On Tuesday I decided it was about time I blew away my winter cobwebs and headed out of Rugby for a bit of culture at the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. I enjoy looking at the odd painting but most of the collection there failed to inspire me. Just not my cup of tea I’m afraid. The Staffordshire Hoard, housed at the museum, is a different kettle of fish though. With the tools available around 1400 years ago how the hell did they make some of that stuff. When I got home I was knackered. I checked my iPhone and found I had walked over 7 miles! My next trip out will involve less walking and more looking at the scenery from a train methinks.
What the fuck is that all about. I get an uncontrollable urge to laugh whenever a photographer or model use the phrase. Does your house have a boudoir? Do you know anyone who lives in a house with a boudoir? Very unlikely. Let’s just cut through the arty-farty bullshit and call it what it really is. Wishy-washy soft porn.
Although amateur models are not the most reliable of creatures I have managed to work with some real gems. Here is one. She was great fun and did her best to make sure I got the images I wanted even though she was modelling in a style she was not used to.
I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve only managed to photograph 4 models so far this year. Gross underachievement not matched since the long gone days of camera clubs, pre-internet. I still regularly check out the casting calls on the popular modelling websites but nothing catches my eye accept for the increasing number of girls covered in God-awful tattoos. In fact the tattoo situation is now that bad I don’t even notice the piss-poor boob jobs any more. C’est la vie.