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Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

Hugh and Margie Get Married

Today is my father’s birthday. I spoke to Margie Mom last night and she reminded me of the day that she and my father got married. It was a truly magical, eclectic affair. The bride wore pink. The groom tried to pretend he wasn’t weeping. Yes, it was the 80s. I’ll see if I can dig up a picture of me in the blue/hot pink changeable taffeta strapless thing I wore. Heh. It was *awesome*.

Aren’t they beautiful together? Gods, they were so young. I am literally the same age that my father is in this photo.

Have another gorgeous photo of the two of them and my personal favorite. I did, after all, take both photos.

Hugh and Margie

I’ve probably posted it before. I don’t care.

I am missing him (and Margie Mom who is in Australia right now) very much this year. Building out the shop space and working with my hands has brought so many things up and I simultaneously ache with missing him and yet feel him very close. The ghost of his smile and his laughter caught at the edge of my sight and hearing.

He’s still with me. Just not close enough to touch.

It’s okay and it’s not okay simultaneously.

I miss you, Poppa Bear.

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Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

Baylands-5

I lived in Palo Alto in my teens. Little known fact: there is a nature preserve on the Bay in Palo Alto that everyone refers to as the Baylands. I spent a lot of time out there. It’s got a feel to it that is impossible to describe if you’ve never been there. It’s permanently a part of my psyche. It’s one of the few places that I miss.

In other news, I’ve been shopping for a desk lamp and of course, the one I want? $280. Damn Italian designers! *shakes fist at Apartment Therapy*

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Damage III

And here’s one image that was completely obliterated.

It’s very pretty, isn’t it? That’s mold, and water, and corrosion. All together creating a corrosive acid.

And the image that was once there is gone. Forever.

The artist side of myself can see and appreciate the beauty that remains. The human part of me mourns. This was a memory made physical. This was a moment in time I tried to capture and arrest, steal from Time’s predation, and preserve, if only for my own lifetime.

As always, Entropy gets the last laugh and reminds me that you can’t steal from Time, only borrow.

Luckily, the reminder is its own sharp beauty.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Anji in Paris 1996 III (unretouched)

So here’s a shot that Barrie took of me near the Louvre. I did some minor retouching. The yellow is massive water damage.

Here is ScanCafe’s retouch.

Yeah. Way better than mine.

It’s weird, looking back on these particular photos, because a) I didn’t take them and b) they’re of me. At this point, I had started writing Strange Weather. I viscerally remember *this* day in particular. I remember everything about it. The chill of the day. The food we ate. The way I felt about the Louvre and everything in it. How we went back to our room that evening and I ended up writing and writing and writing.

It’s a feeling I miss, because I haven’t been writing much lately beyond blogs and work related writing that isn’t fiction.

My skin is starting to itch.

It’s not unlike how I feel about the fact that I haven’t been able to run for six weeks. But today hopefully changes all of that. Today, I’m heading out for three easy miles, even if all I do is mostly walk. Today, I’m cranking the music and sitting down with my novel, even if only for fifteen minutes.

I owe it to the girl there in the pictures.

* * *

In other news, we’re also at 8% funded for Midsummer! Thank you, supporters!!! We still have a ways to go, but we’re moving. Yay! Remember, it’s for the excellent cause of subverting Shakespeare, possibly naked women, and making sure said naked women are fed and driven down here. Check it out!

A Midsummer Night’s Fevre Dream

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Miss Barrie in New York

Before I showed work in Italy, I made it into a show in New York that was part of a film festival. My work was shown in Madison Square Garden, and my name was up on the marquee, and until that happened, I’d never had anything like that happen ever in my life. I stood in the snow for I don’t know how long until the marquee cycled and my name came up in giant freaking letters.

It was during a garbage strike too, so it wasn’t a pleasant task to stand in the blackened snow, surrounded by giant piles of black garbage bags, half buried in rotting snow.

On the corner across from the Garden and the hotel we were staying in, there was this all night diner.

So I took a picture of Miss Barrie. It was a little after one in the morning.

You can see how she felt about that. *g*

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Vampire

And another from the Satin series, so long ago.

