Venus Wept: “Justice is blind and, apparently, naked.”
Antiseptic is relatively new, and over the past year I’ve watched their designs get more and more complex. Their riveted leather corsets look aggressive by themselves, but when coupled with Venus Wept Photography’s hyper lighting, the augmented sharp edges and textures show you something even more dangerous and pleasurably painful-to-wear. A stylistic joyride that weaves through 80s dystopia chic, medieval armor, medical fan lacing and many other real and imaginary places from different times, the designs owe a debt to alt-fashion predecessors AMF and Mother of London, with Antiseptic’s designers on a fast track to a voice that’s completely their own.
The San Francisco-based duo behind Antiseptic doesn’t seem to be interested in commercial manufacture, and focuses on showing off their designs on runways and in elaborate fashion shoots. Most recently, they staged a fashion show the San Francisco Fetish Ball that brought together some of my favorite models for the first time.
Looking through the images in rapid succession was like shaking a grayscale kaleidoscope of eyes, lips and hair angles into constant new configurations, a delightful experience that left me feeling awed and inspired. I wondered if I should be feeling a twinge of guilt for ravenously going through what can be classified as “stolen images” that have been gathered from the web, scanned from magazines and even manipulated without credit. And then it hit me: I don’t care.
Of course knowing the artists’ names would’ve been nice, but I accept that it may have been impossible to compile that information. I enjoyed the site anyway. Was that wrong? Depends on where you think the line of theft gets crossed. Of all places, I’ve observed that the most embarrassing attitudes towards image theft come from within the alt photo/modeling scene. What I mean to say is: no one has bigger or uglier watermarks than alt photographers.
Peter Ashworth’s website just went through the first overhaul it’s had in years. It’s great to see the English photographer out and about, putting up new images on a site that looks like it’s easy to update. Above are two classic images that had a huge influence on me when I first began to do studio photography. The image of performer Lucifire with a gauze “veil” over her eyes pinned to her face by hypodermic needles will always remain, in my mind, one of the greatest fetish portraits ever taken. The image on the right, with its high contrast and clear space, was the first to show me a kind of abstracting isolation that I find crucial in producing a strong fetish image.
Below are two new works by Peter Ashwroth from a series called in excelsis. The models are Ulorin Vex and Viktorya, wearing the recognizable hairstyles of Robert Masciave. There’s a stark economy going on in his Ashworth’s older work with alt models that’s been replaced by high glam, and while I definitely enjoy these new images, I also hope to see more of the reductive, slightly-raw imagery that made such an impression on me in the past.
I’ve recently come across the flickr stream of Hairport - an aptly-named hair salong in Lisbon, Portugal. Since then I’ve wondered, daily, why more people don’t look like this. It’s 2008! The proverbial Future. Why are there not more artistically shorn heads in the world? One thing I notice about these photos is that not everyone’s a teenager - many Hairport clients and employees are established artists, designers and writers in their 30s. We all know it will grow back should we hate it, yes? Why not embrace the endless possibilities instead of the usual trims, streaks and loose layers! Looking at these pictures makes me downright giddy as I envision a world where one couldn’t be hindered by their hairstyle choices, no matter their profession. Perhaps a trip to Lisbon is in order.
The late Sydney Guilaroff was Hollywood’s most beloved and trusted hairdresser. Credited with making the unforgetable Lucille Ball a redhead, he was friend and confidant to some of the biggest stars in history.
In Roy Del Ruth’s Du Barry was a Lady Gularoff is reunited with Ball, indulging in all that is glorious and flamboyant with sky-high powdered wigs. His talents coupled with Gile Steele’s costuming prowess produce some enticing and hilarious hair concoctions, tricorn hats, ostrich feathers and all.
I’d love to be one of the greatest actors in the world. But acting often equates with fame. If you could be an actor, yet not be famous, that would be brilliant. - Jaye Davidson
I do believe I feel a painting coming on.
The reluctant star is a well-worn concept in the movie business. Half-shielding ones face while making an “unexpected” appearance in some hotspot, huge sunglasses and faining horror after accidentally flashing one’s bare crotch to paparazzi are de rigueur these days. I’d be hard-pressed to fall for such pretense delivered by anyone except perhaps Jaye Davidson, had he not disappeared entirely.
