makeartforlife
Make Art For Life
Tengo que gritar pa' que me oigan, pero lo mas que aumenta mi voz, lo menos me escuchan
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Done
I didn’t go to practice. That February day. Came home to an empty apartment. The brother and sister out doing those lighthearted things that they did with their light-hearts. She would probably come home with a tattoo or a modeling contract or at least a new Prada bag that she had seen in Neiman Marcus and just had to have--good thing the bank was open since she had no checking account. Not even an ATM card.
Could he come visit? Hours late, as usual. Smelling that strange smell I couldn’t recognize covered by the stench of cigarettes he didn’t smoke. Tasting like something intimate--but, no, you just arrived…
And his tongue invades my mouth in that eager-teenage-boy kind of way. Harsh and foreign with an irreverence that betrays his 21 years. No care. No carino. Things you try to teach but he remains blind to your very existence.
The inevitable question follows. But no. You didn’t bring one, did you? Then no. But don’t you trust me? And I reel with anger to be the target of quite possibly the stupidest line ever. Angry, yes. Surprised, no. And why do you show up without it when you’ve clearly come with only one mission and you know the answer is no. Unless you come with the--
Anger turns to confession. Exploits and more. A naissance to come. Talk of trust to the ether and me to the earth. Done.
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Amy Winehouse Character Study, Self-portrait, 2015
#amy winehouse#self-portrait#portrait#woman#character#performance#character study#you know that i'm no good#make art#make art for life#makeartforlife#work in progress#tribute
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Alone
With you
Without you
Alone
Miss me
Miss you
Alone
With you
Miss me
Alone
Without you
Miss you
Alone
Without you
Miss you
Alone
With you
Miss me
Alone
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Text
Nothing
Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m so scared of…
It used to be failure. I’d answer in a split second; no question. My biggest fear.
But then you get to place and wonder how to exist in perpetual loathing of the ordinary. Wandering about, one day to the next, counting them down by coffees and meals and gas tanks and car washes. Searching for a way to break the monotony of paying (or not) bills and punching in and keeping up with what?
Nothing.
Single mixed female seeking to overcome the nothingness that is life and noticing that no one else seems to notice how strange it all is.
And yet there’s ordinary in the extraordinary. Cindy Sherman eats breakfast and takes a shower just like the self-important jerk at the gym who can’t stop talking long enough to break a sweat, too busy telling his cell phone about “Those People invading Our country. Who can’t drive.Don’t have insurance. Won’t even speak English. You know what I mean…”
Maybe Kofi Anon even meets self-important jerks at the gym.
And you start to wonder, is this it?
(And that’s what it’s all about!)
Why is it that no one seems to notice?
Or maybe I haven’t noticed
What they have.
Extraordinary in the ordinary.
And then what is left to fear
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Text
Less than
I look at you
You look at me
You cannot know
Where I have been
Or what I have within
You speak to me
And what you say
I know you cannot mean
I breathe (pause)
And think (pause)
And say to you
less than what I mean
What good is it
to open up
and let you know
it all?
That you may twist
and turn
and scream
throughout the whole
ordeal.
So let i rest
And say goodbye.
Above
below
around
and round.
Fair and true
and wrong
and right.
Goodbye
Just let it go.
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Photo
TRAINWRECK, 2012
#trainwreck#la river#woman#model#wig#makeup#darnell anthony#flash photography#pathos#sorrow#purple#make art#makeartforlife#make art for life#julia alford
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TRAINWRECK, 2012
#trainwreck#model#tunnel#sixth street tunnel#los angeles#flash photography#woman#crying#sorrow#sadness#make art#makeartforlife#make art for life#julia alford#makeup#darnell anthony
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Pesada
Estimada not-friend
You
Whoever you are
Inside of me
Outside of me
Making me feel
Other than
ME
Estimada not-comadre
Not-cunada
Maybe carbona
Por cierto chingada
I’m sorry. Pero no fui yo.
No la soy.
Yo soy mujer--or I was
hasta que ustedes me la robaron
What the fuck, yo.
Who are you people?
are you people?
What the fuck have you
done with me?
have you done to me?
I am sorry
for your pain
your sorrow
your hollow, angry yell and blame.
I am sorry for your lacking
small
scared
need
to make it my problem
call it my fault
What the fuck yo.
Just get the fuck out.
Sorry but the weight
is too much.
The weight of your body
On top of his, immovable, on top of mine
the inescapable weight
in the dark of streetlight
through venetian blinds
is unbearable with yours atop
I am sorry that you’re scared.
I am sorry that your every step
meets uncertain ground
That your every introduction
is one step closer
to mediocrity.
I am sorry but I am not.
I cannot
make your burden mine.
I have my own.
His immovable weight
enough
in my memory
without yours atop.
So get the fuck out.
Vete.
Ya.
This life
mine
SOMEDAY.
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AJ, New Orleans, 2011
#man#portrait#photography#the road less traveled by#film#documentary#filmmaker#beatnik#nikon#makeartforlife#make art for life#make art
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Gregg, 2012
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Mom at Studio Diner, 2007
#portrait#woman#diner#breakfast#studio diner#medium format#photography#film#shootfilm#film is better#kodak#kodak 400 vc#makeartforlife#make art#make art for life
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