wedding reception?

Shanks is a brilliant artist, who can and should paint and say what he wants, but wouldn’t it have been wiser to let the painting bear his secret inside joke on it’s own, since none of his other massive state portraits have a critical brush stroke in them?

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Clients now ask for a disc or a memory stick of their photos after a photo session. They don’t need you for prints or book-making; Shutterfly and Snapfish provide a beautiful DIY service. If you have a pricing- tier most folks will aim for the lowest price. Ultimately bailing on you after telling you that their best friend is now a photographer and she’ll do it for free.

Years of improving your skills, upgrading lenses, paying for biz cards, ad space, even studio rental-the model you relied on is evaporating. How do you convert true talent and creativity into a cash–living? Is it time to make more of your photography by not using it to take pictures for a living?

1.Sell Shop Secrets:

In 2006, Jodi Friedman worked as a product photographer and post editor. She used Photoshop ‘actions’ to streamline her client’s product. (Actions are Photoshop macros that generate a series of filter and mask executions, allowing consistent and powerful photo editing options). That turned into teaching other photographers how to use Photoshop and Lightroom presets and finally she created her product, MCP Actions (Multiple Choice Photography). Her products have sold like fire to pros and momtographers alike and she holds her clientele close by maintaining an active fb and blog presence; including ‘how to’ posts by fellow photographers. Knowing the addictive nature of her actions, she gets people hooked with freebies , contests and giveaways. As competitive as she is successful, her site also offers solid support for the products, training classes and tutorials. There are scores of photogs who sell their actions stand alone on sites and blogs, or through fb pages and deviantart accounts, but NO one does it better than Jodi as far as embracing the market.

Just a sliver behind are Totally RAD! Actions. They sell enormous collections, reasonably priced, with hip names. They too offer support, webinars, and video tutorials. Their brand feels FUN & cult like; even soliciting clients to sign-up as ‘RADvocates’ to cross promote and vaccinate the web with TotallyRADism.

Shana Rae Rosengarten does portrait work in magazine editorial style but in the last few years her bread and butter has been selling her dreamy actions, presets, textures, etc. Her fb and blogworld is heaving with enthusiastic fans dying for the next release and inspired by her style.

http://www.mcpactions.com/

http://www.gettotallyrad.com/

http://www.florabellacollection.com/

2. Workshop It:

This could mean live workshops in your region, or selling DVD’s of workshops-both are valuable commodities especially if the subject matter lives in one zone of photography. Zack Arias is one of the most notable names in demystifying artificial light. You can work with him live in Atlanta or buy his DVD/Book sets.

Photigy doesn’t roll off the tongue but nothing about this aggressive and amazing site is subtle. This is about dramatic hardcore commercial product photography. They hard sell their tutorials, which take years of mistakes off your career life, allowing you to move on and experiment asap. Will you be confident enough to submit your work to their critique forum?

BabyAsArt is/are West Coast newborn photogs, Carrie Sandoval and Brittany Woodall. Known for their celeb baby shots and glossy mag gets, their influences taste like Anne Geddes but grounded without the fantasy and massive format cameras. Their extremely popular and pricey 2 day workshops are all over the US and UK.

http://zackarias.com/

http://www.photigy.com/

http://babyasart.com/

4. A Well Rounded Escape:

Advertisers say the market you want are young males. I say women 25-50; they do all household shopping and love social networking. Ask why you don’t hear the term ‘parentographers’ or ‘dadtographers’.

If you haven’t heard of Ree Drummond, you might have a male anatomy. She currently has a show on Food TV, does infomercial style endorsements for Macys, sells books about her life as a city girl fallen in love with a cowboy raising kids together on a working ranch, books lively speaking engagements, but it all started with a blog and the first popular component of her blog was her photography page.

Hand holding her fans through camera basics, and giving away several sets of beautiful actions, having contests and giveaways and spotlighting the work of her fans. She led a true tribe. If she posted a recipe she explained how she shot it. If she posted beautiful pix of her kids, they came with captions and camera settings. But December in of 2012 she shut down her Photography Page because she had become so invested in her brand as an accessable Martha Stewart and had “…reached a point in my photography where I’ve learned what I need to know (for now) in order to do the things I love to do (blog, write cookbooks)”

Coffee Shop Blog: homeschooling sisters Rita & Heather use what free time they have left to run a small empire. Most of the visitors go there for the free actions, presets, inspiration, textures and overlays. A momtographer’s paradise. Dozens of freebies, regular contests and giveaways and reasonably priced packages for those who need MORE of their smartly organized wares. Beyond that the page is plastered with ads by similar businesses and related services making The Coffee Shop Blog a one-stop page. All the amazing stuff is really just the support frame for Rita and Heather’s site and logo design biz. These women went from being excellent photographers with Photoshop and Lightroom savvy to masterclass businesswomen, it’s unlikely they’re done building their empire.

http://thepioneerwoman.com/

http://coffeeshopblogdesign.blogspot.com/

ClusterBlog:

Not necessarily an all male hangout, but definitely the more masculine, global, and tech minded version of PW or Coffee Shop Blog, these new photoblogs are packed with thrilling stories related to photography, product testing and reviews, audience posted vids, contest news, tutorials and a community of subscribers who bash heads and hug all over the comment pages.

The editors who become the face of the blogs, are all photographers, unafraid to share shop secrets and not talking down to anyone. They’ve translated their love of the photography world and biz into a serious job that also elevates their camera profile.

http://petapixel.com/

http://fstoppers.com/

http://thomashawk.com/

http://www.digitalrev.com/

http://phlearn.com/

3. Sell How To Sell:

Montana’s Alicia Caine created “Served-Up Fresh” in 2007. Her earnings as a photographer didn’t bridge the gap her husband’s income left. She turned the pricing question into enforced self-esteem meets simple math. How much money do you need to cover your costs of operation and your monthly bills? Divide that up by the bookings you get. Create packages, enforce the minimum purchase rule by imposing a time-out of your client’s online gallery, offer no more than 40 images and do a full presentation and consultation in a nice place with a digital projector to coax your client into buying what’s right for them and you. Caine says she and her devotees swear by her practices and she has further turned into a small biz guru, selling her marketing course, ‘Served-Up Fresh/Easy As Pie”, book by book.

