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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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Scarlet by Angela N. Hunt
Scarlet, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

So, this was the second studio I ever built in my garage. I appear to have a thing for converting my garages. I’m back to working in a garage again. The current one is my fourth? Fourth.

Garages, man. Not just for cars.

I was also dirt poor, so I made all of my drops. This is where being able to sew saves you. Yeah, it meant that every drop I had typically had visible seams down the middle, but for the most part, it never seemed to detract from the work. I also did what I could where I could to buy the widest width fabric, so some of them don’t. 110″ wide upholstery fabric is your friend. It’s not as wide as some commercial drops, but it’ll get the job done.

And no matter what some may say, I’ve always liked the wrinkles. It gives texture to what can sometimes be just a boring background.

I’ll own a steamer some day.

But until that day, I’m going to embrace my wrinkly backdrops.

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

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And it’s not always beautiful, sometimes your models lose it while trying to get into character.

I rather adore this shot for that reason.

Silliness!

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

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And it’s not always beautiful, sometimes your models lose it while trying to get into character.

I rather adore this shot for that reason.

Silliness!

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

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Visions in Glass by Angela N. Hunt
Visions in Glass, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

And sometimes the Sun wants in on the action…

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

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Mirror Seer II by Angela N. Hunt
Mirror Seer II, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

I used to own a gazing globe.

I loved it. I loved it so much.

And then it broke in a move. I’ve not found one since that didn’t cost an arm and a leg.

But while I had it, it made for a wonderful prop…

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

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Protesters II by Angela N. Hunt
Protesters II, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

Japan 1998. The Ant and I were out and about near Shibuya, I want to say, and out of nowhere…

Came this protest.

Sadly, can’t read the signs, but it was a situation that I was happy to be in the right place at the right time to capture.

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

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Bubbles II by Angela N. Hunt
Bubbles II, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

Thing they don’t tell you: soap bubbles are a stone bitch to photograph.

For reals.

So the fact that I got ANY during what was my second real pro shoot is kinda epic. Bubbles the first is a backer exclusive and showed in galleries in San Francisco back in the day. But this one I love just as much, because the bubbles are as clear as Jareth’s spells.

Wasn’t easy.

But it was worth it.

* * *

In other news, I’ll have a marathon post mortem either later today or tomorrow. Watch this space.

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

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Hair by Barrie by Angela N. Hunt
Hair by Barrie, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

And here’s Barrie doing the same job we just saw on Joanna, but nearly twenty years ago, on the second shoot I ever did with the Mad Model.

Yeah.

That’s a long time.

At the time, I didn’t know that spooky girl in graveyard was a trope, and to be honest, I’m glad I didn’t, because I did what I did and there are some truly beautiful shots amongst the crap.

Which is the lesson.

Just because there’s a lot of spooky girl in graveyard shots out there, doesn’t mean *you* can’t take spooky girl in graveyard shots. If you’ve got an idea, do it.

Who the fuck gives a shit if someone else has done it before?

It won’t be the way *you* do it.

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

Make Up

Feb. 28th, 2014 11:23 pm
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Make Up by Angela N. Hunt
Make Up, a photo by Angela N. Hunt on Flickr.

My sister putting the finishing touches on Joanna from last August.

I love process shots like this.

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

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DSC_0079

So before things got dark and difficult around here, I was at the wedding of some dear friends, held at a park in Piedmont, California. This was the detail of the fountain/arch over where they said their vows. It was quite lovely.

* * *

Things have been…challenging. I still can’t believe that Bud is gone. My birthday came and went and except for a few bright spots brought about because of dear friends, it’s like it didn’t really happen.

Today is my eleventh anniversary, and I’m still not sure how that happened, because I could swear we just got married. But there’s a nine-year-old around here, so clearly not. But that should tell you something. I still feel as strongly about him as I did the day we got married. It’s pretty damn wonderful.

So it’s not all challenge. There are wonderful things. Life is good.

It’s just a trifle more packed right now than I would like…

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

Ghost Horse

Aug. 1st, 2013 03:35 pm
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Ghost Horse

And here is Pooka doing his ethereal “o hai i am not of this world” thing.

Man, I miss the desert.

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

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The White Chair

* * *

So I am plowing still through all of the photos I took at the last recital. Only 211 photos left to process of baby ballerinas. The thing that I adore is that after four years, even though I have taken many many photos of different girls over that time, I always find something new. The subject is the same, but the girls are both different and timeless and wonderful.

They may not all grow up to be prima ballerinas.

But this love of dance? I hope it will sustain them when they are my age, the same way that it sustains me.

Sustenance that I need, because my photographic backlog is ridiculous right now. *glares at Lightroom catalog* And on that note, back to work with me.

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

angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

The Fence Line

* * *

It is the 4th of July here in the USA. For most, an excuse to grill, to chill, and watch shit blow up, either in the sky or on the movie screen. All things I’ll be doing.

But I’ll also be thinking about this. *points up*

Fence lines.

Fences make good neighbors, or so they say. They’re also completely artificial constructs. (says the Libra, going into seeing both sides of things mode) 237 years ago, our founders (and don’t fucking forget there were women included in that shit) basically put up one hell of a fence. It was made out of words.

If you ask me why I’m a writer, why I’m a publisher, on *this* day, I will point you to the Declaration. To the fact that the opening shot of the Revolutionary War, aside from soldiers dying on Boston’s common ground was a piece of parchment written in the strongest, most civil words possible by one of the greatest writers of that generation.

