So here I am, off having adventures with Gawan. I’ve been off my computer for about a week already, which is a minor miracle, but it does appreciably slow down the blogging.
Since I arrived at Gawan’s place, I’ve been exploring the neighborhood while trying not to get rained on. None of the sites and activities has been more than about a 20-minute drive away, and some of the more spectacular views are, amazingly, within walking distance. (Comparably long hikes in my own stomping grounds would get me to the Italian grocery store, or, going the opposite direction, within view of farmland.)
The Sinful Sunday theme this week is “shoot from below” and I have two photos that fit the bill.
But if you’re after something more literally sexy, how about this one:
Kneeling, waiting. Exposed.
This is a detail of bleached, a photo I posted a few months ago.
I climb into the bath, water hot as I can tolerate
my movements and mind mellow, thoughts become languid and lax
the heat and steam seem to reignite the pilot light at the meeting of my thighs
feeling vacant yet reawakened, I ache
I could have posted this photo two Sundays ago but I was feeling really risk averse, and now I’m posting it today without a second thought. Mood does strange things.
It’s overcast and wan, a midday twilight. The quality of light is objectively like that of the midnight sun just on the wrong side of the Arctic Circle, but the mood is bleak rather than wondrous. The air has turned chill.
Yesterday, when the light was better, I took a raft of photos but when I went to peruse my haul, I discovered that I’d forgotten to put the memory card back in. That killed my enthusiasm rather effectively. (Though if I was going to make a mistake like that, better to get it out of the way early, I suppose.)
My experiments today haven’t yielded results. I don’t feel like taking risks. I want something that works.
I think I need chocolate, maybe a cozy cup of hot chocolate under blankets on the couch.
What’s on the table?
A lovely spread, but one to be cleared before the wine is served.
More Boobday here.
When I was in university, I took an art class and one project was to make an image using only shapes cut from black and white paper. I found a little black and white nude photo in a fashion magazine illustrating, in a very tenuous way, some health story or other, and reproduced it for the project.
I liked how it turned out so I got it framed and it now hangs in my bedroom. It has become part of the wallpaper, as it were, and I only recently noticed that it matches the theme of this blog rather well, both in subject matter and style.My interest in nudes is not new, it would seem.
Edit: Guest judge Innocent Loverboy chose my photo for the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up! Here’s what he had to say:
One of the things that I like about Sinful Sunday is how differently people take it, and this is a great way of showing off the body without taking off your clothes. Like Zoë, I was taken by the brilliance of this picture, the curves and contours of the model brilliantly contrasted in stark black and white.
After I originally posted this image, I was having a hard time figuring out why it looked a little off to me. I’m sure it’s not an issue of wonky proportions. I eventually realized that the location of the picture in the bedroom means that I never look at it straight on as in this photo — I’m often looking up at it, which creates a foreshortening effect.
Also, I’m not the model for the image, though I think I look similar. I seem to have subconsciously noticed those similarities, snagged on the differences, and then concluded that the picture must be wrong! I think that means I’m feeling content with my body, and that’s a good thing.
The Sinful Sunday theme this month is “favorites“.
I took this photo some time ago but I’ve never posted it before. Still, it’s a favorite of mine and at least one other person.
I love these leggings. The substantial fabric clings and smooths. Vertical seams front and back draw attention to my curves, making me feel luscious and juicy. And they go so well with my “kick ass and walk tall” riding boots.
My company was charming.
Opposite me by the massive Renaissance fireplace sat Venus; she was not a casual woman of the half-world, who under this pseudonym wages war against the enemy sex, like Mademoiselle Cleopatra, but the real, true goddess of love.
She sat in an armchair and had kindled a crackling fire, whose reflection ran in red flames over her pale face with its white eyes, and from time to time over her feet when she sought to warm them.
Her head was wonderful in spite of the dead stony eyes; it was all I could see of her. She had wrapped her marble-like body in a huge fur, and rolled herself up trembling like a cat.
“I don’t understand it,” I exclaimed, “It isn’t really cold any longer. For two weeks past we have had perfect spring weather. You must be nervous.”
“Much obliged for your spring,” she replied with a low stony voice, and immediately afterwards sneezed divinely, twice in succession.
Venus in this abstract North, in this icy Christian world, has to creep into huge black furs so as not to catch cold—
[Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, Venus in Furs]
Even though this isn’t a classical pose, I’m stretching my definition a bit and including this in my poses of Venus series.