I’ve been fascinated by Francesca Woodman lately. I sort of want to be her, minus the existential depression and early death. (But if depression and death are the price for creating work like this…I might pay it.) This is my (amateur, digital) tribute to her short career.
I borrowed my mom’s vintage cape and got to channel my favorite musical. Despite my lofty aspirations, I am far more Little Red than the Witch. It’s always weird when your mental image of yourself fails to align with reality. In my head I’m slinky and sinister and throaty-voiced; in real life I’m stocky and squeaky. I’ll always be more Merryweather than Maleficent.
Dress: vintage, via brick-and-mortar store
Everything else: thrifted
I’m halfway done with shows, and I’ve had five precious days off! We start our second run tomorrow night, but I’m at least sort of rested this time. And I was free enough to have a photo day with Holly this past Sunday. Did you know that Ethan Allen is buried less than a mile from my house? Now you do!
(I once bragged about that to a friend from the Midwest, and he did not know who Ethan Allen was. Whaaat. You don’t grow up in Vermont without having half a dozen lessons per year on him.)
Dress: vintage, via Soulrust
Cape: from a friend
Everything else: thrifted
I really love Madonna themes. The iconography is so lush, so blatantly defiant of the Second Commandment, that it’s easy to see the pagan roots of Abrahamic traditions. The Blessed Virgin is just another permutation of female divinity. She’s Baubo and Oshun and Persephone and the Morrigan alike.
This, right here, is why I’m a religious studies major. We all need to be part of something. Why not hitch yourself to such auspicious debauchery?
The second batch from my recent shoot with Holly.
I like having friends who are dark where I am light. I am more a fairy, swathed in silks and gleeful scandal, than a witch. I need more trenchant forces to balance me.
My favorite thing about photography, I think, is making people look exactly the way they see themselves. Seeing them smile as their private fancies bleed into real-life color. My lady Holly, for instance, is a lab tech by day – read: not allowed to wear harem pants or flowy scarves or anything that might catch fire. And when you’re an aspiring Vodou priestess – true story, she is – that just won’t do. At least her workplace allows her to keep her mermaid hair.
The obvious solution: hike deep into the woods and take witchy pictures, thoroughly confusing any and all hikers.
(We took 100+ really good photos, so they will, obviously, be posted in installments.)
It’s my anniversary. I get to be overtly narcissistic, okay?
I came to blogging for the style and stayed for the photography. My earliest photos were almost unconscionably shitty; I look at them now and can’t believe I put them on the internet under my real name. Learning my way around my camera and cultivating a genuine love for capturing light have been two really rewarding by-products of blogging.
Here are my best-ever photos.
Holly and I are kittening at the Vermont Burlesque Festival in T minus two days. Eep! We get red carpet photos and invitations to the performers’ brunch, which makes me die a little – I get to munch waffles and mimosas with real live performers? People who do this for a living, not a lark? I can’t wait.
The kittens’ colors are navy, purple, gold, and orange. I’m more than a little frustrated that I can’t default to red polka dots, but I do appreciate the opportunity to branch out. Here’s a preview of my Thursday night costume: moon goddess.