“Dear …………….. “
They tell a lot with a portrait.
What could a portrait tell to them ?
Let’s play the game. Letters to Diane Arbus, Martin Parr, Irving Penn, Richard Avedon, Albert Watson, Anton Corbjin, Leibovitz, Mark Seliger, Nan Goldin, Terry Richardson
It should be a show of recognition and appreciation. For that, I dropped by prepared. I’m all about gratefulness fulfilling as magic dust the frame inside our silent understanding and with wide open proud eyes for the underlying agreement. I’m embracing it. Diane, your lesson won’t get lost on me: ‘Photography is the endless vicious development of reciprocity: the win win game, throwing a coin in the air, the crossroad, the math’
So now your turn, my dear…
The reasons to thank me? I’m one of the several faces holding the grounds of your obsession foundation. That can be my portrait, but you aren’t immunized of a reading yourself. I’m standing in the territory of your compulsory imagery, for thirsty, hunger, sick, crazy , inadaptable insatiable stubborn mind to elucidate the common point, the common ground, the common being. The Rolleiflex on your hands and what you ask me, what comes next is still echoes for one moment when disarmed defenses, expression rises in some poser attitude, and when you look back…the ability to performance and nature becomes natural. There you were in trance when it was just the simple, trivial in one well conceived plan of reconciliation and digging deep while ripping the surface, when strange and hostile are polishing impressions and those impressions mastering your cliché, your tempting compass to a timeless record for the uniqueness of assuming characters, on putting one more face in your family album. We are stars, we are the minus, the minority, the elite, the weirdoes, the twisted , the deprived, the obfuscated underground faces in the crowed. You were a genius to point straight at that. Dignity doesn’t come with pity, (basic frightened response to the different). That’s the secret on my eyes and I’m pretty sure you took it , you kept it and that consumed you.
You’re a funny dude and one of the bravest men too. Agreed. You got to have guts to laugh on us, your sarcastic ironic brilliant language inside a vast language and in appropriation of some many language figures that can lead to anthropological subject for scholar program, or merely incidents leading to happy accidents in the equation. Who would be English enough to defend and to promote in his own formula what would shake any strict intellectual contemporary dictation by denouncing a basic truth: We are mean, lunatic, paranoid, preconceived creatures on judging and observing others … that’s a curious common inherited pleasure of the specie. Until we become others, till we celebrate the nonsense, silliness, the causality and “none is seeing”, the sense of humor and the boredom of only being. From that zone on, relax!… It emerges the science of seduction , what lies interesting at first sight: the real unannounced and unpretentious interaction with human, routine, the environment…And you point your fingers for the edges, for the center, for the chosen ones, the forgotten mob. You make photography such a pleasing efficient mirror reflecting from all the points, angles and sides. It’s him, it’s me, it’s you and I get that. That’s a powerful tool and a precious formula where the numbers and ingredients are safe in your pocket. You’re a funny smart man, and that’s for the best… because we definitely like to laugh, and we like to laugh loud
Dearest Terry Richardson
Your creative rebel mind
You are ‘the one fucking only’ Terry Richardson and as the industry assumes…you are being well paid , but…(and that’s when BUT comes highlighted and loud) we both know for the wrong reason. You should make us, the fashion and celebrities, a voucher free pass for more ‘never enough’ beauty and an empire of artifices till flash blinds , we blink and that’s it … washing out the make up and coming back to the real world. You just messed the order and jumped for “ back to real world’ first and foremost and make this so serious step as creative process. That’s right…your signature. You deceive , gain confidence and open the gates of honesty. Look at me, self esteem, sensual by nature, so unexpected, so strongly provoking, chaotic photogenic, and for the healthy of intriguing portrayals and the sake of a impacting visual , we have you; a Terry out of comfort zones and yet… the perfect statement. What’s more controversial than that? And when wrong seems so right? So be it, and make it all glamorous… the break down of the facades, meets reticence, reminiscences. And still… no matter what…let’s do it for fun ! We always do , right honey?
Nan , you little something…
If the main universal rule maintaining the world in its safe rotation is to play the cards in the game of “pretenses” or revere of perfection, you came as contra force spinning it to another route…way more interesting, messy, naughty and deliberate. You are just so honest in the way to challenge that. Who doesn’t want to be on your shoes? To spit at idealized social bibble’s face, to leave with a “go fuck yourself, your hypocrite”. Like happens to few and with the historic of the best wit revolutionary ones, in this world you are something we weren’t prepared for …You are just too intense, the embodied genius and torment soul in a woman body… So basically no matter how arguably they describe it , that’s the fact; you came to make difference
Look my face, that’s an art contest of life being life and who is the winner… who is the daddy, who is the man?…
Till the next
Hello Irving Penn…
Believe me…you have all my attention.
