The anti-pin up girl photoshoot.

So I've had this vision in my head for a while now. I've been wanting to do this anti-pin up girl photo shoot. While there are many, many amazing pin-up photographers, there are more out there that just don't cut the mustard. By the way it's really easy to cut mustard, I really have no idea where that saying came from, but I digress.

I see too many poorly thought out pin-up girls and pin-up girl shoots. It seems that many people have this idea that a girl needs to be covered in tattoos and have barrel rolls in her hair. NOT SO! I think you can create dangerous and sexy without having to subscribe to the whole greaserbilly imagery.

I wanted to create a shoot where the girl has attitude, looks and so does the location. A real Pachuca type of anti-pin up girl. She'll steal your heart and your wallet all at the same time. Think of Rita Hayworth in Gilda. A beautiful woman, with flowing hair, but one you can't trust for a minute. But mix it with a back alley raw and gritty feel. Yeah, I know Rita Hayworth wasn't a Pachuca or homegirl, but her character Gilda was still beautiful and bad all at the same time.

Let me know what you think, did it work or did I flat line?

Six Days On The Road

Dave Dudley once sang

“Well my rig's a little old,
But that don't mean she's slow.
There's a flame from her stack,
And the smoke's rolling black as coal.
My hometown's coming in sight,
If you think I'm happy your right.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.”

Im tired…no…I take that back, Im exhausted. Six days of sleeping on couches, six days of drinking caffeine that comes in little plastic containers with pictures of lemons or grapes on them. On day six, a fourteen hour drive hauling a 68’ Impala wagon across Utah, Arizona, Nevada and California in a straight shot.

During my six day sojourn in the red desert sands of Utah, my camera and I wandered the cedars, sands and sage brush of Bo Huff’s salvage yard at night. A full moon as my guide, a trusty flash light, the howling coyotes…and a wild imagination were my constant companions as I stood there in the dark painting with light and waiting for the moon light to do the rest.

The mind can take you to some strange places when you sit in the dark for hours at a time with only the moon and stars to light the way. Did they ever catch that cannibal that escaped from the nearby prison years ago? Will a pack of chupacabras get tired of eating mexican goats and decide a fat Hick-Spanic photographer with lots of marbleized meat make a good meal instead? Have the polar bears had enough of the melting ice caps and decided to wander on down to the Utah desert? Ok, I admit the polar bear thing is a bit far fetched, but Im not giving up on the chupacabras theory…yet.

Anyway, I went to see my friend Bo Huff before he started his Chemotherapy and took some pictures along the way. Enjoy.

Stinkin Kids

Yeah, yeah, every parent wants to show off photos of their kids, Im no different. What can I say? Only these aren’t mushy face newborn photos. No baldheaded, splotchy skin, eyes shut photos here. I would never subject anyone to newborn shots, after all, all newborns look the same…cone shaped heads, googly eyes (when they are actually opened) and we’re all supposed to melt with oohhh’s and ahhh’s when we see them. Nope not me.

The other night, on a whim, I told my sons let's have a photo shoot right here in the living room. Of course their savage little minds took this and ran. My youngest son dressed in a sheet like a toga with briefs on his head with his tongue sticking out the pee hole! Oh, what the hell have I done? After my ranting and raving and yelling at them not to act like idiots, they showed up next in their underwear, flexing like Mr. Olympia! Oh hell NO! What do you want me to do, go to jail for kiddie porn?! Anyone remember that episode of Different strokes where some perverted old man asked little Arnold to dress in his underwear and flex? Nooooo, not me.

This was turning out to be mistake, hyper active kids prancing around in their underwear making fart noises and wanting to pose while doing it! Finally they calmed down long enough for me to take a few serious photos. My oldest son even took a few photos me. He directed me how to pose, where to look etc. Kids….they’ll make you want to split your skull open with a dull butter knife one moment, then make you glad you didn’t the next.

Was I like that when I was a kid? Nope, I was worse.

Ramblings of a Nostalgic mind

nos•tal•gi•a [no stáljə, nə stáljə]noun
1. Sentimental recollection: a mixed feeling of happiness, sadness, and longing when recalling a person, place, or event from the past, or the past in general.

How do you see the world, in black & white or color? Of course this is a metaphorical question. Even the color blind see the world in color. Without a doubt the advent of color film changed the way in which we see the world. But has B&W photography lost its place in the world? Has film lost its place in the world? My first inclination is NO WAY!
In much the same way that I enjoy the aesthetics of a vehicle built in the 1930’s photography on film holds the same charm. Sure a modern vehicle can out perform an antique vehicle on every scale, but there is something that a vintage vehicle has that can never be duplicated or captured by a modern high-tech vehicle. Such is the same with photography; while I shoot very little film nowadays I still love the aesthetics, the feel, and yes even the smell of film and paper.
What spurred this trip down amnesia lane? Rummaging through my boxes of negatives and prints, I came across many, many contact prints where I never printed a single frame off the roll of film. I just shot the film, processed it and filed it away. I nearly forgot about these until I discovered them again. That’s what I love about photography; photos can conjure feelings of nostalgia, telling us who we were, who we are and where we might be going. So here’s to the good ol’ days from just a few years ago, when the economy was good, when film was king and when people still spoke face to face. Here’s to the present, may we endure it with a smile on our face, and strong backs. And lastly here’s to the future, may we all arrive at the same destination and look back with fondness on how we got there.

