Monday, 28 October 2013


A little bit because of the nerves (midwifing Gorgi), a little bit because my dad continues to be a dick about my literature and i can't understand why, I sit at a very agreeable cafe, drinking really picturesque coffee and eating very sweet cake. And cry. I forget to mention this; without the part I’m crying the previous statement doesn’t really hold much sense. (This is, also, my dad’s comment on my work. All fancy catchphrases and clichés and no sense.)
I am disappointed dad’s being an arsehole, though I am not entirely sad. Sad would make me blind and lonely. I’m quite the opposite, actually. There’s this tremendous irony to my appearance, as (although I try to turn away and not draw attention), some people, the waiter, are looking at me, with a thought clearly drawn on their face: poor fat little woman. Stood up. And she already ordered. Now she’ll have to eat that cake alone..
 If this was a case of fact, then yes, the scene would truly play pathetic. I mean, look at me. Look at my hair. Look at my t-shirt. It would be blatant cruelty to stand-up someone with such oddly thin forearms on an otherwise such a baroque body – yet not at all a shock. It such was the case, I could indeed see the number of tears on a person so needlessly abandoned. But because I have never been stood up (only ever been one date, to be perfectly honest, and even that one was the General’s idea), these glances of sympathetic strangers are chipping away depression each moment at a time. T’was a tiny depression to be sure, no more than a dozen tears, perhaps twenty. But depressions are not to be left unchecked. They tend to inspire corrosion. Half an hour later, the weather has changed completely. I am a completely different person now, plus cake, plus the fine amount of sweet caffeine. However, without the sympathetic glances. I could argue that my father finds disarming faults in every form of art I favor – from movies to landscaping. He is like an old, scorned lover I never took too seriously. A loud old teacher, long obsolete. The poet who never bothered to buy the ink. Well, I bathe in ink. I dye my hair with it. I use it as make-up, as perfume. I trick it into thinking it’s my blood and it can boil brightly crimson. I don’t think my dad envies me my passion for tincture or inspiration I distill from printed pages. I don’t think he would know it, even if he did. He just says things that are stupid sometimes. Things you don’t say to people you are supposed to be tender towards. What does that make him? Evil? Or dumb.

Working on x-mass pickies, worth approx 12 bucks

Off to midwife Gorgi

I got news that it's going into print today.
I'll buzz around, watching the sheets slide and plates thump, just because. And in case Nelken shows up. There'll be words.


Equivalent of a good book :D

Broken comp

Let me put it like this.... My computer is so old, that when we put in a part from my twelve year old storaged previous one, it started working perfectly. Kudos to Klemen and the General for knowing how to handle this stuff. I just like to peek in and poke at pretty copper.

Sunday, 27 October 2013

On streetlight bowls.

I am deeply, fundamentally obsessed with owning a streetlight bowl. I cannot explain this, but I obsess over it. I stay up at night, awake, thinking how I would get one. If a street light falls and I see they are going to replace the whole bunch with a newer model, I walk by twice a day, planning how I will steal the bowl. Problem is that when the lamp falls, bowls usually crack. Not a lot, not aesthetically, but that shit is super sharp and would be very dangerous to play with. I have one that's slightly broken. I want a pristine one. Am considering going to the streelightkeepers company and ask if they have one lying around. This has been driving me up the rafters for ages :)))