That’s an intelligible way to be caught and some atypical renounce allowing it.
I could depict you by immensurable variables, and some amount of tentative close ups, and as closer I am , the mash up encouraging the awareness of your style: intensity, intimate playful perspective, and blazing sophistication wrapping down the mysterious, and sealed nuances, feeding the visuals seeker and minds opener…I thought you were the archetype of perfectionism, and the prodigal son of the contemporary portrayal called line of work
But you sorted of settled in the bold adopted child dilemma: you belong to it but you aren’t born in this specific imposed nest. I understand the capriciousness of being Irving Penn.. You are an unquiet , one more for the club…a modern example of creative imperative mind, who is constantly crossing the impasse and losing ends to the commitment of overcoming yourself. That’s a heavy burden, but from where I stand now… each one with the burden he /she can lift
Dear Richard Avedon…
All the facets in fulfillment of the frame, the need of expanding in some sense of identity and belonging. Suddenly, open the curtains , pay attention to the performances, lush and untraditional psycho reading on those faces interpreting the repertoire on following traces back to themselves. We are spectators and no longer characters. I’m one of those and that’s what comes with trusting you and your intangible answer to ‘who are you”. From my mouth no words, I gave you proofs, but you don’t like evidences, you like the questions marks. I exhale… my exile. The map, a puzzle and code, you like the game, you ask me and I’m playing it , getting in an inevitable territory…the hidden covered treasure not shared yet. Pandora’s box. You hold the key. I thought you want to know my name, my age , “smile!” and a portrait to set my profile…You got to make it complicated. You got it personal. You set it free
Dear Albert …
I did a big mistake believing I would be immune and you wouldn’t realize it , skipping the ennui of noticing me. I tried to deceive and throw minuscule versions of me, but that’s the price of defensive reaction. I underestimated you and as retaliation…you created an extraordinary invention; you made photography your microscope when the smaller, the tiny, the imperceptible comes to surface and all gets exposed so evident, big, unbearable, disgusting sometimes, giant to have in jail
You stir up, and wait it patiently to be released. It just begins in pieces, a little, a glimpse, but you materialize the set by all that perverse, imaginative, artistic plastic way to change focus. Got me confused and I stand my white flag. Inside out , when beautiful, ugly, insane, safe are so mixed and messed up that leaves us all fucked up, as truths being brought to revelation, as worlds colliding apart. You’re dangerous Watson, you’re impossible. Don’t look that close, please… because I can try but I can’t deceive you
That’s me lending a face to your spectacle.
Your use of your own stage, you’re orchestrating subjects, creating a cinematographic language to give direction to your own voice and any sense of interpretation. You are the experience and you are about production, you’re holding the right script, the sublime into light techniques and dreamy convergent space for reality, action, faire tales and fiction, the exuberant combo to turn it out, to declare the beautiful into the complexity of leaving a touch where egos, celebrities are doming the composition. Your rule, you majesty. You pull off the pieces and that’s your art’s kingdom: the bold meeting of all. Your gift journey carried by applauses.. Im in the front row
With love, champagne and respect
Dear Seliger …
Do you remember me?
You put me in this challenging optimistic bubble of self expression where repressed and free is a possible duet and the simplicity becomes a sophisticated medium introducing the beauty on human fragile nature: the sensitive and the giving , the truth fleeting enticing and distracted. It’s only between you and me.
Do you remember me? That’s how I’ll never forget you. Indestructible bound
My dear Anton Corbijn…
It’s a basic deal of self reconciliation and instead of lenses , mirrors are standing and commands are being reconstructed. You found me intense, dense, raw in pure willingness to feel the opened door and I came in. Tormented demons inside. I’m blurred, fearfull, and over carried by any possibility of owing to no one , but loading it all to myself. I’m screaming and it’s like to be aware of attention and do not give a damn , because I’m for real, are you?
I don’t need to smile, I don’t need a good time and to be the good guy all the time…and the simple “don’t be it“ allow me this indefensible amount of happiness
Dear Anton, you pulled the trigger…