As our photo-evidence shows, Jaye is a deserving icon of sexual ambiguity. A striking unique appearance combined with natural acting talent landed this sometimes-destitute London fashion assistant three film roles and even an Oscar nomination, but more interesting is just how much Jaye genuinely hated his sudden fame.
Before The Crying Game even started filming in 1991 he attempted to break his contract, the only thing stopping him was advance money he’d already spent. After the Oscar nomination and media hullabaloo that followed he went off the radar, saying “The reason I haven’t got an agent is so that no one can contact me to offer me a film part”.
Don’t call them stylists - the term is “hair entertainers.” Today a hair show with a circuit of about 10 major American cities, Hair Wars began in 1991, and originates from nightclub events put on by one DJ Hump the Grinder. Today the event features some of the most multi-layered, hyper-detailed hairstyles I’ve ever seen. From haute-couture hair architecture to silly, surreal takes on everyday objects, images from this event convey artistry, humor and kitsch, all of which constantly flow into one another.
Photographer David Yellen has created a series of portraits of the hair show participants, which he published this past fall. Perhaps equally as fascinating as the hairstyles are the people wearing them. There are no fashion models here, just ordinary people having fun. They are young and old, male and female; many project the air of having been through a lot in their lifetime. There are little mysteries in each picture, such as in the image above, where the model has a visible scar on her neck. How did that happen? She could’ve hidden it with a scarf or a neckpiece (or with hair!) - but she didn’t, and the image is more powerful for it.
A good selection of images form this series can be seen on his site, and a further selection can be seen on Radar Online.
It’s been an eventful day, hasn’t it? If you’re like me, you have trouble winding down after so much hullabaloo.
So here’s a wistful lullaby to sing you to sleep, courtesy of the brilliant innovators behind Creating Rem Lazar. You’ll be calling Child Protective Services drifting off to slumberland in no time. May you dream sweetly of infinity mullets and oddly bulging blue spandex.
We’ve never met, and your ashes have long since been scattered above Manhattan, so I guess it’s pretty weird for me to be writing you this letter. Then again, everyone always says you seemed to hail from another planet. Let’s pretend for a minute that you didn’t die alone in a hospital bed in 1983. It’s comforting to imagine that you simply returned to your home world and maybe, somehow, you can read this.
If you were still here, you’d be 64 years young today. No doubt your friends would be gathered around you at the piano to sing Kurt Weill and Chubby Checkers tunes. Perhaps you’d share some of your delicious homemade pastries with them and spend hours reminiscing about those hazy, crazy post-punk days in NYC.
Ruff and ready.
I wish I could fold time and space to sit in the balcony at Irving Plaza the night your brief, bright star ascended during a four night New Wave Vaudeville series. It was 1978. Up until then, you’d been supporting yourself as a pastry chef for well-to-do Hamptons types. They say that you emerged from the fog machine vapors like an alien from another planet, stiff and somber in a silver space suit and clear vinyl cape. My old friend Jim Sclavunos was there, manning the spotlight. He once told me that when you opened your Clara Bow mouth and sang, no one believed it was really you. The MC had to keep assuring the audience that you were not lip-syncing…
“A Louis XIV confection or occasional Nancy Sinatra-esque chanteur/chanteuse in gold glitter boots with world-class vocal talent. No lip-syncing for Mr. Quale, who is a true artist and transforms himself Klaus Nomi style once he graces the stage. Nina Hagen would be proud, as would Diamanda Galas.” - Roy Rogers Oldenkamp for WeHoNews.com
I’m surprised to have wated taken this long to mention the luminous Prince Poppycock. I’ve been amused, enamored and confused by this marvelous creature ever since the pleasure of sharing the stage with him last spring in La Belle Époque.
Part randy dandy, part rock star, part drunken courtesan, Poppycock instantly owns the audience with but a glance and a wiggle of bedazzled pantaloons, and that’s just the beginning. His operatic prowess, glamourous costumes and ostentatious prose leave not a heart unstirred. A masterpiece of self-transformation, the Prince is also recording artist John Quale, but I’m secretly hoping Poppycock will take over completely one day, to reign supreme in a glittery victory of feathers and gold spandex.