This, by the way, was taken in my *first* garage studio. It was a tiny one too, just a one car garage in a condo enclave in Pacifica and VERY cold without a heater. Those of you who know where Pacifica is, will know why. For the rest of you, Pacifica is one of those coastal towns in Northern California that’s perpetually locked in by fog. It gets maybe a handful of clear days a year. The rest of the time?

Cold and foggy.

It’s not as wonderful as it sounds. After a while, it is possible to get sick of fog. And I, for one, hate being cold. Hence, why I live in Southern California now and have the opposite problem of so many sunny days that, yes, after a while, it is possible to get sick of perfect blue skies and golden sun.

I know. I’m Goldilocks.

In my dreams, the logical solution is to have two homes at minimum. One in LA, and a penthouse in SF. That’s reasonable. Right?

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

Spellsinger II

Nothing I can say makes this image better.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Spellsinger II

Nothing I can say makes this image better.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Smoke III

If you look closely, you can see the damage. It’s there in the center of one of her eyes. So far, you’ve only seen the minor damage. The substantial damage is later. Much later.

* * *

In other news, today I finished about half of the perks for the Save the Negatives campaign and a full two months earlier than I had expected, considering the size of the project. My focus on process and streamlining of workflow has really worked and I’m starting to reap the rewards of my new outlook on creative life.

Not to say that the rest of life isn’t challenging. The van needed over $1000 worth of repairs made on Tuesday and was out of commission for three days. My knee is also not recovered and is once more taped up one side and down the other.

There’s lots of other crap. But…it doesn’t matter.

I’m keeping my eyes on daily practice and daily flow. It seems like such a little thing, but making a point of sticking with the daily gratitude list and meditation every day has made enormous shifts in how well I’m able to handle these challenges. It seems silly that such little things should matter so much, but at least for me, they are.

For whatever reason, I’ll take it.

And on that note, I’m off to play with beads.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Noir III by Angela N. Hunt
Noir III, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

I still have the cigarette holder. It was a gift from the Mad Model, a 1920s vintage holder. Finding unfiltered cigarettes for it was a pain in the ass.

I so wish the anti-cancer trait from Transmetropolitan was a thing. I miss smoking.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Sir Eric II by Angela N. Hunt
Sir Eric II, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

And here is a portrait of Sir Eric, who was just game for all sorts of crazy on this photo shoot, which is huge, considering he hadn’t met me before this day.

Gotta love adventurous people.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Hark, What Light... by Angela N. Hunt
Hark, What Light…, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

Quick. What’s wrong with this picture?

If you look to the left side of the image, you should see it fairly quick.

No.

It’s not a bubble, blown by someone out of frame.

That is water damage.

This is before I did restoration work. The one that’s restored took two solid days to fix and even so, when I look at it, I can see areas that need tweaking. I’m probably the only one.

This was one of the *least* damaged negatives.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Street Corner by Angela N. Hunt
Street Corner, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

And here we go to Japan in 1998.

A million years ago, or so it seemed, the Ant and I traveled extensively. We did a big chunk of Europe, Hawaii, and Japan.

And then life ate both of us.

They are years that I miss and hope to get back to (the travel that is), because there is nothing quite like traveling alone or with just one assistant, a camera in hand, and an eye out for the beautiful. It’s why I so valued being sent to Florence, Italy in 2007 by all of you, and being sent out again by all of you to horse camp last year. Because by 2007, it had been almost a decade since I’d left the country.

In my book, that’s too long. There is so much World to see and so little time to see it in.

Anyway, I just loved the look of this rundown shop. So much of Japan at the time was so shiny and so slick. But even there? Decrepitude sneaks in.

Looks like an outtake from Bladerunner, doesn’t it?

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)
Untitled by Angela N. Hunt
Untitled, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

So here’s another image that when I first took it, I went…meh.

Remember, these were the days before the ubiquity of Photoshop. Post-processing was still done by hand and in the lab and if there is one thing that I just never mastered and never wanted to, it was post in the lab. It was tedious, messy, full of toxic chemicals, and all of it allergy triggers of the first order for me. I don’t think I ever came out of the lab without a headache. I honestly don’t want to know what kind of migraine I’d get now if I tried to do things old school.

But my respect for that level of post work has remained undimmed. I’ve always admired what post can bring to images.

It’s nice to see *finally* what real and adequate post processing can do for an image that at first blush, didn’t appear to have a lot going for it.