She emphasizes soulfulness, self-love and methods of operation that save time for maximum effect and booking confirmations. She offers free chapters on her site and blog. Feedback on her pages say the average sale went from$200 to $1200 per client.

If you relaunch with her guidelines assume you will instantly lose a lot of clients, but are you in business or sort-ofness?

Kristin Kalp couldn’t have picked a more genius name: Brand Camp.

She opens her blog by saying she gave-up photography to write about the photography business.

Using spicey language, scribing with a winked-eye, wildly-selling her ability to cut through your fears and bad biz mistakes in a series of online courses, live retreats, coaching calls, private online peer support, audio coaching, personal business plan help and more. It’s not cheap but the testimonials are rabidly and spiritually positive.

http://www.served-up-fresh.com/

http://www.brandcampblog.com/

6.Podcast it-

Need one say more? Say it for an hour with a minimal investment in podcasting gear, an itunes acct, a website to drive subscriptions and your photography work.

TWiT Photo is the sugardaddy professor of all photography podcasts but the love affair need not end there. The itunes store and google bubble with podcasts on any sector of the biz you value now.

Between cross promotion with big photosellers like B&H Photo & Video and Adorama, unrelated on -air ad reading, the big Amazon link click through widget….Podcasting is no longer talking to yourself in a dark room.

Whatever works for you

Maybe none of the above seem possible to you. Maybe it’s a case of baby/puppy/kitten steps. Teach photography at your local parks and recreation bldg, run local photo contests for young folks at the town library. Go to night school to study darkroom tech or photo journalism.

The idea is if you’re doing the same thing over and over, expect the same results.

Develop yourself, make a move. Take action.

There isn’t one passive thing about photography and that must include you.

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The Stupefactor:

Stupefaction, Stupaffection, Factored Into Your Photography.

Every passionate photographer needs a way to blown the barn doors off their third-eye.

It’s hard to avoid being stale and easy to forget why you started taking pictures when you’re staring at other people’s faces , nature or architecture hour after hour –you feel cliché.

Before the net, you might’ve fostered a hoarder’s delight , hunting down rarities, old magazines, and photos, etc. to inspire you.

Google, Bing et al can be a rabbit- hole that leaves you more blown-out than set afire. Avoid the overload, and leave room for exaltation which enables inspiration.

Squat briefly at the following websites. They never fail to leave one feeling like you can do something fresh. You might create the next portrait trend in your region. Remember, you can always learn more and Masters earned their name.

http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/

The elite travel, social documentarians, and wildlife shooters of the world.

This ‘club’ is a generous one and most members have websites that invite you dive-in.

http://iconicphotos.wordpress.com/

This smart blog delivers fresh iconic photos and provides journalistic back-stories about each image’s ‘get’. It’s creator recently lost all of his archives and is the living example of dedication because you’d never know he’s working new weekly. Reader comments add more historical context.

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/

A fantasy newspaper full of one unbelievable contemporary photo essay after another-it’s the best periodical within a periodical. It’sabout capturing ‘the moment’. Something that can get lost in a typical portrait session.

http://www.englishrussia.com/

English-Russia features the most plainly shocking, honest, technically brilliant and suprising photography you’ll ever see. They live in a world that looks like the 1980’s had a boat of new tech dropped in their old world.

http://www.shorpy.com/

What doesn’t Shorpy offer? A fab search-engine, the ability to right click/download original file sizes AND order gorgeous fine art prints. A dream yardsale of the future; where everyone’s family photo are sitting in a Tardis-like cardboard box marked ‘FREE’. Yes, Virginia, there IS a Shorpy, too.

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ NASA pix of the day keeps you aware that distance can magical.

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/ & http://myparentswereawesome.tumblr.com/

NOT ONE negative word out of you. There reasons these two comers rule. We are family. We are spaz. We were young. We were once unprofessional and somehow it’s still awesome.

http://alafoto.com/

ALAFOTO is truly a thing of beauty.

Instead of merely collecting and organizing gorgeous early photography and grouping them by photographer and making them searchable via keywords and selling prints…ALAFOTO also is a hive swarming with fans, fine-art aficionados, cultural-vulturals, art -world news and random acts of photo whateverness tied into ongoing dialogues. If nothing else the ‘french postcards’ are worth your time.

*Honerable Mention photography blogs and sites that feed the beast:

Crookedbrains

Oddee

Scientific American

Styleite

UK Daily Mail

The Best Ever…

Bored Panda

The Library Of Congress Flickr Stream

Are You Having A Kodak Or Polaroid Moment?

Around 2002, consumer-end digital snappers flooded the market. Only six years more and Polaroid announced discontinuation of their iconic instant film and camera line. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polaroid_Corporation#Discontinuation_and_planned_relaunch_of_Polaroid_film ).

The first major victim of the Digi cam revolution, Polaroid may be the best example of adaptation from the old guard. Reinvented via collaboration between two other major film producers as “The Impossible Project” (http://www.the-impossible-project.com/about/ ) It’s afterlife is ultra- niche, uber hip and based in Europe where people aren’t afraid to embrace old tech and people over 30. They love themselves.

It wasn’t long before Kodak –the maker of the first digital camera-fell: the list of abandoned film stocks flipped the light on in darkrooms everywhere… http://motion.kodak.com/motion/About/Chronology_Of_Film/Discontinued_Films/index.htm) .

Kodak’s Chapter 11 deal finalized (due to be final this year) it’s patents sold for a song, photo-paper, kiosk and scanner operations transferred and ultimately Kodak agreed to stop making digital cameras too.

Dying like the Black Knight in Python’s Holy Grail, Kodak’s bankruptcy deal was a slow, limb-by-limb affair; in denial of the potential it had to become something new and modern -like Polaroid.

