Stay Weird

What to do when it’s minus a million?
Girl chats while tea drinking and cutting up old Life magazines, of course.

Jane likes to be a part of the creative process.


Unfinished bondage collage and ‘Framboise’ by Jera.


‘AH, YOUTH’ and ‘Stay Weird’ by yours truuu-ly.

These pictures were also taken by Jera. (Ipads are the future!)
Check out her way lovely blog, Lemonade Winter.

Getting to know Abraham and the floor.

I read online that today is the most depressing day of the year, on average.
Makes sense, as it’s the middle of January and friggen cold.

But, thanks to my very scientific experiments, I’m convinced that creativity is the best antidote to depression. Much like the sensations of romantic love, creative production is a passionate act. You become enthralled, consumed and enthusiastic. Everything else seems to melt away, endorphins take over and you find yourself feeling like a kid again.

I spent this afternoon eating Vietnamese food and taking pictures with Colby in his cozy apartment transformed into photography studio. Stand your bed up on it’s side and voila, so much valuable floor space for me to lie all over.

When I got there Abraham was already in the bath tub, to save space I’m assuming.

He just looked so pretty in there, I put on a frilly dress and climbed in.

I love the collaborative  aspect of photography, especially when posing or modeling. (These pictures were my idea but Colby took them.) There’s a very interesting type of conversation between “model” and photographer in this way, an equal exchange of ideas, and in turn, greater inspiration. I suggest something I’d like to do and he directs me on how to make it better, he suggests something and I interpret it through my body and figure out what’s possible. It’s like performing, with a constant personal director.

(And) even between our combined visions, things happen that we didn’t expect,
like that I look about 12 years old here:

(And) like most (pleasant) experiences, the unexpected is usually the best part.

The original idea was for him to be on top of me, with just my limbs showing out of the tub and wrapped around him, but he’s way to heavy so we did this instead:

Then we took the pictures Colby’d been planning on.

He’d found an army uniform, or “battledress” from 1971 that was made for a very small man, so naturally it fits me almost exactly. Wearing it, I sat/lay on his bedroom floor in the corner where he had his slide projector aimed and he took pictures. Images of gardens, oceans and family vacations reflected on the wall, uniform and my skin.

So fun, like playing a game.
How many ways can the human form interact with a 2D projected image?

I think (hope) they’re going to turn out really beautifully. I’d post a sneak preview but my camera batteries had died and Colby only shoots film so now it’s a waiting game.

Check out his Flickr and/or Tumblr, they’re obviously rad since I say that all of the time.

And of course I’ve saved the most sexual for last. Ha.

Lights and Bulbs

Finally got the photographs developed from this day.

I hadn’t shot film in years and was sort of disappointed with them at first, but they’ve been growing on me. I really like the contrast between natural and artificial lighting, which is something I’ve never noticed while taking digital photos. I plan on experimenting more with this camera in sunlight and brightly lit rooms, which will hopefully result in more definition, although some blur is okay.

The blur is slowly growing on me.

You can see through Colbys camera lens here. I’d written that I was “anticipating my face spliced into the side of a building and/or itself” which it is x5, so rad.

Substitute “Night” for “Day” (at any point)

It’s days like today when I feel most lonely.

Sundays and Tuesdays usually.

These are days off. Slow days. Days when ‘real life’ is happening.

Days when everyone is busy with their lives or their people. They’re at work or doing (home) work, they have cliquey friends to drink with, or far away friends at bars across town.

Days when I feel most out of place in this town, in this life. Like I should be somewhere else, that if I was somewhere else, I would feel more real. They are the days when I feel the most pressure to be “doing something” with my life. The days when I feel like what I do is the least worthwhile and the least exciting.

Days when I have no patience for mundane conversation, but hang out at the downtown pub anyway, hoping to just happen upon someone (anyone) that I love. The days when my walk home has me saying that I am a “strong independent woman”, reminding myself what I like about being single and reciting my to do list out loud.

Days when I have already spent ample time doing productive things alone and I wish that I had someone to be slow and real with.

These are the familiar days of winter, many of which I know await me. They are not bad days, or particularly hard working days, but they are lonely and cold and isolating.