Saturday, 26 October 2013

Feeling good about being pretty, feeling good about being smart

Yesterday, because General was away for 16 hour and that kind of freaks me out, I spent the day with my parentals and sis - mostly chatting - and for once we didn't pull each others hair out in the first four minutes. We talked a lot about appearances and how every woman feels better wearing sexy underwear. I couldn't win that argument, because the individuals in my family are not the kind to ever consider alternatives to the only reality they understand.
       My mum and sis are the ladylike types. They will die convinced all women care about being good looking. (while also convinced they are feminists.) They are the kind that put on make-up even just to take out the trash. They both put on fancy clothes and high heels and do their hair and feel pretty miserable if their appearance isn't up to par. They look down on make-up artists and disdain being photographed. They enjoy being looked at, though, in passing. Looked at, admired, envied and talked about, appearances wise. My dad, who on the other hand looks like a mujaheddin dictator, is likely the one I took after - because of all of the above, I really don't. When him and mum hit the town, he looks so underdresses that when giving bums a buck, they give him back 50 cents. And I truly love that about him. You will waste a compliment telling me how good I looked, but you will make my day saying you read my book and found it witty and funny. My dad, whom I love, admire and respect deeply (even if or perhaps because he calls my literature the endless torrent of precious catchphrases and fancy sentences that never accumulate to any deeper meaning or statement) is the kind of a simple, earth loving intellectual who would easily commandeer and correct The Great Gatsby. He LIKES ladies who act and dress like ladies, looks down on women who are fat and wear ugly clothes, but he himself needs to be forced into a suit and shuns occasions where this would be required. Oddly enough, he simultaneously resents social masquerades. I am like that. I am exactly like that.
      For 30 years my mum and sis have attempted to convince me I would feel more sexy, sure of myself and confident in public, if I wore sexy underwear, make-up and clothes that aren't from K-mart. Still counting.
      I don't wear make-up, because I like my skin, my lips are full and dark, my eyes are pretty and green and if i put on mascara, I dirty my lenses and tire my eyes and sometimes I need my eyes to stay up very late for work. I don't wear pretty clothes, because usually I am photographing shit and very often require mobility and not having to worry about hurting the clothes or shoes. I don't wear heels, because I like to be able to walk. And I wear sports underwear, because it serves it's purpose. It keeps my boobs from slapping people's teeth. My confidence or sureness of myself don't originate from the fact I had my mani-pedi recently, but from my portfolio and my ability to communicate with fairly everyone about anything. I'm not shy because I think I'm ugly. I simply don't enjoy noise, humm of overly-exited crowds or retarded, forced conversations. I actually really, really enjoy company. When it's about company, not performances. And I feel sexy and good looking when I am butt nekkid and my husband throws me down and screws my brains out. Actually, I feel sexy and good looking every time I catch him staring at me, smiling. I feel sexy when he is blushed, sweaty and trembling in my arms.
       General went out with a few women as he got single, before he met me. these women, as far as I have met them, were all lady-like. One was my sort of co-worker and I know for a fact she spent hours of the day doing her make-up and nails. She offered information that illustrated the attention she pays to her appearance before a date. All these dates, that he entertained for the sake of feeling social, began and ended with one coffee. general is not the sort of a person to think more of a woman because she spends hours doing her face. He wouldn't be my husband if he was. These are not coincidences.
       Clients who employ people, because they look good as opposed to those whose portfolio looks good, are not the sort of clients you would want wasting your time on. it's why I do my business meetings in T-shirts. Photographers or painters, who come to shows, looking more extrovert than the things on display, should seriously warn you about the quality of their final product. Artists, who act and pose as artists, very often, very surely aren't really any good. I know this from personal experience. I was a teenager once, too. Telling people you once sucked the left testicle of a famous rich and pretty person, isn't something I consider a reference. Weird, aren't I?
        There are circumstances in which I will go against my comfort and put on very lovely clothes and do my hair and skin. But this is almost never for want of pleasing the eyes of strangers or feeling fuckable. It is out of respect for people who threw the events. Coming to an exhibition opening, a wedding, or a literary evening in your sweatpants, even if I am the photographer, is disrespectful to the host and can be sometimes even to the client. Not trying to, just is, sometimes. And I am not trying to be any kind of a rebel or making fashion statements, it's just who I am. So i can, on occasion, make a conscious effort to blend in by trying to look like i care.
        A lot of women still believe that being good looking is a ticket to success, which supposedly leads to happiness or at least a well situated relationship. Just as many men still believe that being wealthy solves the same predicament. These people probably belong together. Mutants like me, however, admire beauty - in all it's forms - we just don't see it as a currency. the most beautiful man in the world could come up to me and offer me a diamond the size of his brain ( :D ) and he would not phase me. Oh, I would want to photograph him, certainly, I nurture profound passion for capturing appearances on film, but that would not earn him the privilege of touching my skin or learning how cold my hair is or how warm my bosom. I daresay Greta Garbo could dry hump the leg of General like a hot poodle, and he would be entertained, flattered surely, but not brain-dead. And certainly not heart-blind. Or integrity-stupid.

Thursday, 24 October 2013

Lazy little ***

... She really needs to get into shape :D Starbark after the year's first communal hunt last week :D



.. as it may be true that Chinese and Japanese art never evolved (they never got over the misty mountains, bamboo reeeds and occasional samurai paintings), that stuff still drops my jaw from time to time.

Wang Ximeng's A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains

... I wonder what paint he used for blue  ... or is this luminescence the handywork of the restorers?

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

Gorgi's proofs in the mailbox today :D

Final decisions on the cover and the frames .. :)

Ivanka Trump (on a more happy, trivial matters)

Good thing she hasn't yet had a boob job, a nose job, a chin job and a lips job done. Cause that would make her a real daddy's little dummy.

Ridiculously sad and yet not depressing art...