Polaroid made the most of it’s bankruptcy process, selling it’s naming rights to 3rd party camera gear companies. You may find TV’s, strobes, and DVD players that were made by the company that resurrected the Polaroid name-on ebay; the Minnesota based Petters Group Worldwide. It collapsed in on itself when Thomas Petters was revealed to be running a Ponzi scheme and holding lots of drugs. Somehow this version of Polaroid went unnoticed. (http://strobist.blogspot.com/2013/06/quick-hands-on-100-polaroid-pl135-bare.html http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polaroid_Corporation#Use_of_Polaroid_brand_following_bankruptcy)

Kodak, on the other hand, threw more GOOD money after bad by paying $74 million to have naming rights over the Hollywood Boulevard theater built to house the Academy Awards. It lost the prestigious bragging right when Chapter 11 came into the picture. Big time Hollywood director Brett Ratner once was asked where he invests his money-at the top of his list was Kodak because, ‘It’s Kodak, the film industry is always going to need film”. (Ratner even gave a long interview to Kodak’s Film Online pages (http://www.brettratner.com/content/press/kodak.pdf) and something called InCamera.com (http://motion.kodak.com/motion/Publications/InCamera/Spinotti_Ratner_Choose_Film_for_Tower_Heist.htm )where he spent a fair amount of time talking-up the value of film versus video; guess he didn’t realize how much blood was in the water. In 2011 some of the oldest names in Hollywood stopped making film cameras. (http://nofilmschool.com/2011/10/rumors-films-demise-longer-exaggerated/)”

The Kodak Disc Camera System arrived on the market. It required a Nikon F3, auto-winder and the images definitely didn’t look as great as film with a wimpy 2mp count.

A leaf-blower would be easier to lug (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Early_digital!.jpg )

It’s inventor Steve Sasson had a seat-belt on the future, which came in the form of the DSLR, via Nikon’s D90 and Canon’s Rebel, they were the beginning of the end of old-school professional photography. (http://www.photographymonthly.com/magazine/2010/50-greatest-cameras-of-all-time)

In between Sasson’s magical dinosaur and the D90, companies like Olympus, Canon and Yashika created cameras you could swing -on your wrist to Disneyworld. Regular folks found the image good enough for them. (“Look honey, I can make my own sepia and black and white!”)

Had Nikon and Canon not spent most of their time fighting over the DSLR Pie in first decade of the millennium , maybe professional photographers would still be fragging the amateurs. Those first DSLR’s cost as much as a used car to the man on the street.

But Canon and Nikon , Hasselblad and Leica all strapped themselves in and made unbelievable camera gear for Pro’s that a momtog or weekend warrior couldn’t begin to afford-but also created the evolution of VERY affordable digital SLRS.

April of this year: Sears and Walmart announced their cheapie in-store portrait studios were done and done. (http://www.popphoto.com/news/2013/04/sears-and-walmart-shut-down-store-portrait-studios).

Lifetouch Studios/Olan Mills, the vile companies whose minions-run school- photo operations and mall portrait- sweatshops and has been slowly amputating operations since 2009. (http://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2012/jan/31/-olan-mills-facilities-closing-383-jobs-cut/ )

What if all these mall joints created studio- clubs, where the new legions of momtographers and student photographers and regional photography club members could rent studio time or take classes on the art form and the tech of photography? Had an instore website manager who could add on all your social media needs as well as training you? They blew it, Kodak style.

You can’t fight the current: ride the riptide. What you wash ashore- as is your decision. Polaroid or Kodak?

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The Sexiest Moments In Film Featuring A Camera:

Blow-Up (1966):

The late, great David Hemmings (who was very Ryan Gosling-esque) plays a photographer (loosely based on swinging Mod sixties London lenser David Bailey) is convinced he’s accidentally caught a murder on film when he enlarges a frame from a random photo. But not before he tells half naked boney chicks to contort in fabulous minis, giant eyelashes and many vacant stares. There is something very real about the aggressive shooting style that Hemming’s photographer brings to the table and the fact that you hear the shutter clicking and film moving through the gate and no fist pumping soundtrack…yeah, it works all right.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wygqlfUoJEs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8ArHxmELYg

The Doors (1991)

Mimi Rogers plays one of those composite characters, a sexy, stoned, horny rock photographer who gets to shoot The Doors’ frontman, Jim Morrison (played by Val Kilmer) . She seems to use the photo studio walls and camera for foreplay as she purrs, “Jim Morrison…the GOD of ROCK….” and he’s happy to comply.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rU0tR0EjAXA

The Unbearable Lightness Of Being (1988):

Juliette Binoche’s entrée to the American cinema public, this film also introduced ultra kool Lena Olin. This flick is best known for the catchphrase/command coming from sexy velvety Daniel Day Lewis: “Take off your clothes.”

This film about the Czech Spring Uprising in `68 was told through the bond these three characters had as their country and lives were turned upside down through The Revolution. The kicky girl on girl photography session between Olin and Binoche is one of those rare teasers that actually is key to character development.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMdJV5G1y0U

Peeping Tom (1960):

You can’t say enough about this fascinating work. The story of a clean cut man who’s driven insane by his father’s decision to film his entire childhood up- close. The messages are further mixed when his father films the moment he gave this little boy his own camera. The stunning color and set design of Peeping Tom reminds one of London as if envisioned by Edward Hopper and Douglas Sirk. Two creepy sexy moments to watch: the scene where The Peeping Tom mantle is passed on and his date is forced to watch the film; and the grown-up peeper stalking a prostitute through his lens viewer, filming every moment from following her to her flat to watching her undress to finally killing her….with a spike that’s attached to his camera. Talk about a third eye.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUMijUHITmQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jb0AT_P3D4

Body Double (1984):

No one could EVER accuse this films director, Brian DePalma of being subtle, in fact this film is a direct takeaway of “Rear Window”. Call it “Rear Window” with tits. Set in LaLa Land ‘nothing you see is what it seems’ as the films lead (Craig Wasson) tries to make it as an actor and is asked to do a lot of things he doesn’t want to. Few things give you a real Hollywood look at the filming of a sex scene like the segment running behind the closing credits at approximately the 1:50 minute mark; a lusty, shower sex vampire bite scene is a slow painful crawl through hand positioning, a naked body double, trick blood and yet DePalma knows it is definitely not a turn-off.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izirndZXPAc

