I’m honored to be included in a show of Christopher Makos’ photos on view now at Ralph Pucci International – 44 West 18 St NY, NY 1001. The series is, “Stand Up Portraits” by Christopher Makos and I’m thinking this was taken about 1993. I remember feeling great about just being asked to pose and to be included. Christopher’s photography has always been pure class so I was inspired to try and portray some.
The outfit was a working sample from the Todd Oldham showroom, came with the beret and was returned quite heavily smudged with derma-color pretty much all over the entire inside. Oops. Is it too late to say, “I’m sorry?” Funny the things you remember… Todd and Tony and Angel had quite a few tricks for cleaning the samples though, I remember a paste of Cascade being one of their secret big guns. Was it Granny who discovered that one? Such are the details that remain among the faded spots that make up, “The Stains of Our Lives.” Wait, if my stains are my story then what about all the ones that came out!?
The shoes were the Blahniks I wore in a few of Todd’s shows – black duchess satin (who said duchess satin?) with gold straps and gold “actual woman height” heels. They were so perfectly balanced, it was hard to know you had them on. I once saw Carrie Donovan wearing the same exact style at 60,000 feet in the air while traveling at mach 2.0. True fact. Pointed with no pinch. Comfortable? You put those on and you say, “What shoe?” “Am I wearing a shoe right now?” “Seriously, look at my foot, am I wearing a shoe on my foot right now?” That’s a shoe. What a shoe.
I borrowed the wig from Sister Dimension.
“A wig and a hat, no questions asked.” – that’s a quote from Teri Toye. I never forgot it. Now you never will either.
Looking back over the past several years of picture making it’s easy to see a pattern of ups and downs in my images, of cools and warms, of dim expressionless faces, formally presented in a mature and careful gray only to be followed by sun-lit periods of young and glowing toothy smiles. My diaries put this emotional see-saw into words – but I find that my pictures are a lot more fun to look at. My God! Could it be…I think it could…I’m only human after all.
Inspiration is a mysterious thing that comes and goes seemingly of it’s own accord. Somehow it magically allows you to work at a higher level. Officially, Inspiration (according to the Greeks – let’s go to source here) descends onto us mere mortals via a direct message (wait, they had twitter? – huh? ) from Apollo or Dionysus (The party God that makes you say, “I’m so drunk and I have the most amazing idea for some art right now”) or via a muse. The muses were sort of like ancient Halstonettes that would appear out of clouds of smoke from invisible smoke machines in order to get your artistic juices flowing. Usually they did this in flowey layered chiffon numbers a la Halston. There were nine of these girls, let’s see, there was Calliope, Terpsichore, then there was…the red headed one, and then blah-badee-blah and the tall one with the nose, and well whoever the rest were they were all totally gorgeous, but the most fabulous and inspiring of all the muses was called Pat Cleveland. That’s it basically it in a nutshell – a little ancient history there for you, kids. But the thing about inspiration is that these days, you never know who is going to let it loose on you. The muse thing is a very equal opportunity type of mystical occupation now-a-days. Example: James. He was trouble, but I have to admit – he really could inspire…
Go for it when it strikes – cause it sure don’t last.