If Breaking the Waves and Million Dollar Baby are the saddest movies ever, and Major Tom is the saddest song, this has GOT to be the saddest set of photographs - ever.

Warning - really sad. Not those annoying African starving kids for the millionth poster and money grabbing campaigns or some war shit, Bosnian refugees, blah blah. Real life. Happening to completely real people. 

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Watched Gravity again tonight. Liked it even more this time. I'm reading the forus and am always amazed at how dumb people are. But no matter. I am glad I am not and that the makers of the movie were not and they made it for the likes of me, so that's that. LoL, those poor people, so desperately trying to shoot holes into the movie's laws of physics, as if the whole space isn't doing that enough already. But all I can think of is Tiangong's wings flickerring, while she's surfing down and down, and how much I want to meet Aningaaq (or at least see the film)... And how glad I am not to have to know to to break apart a Sojuz module...
       General is sleeping just next to me right now, and he is very warm. And noisy. That's pretty much how I like my world to be. 

Working and re-working and re-reworking on the Gorgi cover :))

Addicted to G. :D

Sunday, 20 October 2013



Weekend update

It's been a hot weekend. Thursday morning, I was off to Velenje to negotiate graphic details of Gorgi. I had to drive in the dark (very early), in the fog, in the rain, in rush-hour traffic through a gorge. Pun intended. That was not pleasant. But if the deal comes through nicely, it was worth it. I get jumpy when someone else handles my work. Tho they seem like good people. Then again, they all do when we first sit down to talk. 
         Friday morning, we threw a semi pro shoot; Lara and Tinka being the models, my sis and the mutts assisting and as a comic relief. General left early in the morning for work, then therapy, then school and only came home very late in the night. 
         Saturday, he was working again, but I strolled over to a mall and bough a posh shirt, then got myself talked into going uphill to have lunch with parents. But I didn't enjoy that very much. General picked me up and I tried to take a nap to prepare for the concert. Oddly enough, I was very nervous. I think it was because I wanted to make a good impression on the people who, well, might get impressed by my work and hire me, but now that I look back, that was a little bit naive. Other possibility was that my sister really wanted to meet a famous actor and I didn't wanna fuck that one up. Also, I hate coordination and actresses were coming in for tomorrow's shoot. So it's possible I was extremely sore all over from worry of tomorrow's shoot, also. Dunno. It felt odd. To have toothache, headache, earache and cramps in the legs and know it's from nerves. Eventually I left the General to deal with the sleep-overs and just sat myself down in the front row, trying to enjoy the show. It was a nice performance, people were friendly and I like meeting interesting new artists. The presence of a celebrity made everyone act with an extra push of colour, which is always funny and was particularly funny now, as the old man plays it very cool, very down to earth. By looking at him, you wouldn't think he's ever done any movies or any plays anyone's ever heard of. But the jokes he told were laughed at terribly loud and the songs he sung were cried at and everyone stared and grinned and clapped maniacally. He probably thought it was funny, too. You have to admire a man who gets paid a mother load, doing something so simple and so fun. 
          Fast forward one a.m., I have posted my sister's pics on Facebook, but couldn't fall asleep. The buzz of it all kept my head spinning. General made me retire eventually and few hours later, at five, the alarm rang. Time to wake the guest and make her up into a goddess of trains. I could work on her for hours more, but the sun rises at 7:20 and such delicate time tables make the clocks race like a bitch. Tanita and Tjaša had their close-up scenes today, whereas Tinka, Barbara and Maja behaved as the support crew. Everyone was trying to look out for on-coming trains (we were shooting on tracks.) Despite Sunday morning, four friggin' trains passed in two hours - none cargo. But we caught the sunrise and were done wonderfully soon. It was only nine o'clock, so we moved to the lake. Barbara had food from an earlier feast: we had a picnic, fending of swans. Experimentally, we shot the 'waking up' scene with Tjaša as Mireille, which I think worked neat, despite the lack of fog and mists.    
    ... I always forget to take photos, though we create such great characters... Only stuff I take is light tests. Goes to show I can only focus on one thing at a time. And why it's important that someone else counts my equipment. 
         Under slept and over-worked, I am starting to feel that familiar, pleasant high and restlessness that comes from depravity.  A fan of it, I am wondering whether to go to bed tonight at all. General will be the deciding factor, as if he was off to work, I wouldn't retire, but now that he is home, he is just too magnetic to fight. It's been a looong and wonderfully productive few days and because everyone says so, Monday's a new week. New overkills :D

Few pickies from the Šerbedžija/Ivanušič concert last night ...

... and I'll be posting more, because they were just so... excellent :D

Oh, and this would be a sample of the soundtrack:...