The Eyes Of Laura Mars (1978):

Wrap your mind around this: Faye Dunaway is a female Helmut Newton. Her images are full of women in bondagey-victoriana, disco hair, heavy make-up and they’re fighting in furs with city pipes erupting with unleashed water. She begins to see a series of murders from the POV of a real serial killer. She doesn’t realize it but her high fashion shoot designs are starting to look like actual crime scenes left behind by the serial killer. Then of course he comes after her and she sees herself running. Interestingly written by John Carpenter. To me the sexy part is watching Dunway drop to a full squat wearing a cigarette skirt split up to her hip while wearing high leather boots. But you decide for yourself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zoaEkz5oF_U

Pretty Baby (1978)

Louis Malle’s film about Storyville, Baton Rouge in 1917. An amazing photographer EJ Bellocq, plants himself amongst the prostitutes and makes a life for himself taking extraordinary portraits of the women in all states of undress. The film caused a scandal because a then 12 year old Brooke Shields showed some skin but the truer bringer of the sexy is Susan Sarandon. She poses for him in her undies and looks so fresh and soft. He can’t stop looking at her even when the camera is replaced by just his eyeballs.

Go to the 3:28 minute mark

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFodWNnHjZY

In this Bellocq’s camera is set up on the riverfront, where he’s having a picnic with a hoarde of scantily clad prostitutes. He doesn’t actually expose a plate in this scene but somehow the camera has a strange powerful presence of stillness with all the saucy frolicking.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvwCwDf6J3w

American Psycho (2000)

If you can overlook the fact that this insanely raunchy homemade porno scene ends in a mental murder scene involving a chain saw, there is some serious bumping going on here, which is masterfully handled by the superbuff Christian Bale who’s got one hand on two girls while filming himself with his free hand as he yaps about the genius of Phil Collins.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gckUWpwjR40

Gia (1998):

This is a cable TV movie (HBO) but it’s still a film. The biopic about junkie 80’s model Gia Carangi. Played infamously by super affected young Angelina Jolie. It’s about an 8 on the Angelina Jolie “tool” meter (on a 1-10 tool-ish scale) but for fans of naked girls you can’t deny the power of Jolie murdering a chain- link fence with her breasts for a faceless high -fashion photographer, putting her finger in her pouty mouth and walking around stitch-free. Not to omit the girl / girl make-out scenes with “Lost” cast member, Elizabeth Mitchell.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6Ak_IqQihU

Star 80 (1983):

Bob Fosse’s last film, inspired by the true story of Playboy Playmate Dorothy Stratten who was murdered by her obsessed ex-husband. There are several photo-shoot scenes and camera related titillation in this truly gripping but otherwise hot movie. Her then boyfriend takes polaroids of barely legal Stratten (played by super young Mariel Hemingway), there’s Cliff Robertson playing Hugh Hefner analyzing a contact sheet of nude shots through a loupe, the annual Playboy Mansion Playmate of the Year Party where all the bunny girls in dolphin shorts and roller skates boogie in circles while video and film roll on them in a world no one but Hefner really lives in.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMfVmMynGV8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEXOAULm-Xk

Death Of A Centerfold (1981):

A made-for-network-TV version of the Dorothy Stratten story arrived before the Fosse classic and it’s called in typical TV ‘film titles for dummies’ style: “Death Of A Centerfold”. Stratten is played here by none other than yogurt-pusher Jaime Lee Curtis , who’s chestal region was most celebrated in the 80’s. Being for TV it’s not graphic but it’s still cheesy sexy to watch the fake centerfold shoots. A note: the “CHiPs”/”Fantasy Island” style music score is very distracting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGyTV8qPyv4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-wY94GUfio

SMILE (1975):

Everyone should see this 70’s classic by the late Michael Ritchie.

Smile and say cheese because a lot of young girls in town are competing in an over the top , but very serious beauty pageant, including a ridiculously cute and baby-faced Annette O’Toole and Melanie Griffith. Everyone tries to look important and be the best , too bad the town’s leader has a son who’s running around with a polaroid taking shower and locker room photos of the beauty pageant contestants. The end of the film shows a fabulous real time development of a very developed chest shot the little perv got.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbdKZQcxKYM

Closer (2004)

Julia Roberts plays a photographer who shoots massive large format black and white portraits of homeless people and tribal people but she also does a headshot session for Jude Law, who’s pretty little head wrote a book and he needs the image for his jacket. The photo shoot is meant to be a seduction scene Maybe it’s a testament to the magnetism of Julia Roberts because she totally makes- out with Jude Law after photographing him, but when she takes pictures of his girlfriend (Natalie Portman) , the poor girl looks at Julia’s big eyes and big posturing mouth, realizes her man must’ve done it with her and cries.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LOF628m8SI

Boogie Nights (1997):

Boogie Nights is the smartest movie about the porn industry.

Memorable camera scenes: Julianne Moore and Mark Wahlberg’s characters having a business-like workaday discussion about where he will do his thing on her body before Burt Reynolds (playing the director) yells, “ACTION!” and the “Brock Landers” scene to name two. It’s a world with no boundaries on either side of the camera.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IE50Khf_kJs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liUy0bS93Iw

Norma Jean & Marilyn (1996)

This is an HBO movie designed to get Ashley Judd naked while impersonating Marilyn Monroe.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dz6e-3NXJx4

Lost In Translation (2003):

Bill Murray being photographed for an alcohol ad in Japan in this great Sofia Coppola film.