Now it’s moody, dark, and I’m wondering what gothic novel lies inside of it.

It’s not just about taking the shot. It’s just as much about what you do to it at the end.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Two blog posts in one day! I know! I’m on a roll.

Anyway, here we are with the Mad Model as she got reoriented. What’s sadly missing is the audio of her threatening to gut me if she fell off the wall, since the drop on the other side was a good ten feet (I was standing on another wall for the shot).

Ah, good times.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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Graveyard Girl by Angela N. Hunt
Graveyard Girl, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

Yes, that is a big ass knife in her hand.

* * *

And if you get a chance, go type in BabyMetal into YouTube. I am still giggling like a cracked out hyena. I am so their target market…

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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So the mausoleum behind the Mad Model here is in a turn of the century (that’s 19th to 20th century) graveyard in Piedmont, CA. Most of San Francisco’s famous dead were buried there, since the City itself had no room for the Dead. If you die in SF to this day, you don’t get buried there. Closest is Colma, directly to the south on the Peninsula, where there also happens to be a large military cemetery. If Colma is the City of the Dead, Piedmont’s little piece is the Bel Air of the Dead (i.e. high-end rent).

No one gets buried there anymore. It’s starting to fall apart and is decrepit and yet, it’s one of the few places I’ve been where I’ve been struck by the absolute peace and beauty of mortuary art.

We don’t do that anymore. It’s all flat stones in the ground or plain marble markers. The occasional repetitive motif on a marble wall plaque for those interred or memorialized of either hearts or flowers or crosses or stars.

We make no peace with Death or the Dead.

It’s not a good thing.

After all, She’s always waiting.

Anyway, not that this has that much to do with the Poe story, but when I looked at it, that’s what it wanted to be called. It’s pretty noisy (that’s a technical term) and I’m probably going to tweak it more to see if I can get more noise reduction, but in the meantime, it works.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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So, years ago, the Mad Model and I spent a day at the beach, Half Moon Bay to be precise, on a foggy, rainy day, where by the end of it, we were frozen and a little wet. It was the first time out by the way for a piece of fabric that you all should recognize by now, as this one piece of freaking white (well, white-ish now) gauze/net thing has been my go to prop when I need something that’ll just…well…work.

But this was the day where it took on a life of its own, and frankly, became its own character. The day it falls to shreds and I can no longer use it, I will probably weep and either cremate it by fire or bury it with full funeral rites. And it was also the day where I shot one of my most iconic images.

This one:

The West Wind

This image still makes my heart stop, and the three others that go with it. Even in its raw form, I knew I had something and by the end of it, I had four images, that would eventually be the cornerstone of my first solo show. Hung together on one wall, they are something else, at 16×20, though honestly, I’d love to print them up to about four feet wide. They just take your heart out of your chest standing in front of them. Also, the most blatant time where one woman, the Mad Model, became four.

And now, they’re on mugs. I’m pretty stoked. Check them out!

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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By the Shore of the Blood Sea

This is an example of a planned photograph acquiring an accident that made it perfect.

The Mouse was not supposed to be part of this shoot. But she wanted to come. And unintentionally became Alice for this portion of the Alice Assassin shoot. In none of the images that you see in this series is she posed. She’s just being herself and doing her thing, unaware that I was taking shots as she did. Only the Mad Model and the Dynamic D are, and largely in response to her actions.

It was quite a magical experience.

* * *

I’m having a shit writing day.

But whatever. It doesn’t matter.

It’s also being a very interesting training cycle so far for this marathon. I’m doing a different training program and it is kicking my ass. In a good way. I think. I also have an elliptical now (a group birthday gift) and it’s kicking my ass too. Things are really hard right now. But what’s interesting is that for all the hard?

It’s still great.

I ran at sundown on Friday. It’s not the same as running at night. But there is something about racing the sun to get home before the light fails from the sky.

Moments like that are why I run.

Now, I need to get back to my wordcount. Y’all be good out there.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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The Girl

This is from The Red Shoes series that I did with the Mad Model back in 2008.

I’m really struggling with NaNoWriMo this year, so I’m just going to be posting some of my favorites from the Vault.

Hope you are all having an easier time of it than I am. I don’t feel like good company for anything or anyone, but I know that’s just the migraine talking right now.

How’s your world?

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

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