Back from Bonneville

Hmm…after ten days on the road living out of my van and sleeping as a guest at my sisters in Utah, it’s good to be back home in my own surroundings. What is it about a road trip that leaves you wiped out and tired when you get home? The ten hour drive? The Red Bull overload? (I don’t care what they say; it does not give you wings!) The seat of your pants going numb from hours of sitting? Who knows? It’s just good to be home, but I find myself already planning my next trip! Am I insane? I haven’t even been home twenty four hours!

As I pour over the photos I took, I find myself wishing I had shot even more. The Bonneville salt flats are such an enormously large expanse, you almost need to be cloned to see it all much less try and capture it’s essence with a camera. Besides shooting race cars I got to borrow a four wheeler and drive miles out to the edge of the salt and collect the spent 50.cal shell casings and bullets left behind from the aviators target practice in WWII. I’ll write more about that later. See you on the road.

Paranoid in the Nevada Desert part II

Ok, here’s another story from the Nevada Desert. It’s Saturday evening. The first race day at Bonneville is officially over, I’m at the historic and decaying old WWII airport photographing a 1958 Corvette gasser. The last rays of the setting sun illuminate the beautiful colors on the Corvette. A beat up old Ranger pick-up truck comes rambling up towards us and skids to a halt. The driver is an angry town local that quickly lets us know how much he hates Speedweek and how much he hates hot rodders coming into his town. He claims to be the neighborhood watch and accuses all of us (and I mean every human being attending Speedweek ) of being there to steal parts off of his cars and his friend’s old cars.
“You people come here every year and steal parts from our cars”. We told him that we are shooting cars and are not here to steal anything. He keeps on ranting and raving how we are all thieves and don’t belong in his town and how we had better tell all our friends. He then pulls out a gun from his side, sets it on his dash board just above the steering wheel and angrily says “We got ways of taking care of things around here.” Then he speeds off.
We all stare at each other wondering did this really just happen? Then I get mad! Im not happy about getting a gun pulled on me from an angry desert dweller while we are on public land minding our own business. I call 911 and meet up with the Sheriff at the Sheriff station. I fill out a report and the Sheriff asks me to describe the man, as Im describing him and the Sheriff is taking notes, just then the crazed gun toting local pulls up right next to the Sheriff’s patrol car “Why that him right there!” I exclaim. The sheriff yells at him to keep his hands out of his pockets. The Nevada nut job starts ranting and raving to the Sheriff and at me, he stars accusing me of every thing that has happened during Speedweek since the 1960’s!!!!!! The sheriff calls for back up, three other squad cars come screeching up with lights and sirens. Turns out this dumb bastard had been drinking and drove up right to the sheriff’s department, didn’t have a license to carry a concealed weapon or even have a weapons permit. So they throw the cuff’s on the clod and walk him 15 feet into the jail! A DUI, a class A misdemeanor weapons charge and what other charges are associated with concealed and unlicensed weapons. What a dumb bastard! That’s two run-ins with crazy Nevada desert dwellers in three days time. Well, I guess this is the state that elected Harry Reid, so what should I expect?

Paranoid In the Nevada desert!

So, Im on my way to Bonneville. Actually, I have already arrived here in Utah, but I have an entertaining story from the road. So my son and I are taking all the scenic byways and county roads from California through Nevada and Utah. While traveling along hwy 266 we stop at a ghost town named Gold Point. Its a fantastically preserved little town with probably four residents still living there.
This is my story of one of them we ran into. We are walking around photographing the sights. We run into a construction worker who temporarily lives there. He tells me of some old trucks about a hundred yards away. So we go to this section of town. Im there for 15 minutes and some haggard looking old man comes wheeling up on his quad. "You're trespassing!" I explain to him what I am doing, taking pictures, and that a construction worker living there told me about old trucks. " I called the Sheriff and he is on his way in from town" I again explain all I am doing is taking pictures of old stuff. Now dig this next bit, you'll get a kick out of his response. "For all I know you could be taking pictures of the place to come and blow it up!" I said " Oh my god, what do you think I am Al-Queda or something?"
At this point I think he realized how stupid he sounded and tried to back pedal on his statement, but was still mean. So we left before he decided to kill us and eat us. Desert people are paranoid. But I did manage to take a few shots before we were run out of town.