Funny is ALWAYS sexy. Zoolander is not sexy funny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gjiQwh1p6M

Calendar Girls (2003):

Helen Mirren and a handful of older legendary dames of British cinema show what they’re made of in this true story about local women fundraising for cancer in the name of a deceased husband. Their nudity is tastefully concealed with strategically placed fruit, buns, cakes and other homey and garden objects . It’s funny and maybe sexy despite it being an older class of women.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1_QH57InDo

High Art (1998):

It would be unfair just to call High Art a lesbian love story. Ally Sheedy is so masculine and charismatic as a fine art photographer (who seems to take a lot of photos of her lovers more than anything else, it’s all about EXPOSURE), who has an affair with the naïve editor (Rhada Mitchell’s breakout role) she hand-picked for her new book. Polaroids taken in bed the morning after….makes you rue the day Instagram was invented, when private photos could be private if you wanted them to be. It’s an intensely wired movie- I actually buy that Sheedy’s character is an artist and not just a way to a lesbian love scene.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5MQDdU3EzU

I Shot Andy Warhol (1996)

Another biopicture; the story behind the shooting of Andy Warhol perpetrated by the coward Valerie Solanus. The unbelievably awesome actor Jared Harris channels Warhol. A fav sexy scene depicts Warhol manipulating wanna bes into naked bitchiness

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdYFZ1TBVPI

Factory Girl (2006)

Where would we be without another film promising the true story of Andy Warhol.

This is his story from through the filter of doomed Edie Sedgewick, his ‘Chelsea Girl/Factory Girl’.

The entire film shows Edie (played by an edible Sienna Miller) being photographed and filmed; by Warhol, the NY Press, the fashion world, ‘fans’-all of whom dump her in the end. This flick proves that even sad is sexy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dofdqP8CaU0

Zack And Miri Make A Porno (2008):

It’s almost sexy. But it is more of a femail turn- on to watch people talking dirty about making a porn and then showing certain carefully shot porno scenes. Not for love, but money…then they find love? Elizabeth Banks is Miri and is very easy on the eyes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4msQUCUAjE

The Notorious Bettie Page (2005):

This is a gloriously kinky film from HBO. Gretchen Mol of Boardwalk Empire fame burns every scene to the ground and is shown as Bettie posing in a dozen or more photo shoots. Also a special film in that half of it is black and white, and the rest appears to have a real old film processed look to it!

Another treat being that Lily Taylor is a photographer, instead of some creepy dude. As one client lifts alace up black F-me pump boot, he tells Taylor, “I want her to look strict.” Meow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cd252I7A6NE

“Negatives” (1968):

A demented movie made by the director who brought us the cult film “The Ruling Class” (Peter O’Toole); “Negatives” is about a bored couple who are so smart they are dysfunctional and get-off every night doing role playing games, most favorably that of the English serial killer Dr. Crippen and his wife. Every sicko routine they have gets blown to bits when a sexy photographer comes into their lives.

Photo shoot at the 59:20 minute mark

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlZgsoHoqPU

“Darling” (1965):

One of the all time sexiest films in the history of movies. John Schlesinger classico. Julie Christie, Dirk Bogarde and Lawrence Harvey DEFINE hip coolness. Screw “Mad Men”, his is the version of the 60’s you want. There’s ample use of the camera to show the changes in the lives of the main players because Dirk Bogarde plays a hardworking photojournalist. A fabulously smokey scene at a swinging party features a movie projector and screen where a congo line of guests drunkenly pause in front of the projector light and do a wicked impersonation of another partygoer.

Julie plays a composite of Grace Kelly and someone like herself and is shown modeling and looking ravishing. A tremendously important film and one can only hope no one ruins it by trying to remake it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OsKCbvcOVY

Mulholland Drive (1996)

Naomi Watts is naïve and fresh-off the bus in Hollywood. While Mulholland is as full of fantasy as every newbie to Tinseltown, the scene depicting a videotaped audition for a major motion picture will make your hair stand on end because it’s something that does happen. She is pawed and breathed on by the rediscovered and now late Chad Everett. It’s a shame David Lynch (the film’s director) didn’t jump on Everett’s masterful depiction of sleaze and showbiz manipulation and make him a modern star (much like Travolta was saved by Tarantino). It’s one of those films within a film that you actually want to see. Very uncomfortable and utterly great.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeevxJaJl1U

For a fabulous collection of images to accompany the video links, jump here: http://vikireedphotography.tumblr.com/post/58099848243/sex-on-film-in-film

I Was Christopher Walken’s Dresser

My Wardrobe Supervisor got the new schedule. Christopher Walken was the lead in Coriolanus at The Public Theater and he needed someone to be his personal dresser.

I begged to be his personal D even though I’d had mishaps with zippers and nightmarish quick-changes in one on one situations with actrons

Walken didn’t want to share a row of public dressing tables, so stagehands built a shack in the adjacent loading-dock-floor next to the theater’s green room/common area. It had everything but a roof.

The cast wore modern-minimalist costumes for this interpretation of Shakespeare. Chris didn’t like his costume…except for the massive fantastic black leather duster. He told the director he’d wear his own imported duds

Chris created the mad French Supermodel hairdo he’s so well-known for. Every show day, depending on tired, stoned or drunk he was, the plot of the hair on his head aimed at a different compass point.

Even though he was the STAR of the play he only had 2 changes in the show that required my assistance.

I had to meet him right outside his shack with shoes and his duster. He’d usually greet me with, ‘Viki…my angel…’ It was better than the few times my folks were nice to me, I swear.

Also had to connect in ‘the voms’(a dark tunnel under the stage). Chris would approach me in the purple darklit VOMS, removing his silk shirt. It was my job to throw an small purple woman’s bathrobe on him for the next scene. I noticed that he’d stationed paper cups all over the VOMS-full of red wine (of the humongous jug origin).

The brew stained his teeth and thin lips. Scary in the purple darklight-until he started miming the grabbing of my boobs from 10 feet away, falling over laughing in a wheeze. Not for all , but most shows.

His musk is implanted in my brain, consisting of: sweaty actor, red wine and tabasco shooters (for his voice?), silk, slathered with deodorant.

During the day , before showtime, he’d hang around swaggering like a 6’2” Elvis on light feet.

No one knew how to act him because he’s not normal. Chris is a sparkling maniac that transcends just being in a room with somebody-ness. He’s a showbiz sphinx but totally just a guy from Astoria, Queens simultaneously.

Astoria was the other part of the Coriolanus kismet. I lived off the same main street in Queens where the Walken family bakery and bar dwelled. Chris made the connection when I gifted Walken Bakery danishes to the green room.

Coriolanus was also timed to run during the Christmas holiday season.

The last show before Christmas break…and true to this young girl’s dreams, it snowed in NY. Not a blizzard, but John Cusack snow. It lands on his lips as he’s trying to convince some hot girl that she’s really the one. He looks skyward, begging her to answer before he freezes to death…that kind of Manhattan snow globe movie moment.

Being just 22 , my supervisor told me to expect a traditional personal-dresser tip. I think he also said something about getting my boobs in Chris’ mouth. Being tact-free, I harassed Walken during every besotted wardrobe change and any passing moment about my TIP. He was celebrating the break from our show schedule and letting-go hard and early. Show was over, no tip yet?

I ran into his shack without knocking in a hurry to get home too. I smelled the joint he and two friends were passing around from the not-roof. Head down grabbing shoes and wardrobe. Chris referred to me with a wheezing laugh, “See, she wants some too!”.

I stopped, took a deep drag off his purple weed. He gave me the roach. I guess this was my tip.

Arranging his shoes at the wardrobe rack, I was stoned and there was Chris telling me my name I looked up at him.

He handed me a card in a red envelope.

Then he asked me if I needed a ride home because he had his nephew bring his new town car and it’s snowing and no need to take the subway.

We find ourselves outside on Astor Place staring at Walken’s new big black Lincoln.

Chris, who’s been shooting Dixie cups of hillbilly jug red wine and sucking weed most of the evening orders his nephew to, ‘get out, give me the keys, I want to drive.’

I know we have to cross a bridge over very cold water to get to Astoria.

Pot makes you paranoid and I had the additional benefit of having a paranoid hallucination that was real: Chris pressing and clicking buttons in his new car, not knowing how to use the thing yet…laughing as he goofed around. Checking the mirror, I saw the nephew and the kid’s girlfriend sitting in the back seat saying aloud through mind control…’oh look, another bimbo girl Uncle Chris is making me say hello to.’

Then as we get on the snowy slushy road, I suddenly remember that scene from Annie Hall where Walken’s character is driving a terrified Woody Allen from the airport…asking if he ever ever also thought about driving into oncoming headlights…

I was so fixated on how high we all were, how insane this was and how jealous my mother would be and how fucking disinterested out of spite my brother would be and how deadly envious my failure actor boyfriend would be deep down. I’d forgotten to tell him my address and he’d passed my basement apartment dwelling.

I’d already opened his card while waiting for him at the theater, now I could rub it in my boyfriend’s face, along with my genuine Chris Walken roach (which he said out of envy probably contained PCP.)

Inside the card was cold hard cash and a note, “I wanted to get you a see through negligee but my wife thought this would be better, love, chris.” His handwriting had the same personality as his hair. I loved it.

I ran into Chris in Hollywood a few years later. He had expresso and wine. I think I stuck to a cappuccino. My hideous 78 Chevy Caprice didn’t kill the flirt in him. He might’ve been worked up staring at all the chicks in spandex tube dresses. I supposed he wondered why I dropped a note to his waitress as he sipped breakfast outside Book Soup and traded calls to plan a hello. He a huge incredible person made the time for me still. I signed the note, ‘from Viki, ‘your Angel’.

As I got ready to make an awkward embarrassing exit, he dawdled with my shirt collar and stole a trace of a smooch but I resisted. My imagination finishes that night in a wholly different way, a better ending to this story but I know that it’s not the end. My ego prefers to sleep with the plan to meet again. I long to be so special.

There was one night after Coriolanus when special guests galore came back to pay homage to Chris. Al Pacino, Rebecca DeMornay, Anthony Zerbe and partneress, John f’ing Hurt and Mikael f’ing Barishnikov, Chazz Palminteri. Usually everyone ran to the subway once out of their costumes. Tonight everyone found a reason to linger.

So here I stay…waiting for my story with Chris to come full circle as we meet as comrades in a green room surrounded by magical people like him- and me of course.

What’s the formula for making a legendary rock- photographer?

A confluence of forces and events makes it impossible for you to do anything else.

A life beginning in priveledged & tony Scarsdale, New York. Your mom dies in a famous plane crash, dad is an attorney or a songwriter. You get an MA in Fine Art in rustic quiet U of Arizona and are told to borrow a camera and film and ‘just take pictures’ by your instructor. Taking your new passion to NYC in 1965, where you are the receptionist at Town & Country Magazine. In 1966 you hussle a press-pass onto a yacht in the Hudson-the only unofficial shooter on a promotional boat- ride with The Rolling Stones. The Stones boot every photographer except that very same cute, blonde, receptionist with the camera: Linda Eastman. Eastman’s casual intimate shots of the Stones elevated the concept of Rock and Roll coverage.

It didn’t hurt to have a studio apartment at 888 7th Avenue, New York, a building known for music industry culture-indeed Tommy James of the Shondells hired her to shoot their album cover. James visited his upstairs neighbor at her studio apartment-devoid of everything but backdrops and gear and the Shondells manager decided to give her a shot at extending her street photography and portraits to the art form of album covers- when cover art and photographs were the viral images of the pre-internet world.

Staying in that world, taking pictures, upping her rep, leads-to her role as the unpaid, in-house photographer for The Filmore East; birthplace of 60’s rock. Her hang buddies were future icons like Janis, Jimmy, Morrison, Jackson Browne, Tim Buckley, BB King. Being platinum with fabulous figure, she was initially seen as a groupie, but those on the ground still commit to the fact that she was part of this historic scene not a satellite.

By 1967 she nailed coveted gigs like flying to Britain for an piece about ‘Swinging Sixties’ rockers. She first met the dude she’d marry as a result of that connection at a Georgie Fame concert, which led to skipping-out to see Procol Harum, then linking-up at the launch party for Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band at Brian Epstein’s house in Belgravia?

Staking a claim in the territory of married man, father and independent musician- bundled in the form of a beautiful portrait featuring his newborn daughter tucked close to his chest, under leather bomber jacket he wore. Such a powerful photo, that Annie Leibovitz effectively stole the image for her portrait of Tom Cruise with his newborn daughter 36 years later for the cover of Vanity Fair.

Linda’s photos for the “RAM” album art, were so personal; they stoked the animosity between Paul and his former partner, John Lennon. In one image, Paul straddles and holds a Ram by the horns; in a panel on the back cover, Linda’s image or two beetles copulating (meant to symbolize how the other Beatles were allegedly treating her husband) provoked Lennon to release his own tribute to Linda’s work in the form of a card insert for the legendary album, “Imagine”.

In this visual wink, Lennon merely holds the ears of a sheep he’s straddling in a similar settling. Lennon regretted the photo and the song “How Do You Sleep” (also inspired by Linda’s beetle photo) because he and Paul had mended their friendship by the time fans and music magazines had seen the images and fueled the ‘feud’ from the sidelines. Images are like insults in an email-they are forever.

Taking on a role in her husband’s post-Beatles band, in the face of ridicule, her life on the road –onstage as a keyboardist and behind the scenes as stage mother, was extensively covered by her cameras as the Wings family traveled the world; recording in Africa, on a yacht and all points abroad. —

When Wings disbanded, so did Linda’s temp job as rock keyboardist and documentarian. Her only foray into the rock life after that was when she and Paul were busted for holding pot in Japan and the Cute Beatle was held for ten days . He and the wife were also busted for growing pot on their Scottish farm in 1972 and nailed in Sweden before that and busted in Barbados over ten years later for holding again-very rock momma behavior.

Concurrently, her camera’s gaze focused Paul’s career in rock, the family ranches, farms and family life. Soon she would also become the face of vegetarianism in the modern world; and fighting for the humane treatment of animals. She openly cheered that she didn’t , “eat anything with a face!”

PETA to this day gives an award in her name and another daughter, Stella has used her platform as a world-renowned fashion designer to fight the use of leather and fur in fashion.

In 1992, Linda McCartney published, “Linda McCartney’s Sixties: A Portrait of an Era”; a collection of images that nests her firmly in the legend of the era and not just a satellite groupie taking snapshots.

McCartney favored the Nikon F and Pentax LX, in her career’s maturity, but was introduced to photography with Pentax and Canon bodies, the Canons being allegedly borrowed, the Pentax Spotomatic being the tool for her breakout Rolling Stones on the yacht ‘get’. Her work was not studio heavy, mainly focus and shoot with existing light a la photojournalism, although her pursuit of new technical skills did take her into a long practice of developing her own prints, sun-printing, and using raw papers for prints. These experiments resulted in an exhibition at The Victoria and Albert Museum in England.

Recommended viewing would be this living tribute to her photography at this tumblr: http://lindamccartneyphotography.tumblr.com/ . Unsurprisingly, one of her favorite subjects-her daughter , Mary-has become a fashion, celeb, and lifestyle photographer with a stellar reputation. Check out Mary’s blog & online portfolio: http://feaverishphotography.com/blog/2010/05/mary-mccartney/ and http://www.marymccartney.com/index.php/album/index/g/3/a/1 . Her celebrity portrait work rivals that of her mum’s and one can see again, how a confluence of events and situations made it impossible for her to be anything but a photographer.

Tons of images noted in this story can be seen at the tumblr page link below.

- See more at: http://vikireedphotography.tumblr.com/post/59788326573/linda-mccartney-rock-photography-icon-a-confluence-of#sthash.bdEiV3CR.dpuf

At my junior high school, Cedar Drive, I was “A Big Queer”. Before getting offended, get-off my back: in the 1970’s when I was thirteen, ‘queer’ didn’t mean homosexual or a horrible name for someone who is homosexual, not at Cedar Drive. In my small world, it meant you were in Band, Chorus, or Mime. It was probably worse to be seen with a clarinet in your locker than to be thought of as homosexual, honestly. One of the most die-hard lesbians in our school, a girl-boy named Andrea Jacoby; who could beat the crap out of most of the guys, for example, was never called ‘queer’. .

Mime? It didn’t seem so queer at the time. Well, we’re talking about an era that gave birth to “Shields and Yarnell”. Robin Williams was hysterical, right? Wrong. Everything was wrong about The Cedar Drive Mime Troupe.

Common to suburban Junior Highs of the time, a phenomenon known as ‘The Hip Teacher Who’s Down With You Kids” erupted. Perhaps you remember yours. The hippy teacher who wore hairstyles from “Love, American Style”. Or ‘chick teachers’ who wore no make-up or panty hose. They added a new personality to the other classroom-cliches : the radical ex-minister or nuns who become cruel substitute teachers; Viet-Nam Veterans who’d sit at their desks and say words like ‘God-Damn’ and ‘Mother-Fucker’ in their proper context with full-feeling; truly disturbed types who have terrifying reputations from grades before; the lascivious French and math teachers. They all seemed tenured and permanent, but the ‘hip’ teachers went where they were needed: in art, music or shop-classes; where turnover was high and the gym teachers won’t give them crap.

Maybe the only thing worse than music class was our teacher, Doug Clayton. From his very platform shoes and bell bottom hip-hugger pants to his wacky ties, side-burns and John Lennon glasses; he was pure Queer-Ringleader material. He thought he’d change the way the music department had been run. Let me just describe Mr. Clayton this way: you could call him Doug. That was the first thing he told all his new classes, humping the back of his chair, turned towards us, his short legs pulled wide like a Christmas-chicken’s…his bell bottoms pulled high enough to bonnet only his knees. He would share his love of Rock and Roll with all of us. Attendance would be one-hundred percent cool in his class and The Kids would finally love to learn. They’d all come to him for advice, like Ken Howard as The Coach, in “The White Shadow”. Doug was a white-shadow all right. Soon all queer-followers would be covered with white grease-paint as the Cedar Drive Mime Troupe debuted during Doug’s first year.

Doug must’ve been playing his Pied Piper of Faggotry the day he held sign-ups for Mime Class. I never saw a bigger holding-pen of losers than I did that afternoon. No shame at all in giving up your lunch or outdoor recreation period in exchange for hiding in the safety of the gym. Anything to avoid the terrors of the playground, where I was guaranteed to be boxed-in, tripped, or flat-footed by Andrea Jacoby and other playground hoods.

There we all were a week later.
Fifty Junior High Queers standing in five rows of ten. Like Marcel Marceau, except not talented or French. We had to practice in leotards and white dolphin shorts. Do you hear the ‘tard’ in leotard? I didn’t until about five of the most popular kids banged on the gym windows as they loitered in the halls (as only popular kids can get away with). The gymnasium windows were soon taped over so we could perfect being outcasts in private. The troupe contained every freaking nobody in a typical junior high: fat kids, the ugly girls, uncoordinated egg-heads, brainy girls that looked middle-aged, black kids (all two of them), the chorus spazazoids, any foreign kids from the local Military Base, the asthma kids, every kid who’d ever auditioned for a school play-and me. All us looking misshapen and lumpy in our mime uniforms, replete with rainbow-suspenders. I did mention that Robin Williams was Morking all over the place at the time. Yes, rainbow suspenders; thick as you can get-em and twice as queer.

I hated mime in my own bedroom, so why I would go through the motions with forty-nine big-time spit-ball magnets remains a mystery that still orbits the solar-system. Formation walking into the wind; mass trapped in a box activity; groups of invisible catch and drop, fifty pathetically-uncoordinated twerps trying to lean on imaginary ledges and forty-seven usually dropping like bowling pins on League Night. There’s no music involved: more like static than rotting bark.

Nothing to disappear into except the silence and the echos of flat-footed pencil-pushers and booger-eaters not being synchronized in the least.

What would be the final consequence of mime-class? To perform mime in public, of course.
There seemed to be some protection from this odd form of self-abuse behind the papered windows of the gym doors. But no amount of black, white, and red Crisco-textured, painted smiles could conceal my terror. For sure, the only mime routine I would remember was walking against the wind, running away from the crowds, and wetting my leotards.

Doug arranged for the best fifteen queer mimes to perform in a wondering artisan method at a totally artless place, the Monmouth Mall in Eatontown, New Jersey. We’d pair-up, miming for tired shoppers and Doug could prove to the school board that he was truly a ground-breaking educator. I spent thirty-five long minutes in a public bathroom at the mall, perfecting my expression of regret. My partner in mime (I sooo apologize for that one) Patti (one of the most brutally dissected kids in all of my school years), was as brazen as she was pear-shaped and clumsy. She’s picking a flower or is she bobbing a yo-yo? She was gusto times ten and lovin’ it! For myself, I preferred to do a routine I called “mime trapped inside a bathroom stall”. Whether because of Patti’s desire to act her ass-off, or Doug sending another mime in after me, I was forced out of my cocoon; I delayed my exit with skill: moving in slow-motion finally came in handy.

I stood under a plant bitching and panicking about not wanting to do this when I forgot that I was wearing make-up. I forgotten clamping-on the hideous crack-separating suspenders and shorts because my spine had gone numb an hour earlier. I rubbed my tired eyes with my white gloves and came up with fists that appeared to have been in a fight with another mime. Patti attempted to stray-off with her inscrutable ‘petting a live flower that bounces’ shtickla and I hauled-butt back towards the ladies’ room. There was mon salvation, the windowless-door of the public bathroom, when suddenly I heard a woman’s voice. The mother’s words cut through me like piss in the snow, “Look, sweetie! It’s a clown! A CLOWN!” God, no. Please, God. Not just a patron of the mall, but a mother and her bored tot. My first performance suddenly became “Mime scared clueless and frozen in a block of crap”. What do you do?

You act like a robot butler. It’s doubtful the toddler was anything other than bewildered and constipated. The mother kept waiting for the payoff, like I would pull a nickel out of her kid’s ear or a trick bouquet out of my rear. Nope. Just a robot butler. There’s no second hand in ‘mime-time’-no clock or measurement that would define and end to a torturous improvisation. Of course nothing draws attention more than a mother yelling “Look, honey, it’s a CLOWN” in a public venue. I was quickly circled by mothers who wanted a respite, like pigs to a trough: one by one, curious, then ravenous. Alas, I would not offer them so much as a chance to adjust their Legg’s panty-hose. You can only rigidly bend your elbows, head, waist and hands so many ways and so many times. Robot-Butler-Mime-Clown was finit. It was at this moment in time that the word, “smattering” was invented, as their applause gave me permission to escape. My heart pounded, sweat erupted from behind white greasepaint and a hideously happy stranger stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. None of this was worth the half-day of school that we missed. Getting hit in the back of the head with a rock on the playground seemed less stressful.

On the bus ride back to Cedar Drive, I fantasized about accidents and scattered mimes on the roadway. Who would stop to help us? We’d all look the same-how would my parents identify me? They’d have to refer to dental records. I could hear the coroner now: “I’m very sorry to tell you this, Mr and Mrs Reed; but that Robot Butler is your daughter.”

Sadly, I ran into Mr. Clayton, almost a decade after my Queeraissance. He was selling overpriced costume jewelry and watches at The Monmouth Mall. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring anymore or much hair for that matter. Years ago, Doug’s kids torched his priceless 2000 record collection which he left foolishly out in the open in his classroom. Seeing him in the nineteen-eighties, long after his students made death threats that caused him to take a nervous-breakdown hiatus, made me forget how he wasn’t ‘Doug’ anymore when he returned to Cedar Drive. Now you were to call him “Mr. Clayton”. He was Mr. Miserable Bad-Ass Clayton. Here he was, at the site of my most horrible day in Junior High. He was still so burned that the smoke from his record collection was wafting off-of him. I wanted to apologize for all the pain he must’ve endured. But then I remembered the other nightmare: he made me create a disco-dance-step, name it, and perform it in front of the class, to “The Hustle”. I ducked behind a handbag display and instead of apologizing, I just boogied away.

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