The Declaration tells a Story.

It tells the story of a People deciding to claim their own identity, their own rights, and their own sovereignty.

Heady fucking shit.

Yes, it was followed by hard action.

But never forget.

It was all started by the written word.

Today, raise a glass or a bottle to the power of Story to liberate us.

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

Moved.

May. 17th, 2013 06:31 am
angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

And I’m back.

The move was and continues to be…stressful. Moving five people and all of their stuff, even to bigger and better things, is a fuck ton of work.

I am very tired.

But we are landed and everything is in the house and everything is in boxes and it’s no longer the BiGJAM House of Chaos, now it is the BiGJAM House o’ Boxes. I’m okay with that. Boxes don’t move. Well. Not when you are looking at them.

Anyway, this is the post to tell you that I am still alive, we are all still alive, and someday… I will not be surrounded by boxes.

Yes.

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

The Arena

May. 7th, 2013 05:24 pm
angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

The Arena

The arena sans white ponies.

Little eerie, isn’t it?

* * *

Chaos here. Only a drive by post. Will try to update when I have five minutes to rub together.

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

angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

Fuzzy Wuzzy

Why I love the desert, Reason #533: the deceptive fuzziness of cacti.

I mean, seriously. Look at this little guy. It looks like fur. And yet, if I had been stupid enough to touch it, porcupine city. OW. What’s not to love? Yeah, the saguaros mean business and you see those spines and go, “holy shit,” but these little guys. A) They look alien. B) No. Really. Alien. C) FUZZY! You just want to pet them.

Except that would be a bad idea.

* * *

Continuing madness at the BiGJAM House o’ Chaos: everything is hitting this week. I need clones. Or robots. Or moving men who look like Channing Tatum. Or all of the above. It is freaking crazypants over here. The fact that I have gotten any editing done at all is a freaking miracle. Or because I have taken All the Allergy Meds and perhaps had too much out of this bottle of Black Blood of the Earth. I admit nothing.

*vibrates*

In the meantime, photographs continue to get processed and packing continues. The house looks like the cardboard fairies came through and had a paper kegger.

And now I must go eat lunch, because I’m burning through calories like whoa.

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

angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

Mist Morning

The trip out to the desert to visit with the Horses of the Sun started in fog, appropriately.

This was the first rest stop, somewhere east of Riverside and ground fog had sprung up in the early morning. Another hour on the road, it would be gone, though high clouds would follow me to Tucson.

It ended up being closer to nine hours of driving than eight, because I got stuck behind a gigantic wide load of a giant metal blue thing on a giant truck somewhere outside of Phoenix that took up both lanes of the highway I was on and wasn’t going faster than ten miles an hour. So I didn’t get to Camp Lippizan until sundown and the first thing that greeted me were jack rabbits and quail in the westering sun.

It was and is like out of a story.

And Judy met me at the door and it was like we had always known each other, even if I did start nodding off over dinner at 10:30 at night.

(Oh, and Judith Tarr is a freaking amazing cook. For reals.)

But here’s the perfect coda:

I have not done long distance driving like that since my car accident when I was 19. The one that left me with a Traumatic Brain Injury and a year of physical therapy and with a body that still requires specific care because of my poor judgment at that age.

By the end of my journey into the desert, I would have logged over 27 hours in the little Honda FIT, driven from Tucson to Taylor through the Salt River Canyon *twice*, a drive that is more than four hours in each direction and through the canyon a seriously marked 35 mph zone (no really, we fucking mean it), and…

I was fine.

I will be 43 this year. It has taken me 24 years to face this demon down. The fear that fatigue and extended time in the driver’s seat meant driving off the road and being cut out of a crushed vehicle by emergency personnel.

Instead, I stopped when I felt tired. I took photos. I drank another Diet Coke. I ate another apple, because that’s what my father used to do. Put a bag of apples in the front seat to eat, because for some reason, chewing on apples keeps you alert, don’t ask me why. Used the restroom. And got back on the Road.

And the Road did not kill me. Once more, a car and the Road are my friends. For that alone, it would have been worth everything and more.

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

angela_n_hunt: (blue eyes)

DSC_0206

This is probably one of my favorite photos from Seance. Thomas Negovan leaning over and blowing off the wax shreds as Meredith Yayanos played the theremin.

It’s a modern photograph that looks like a slice of time from the Past.

* * *

I am eyes deep in tax season and very happy to be so, once again, now that I am legally recognized to do so by the federal government. I still have annual testing to take this year, but whatever. That’s going to be every year from now on.

The day’s not been smooth, but some days are like that. It’s certainly different than a not-smooth day at the ex-dayjob. Here, I just regroup and breathe and no one’s breathing down my neck. It’s really quite lovely.

But I need to get some writing done today or my head is gonna pop. Writing itch is crawling around in my skull like a cracked out monkey. How’s that for mixing my metaphors?

And that’s about all the brain I’ve got right now, unless you really want me to tell you about how assets depreciate over time versus taking a one time Section 179 deduction versus taking a partial Section 179 deduction… and I’ll stop now…

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

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The Love of the Goddess

Because yes, I do believe that at times when we need Her, we can step around a corner and She will be waiting to remind us that we are worthy and loved.

* * *

I ache today. Yesterday’s run was all in my head, as in took all my willpower to get home. Sometimes it’s like that. Sometimes you have it. Sometimes you don’t. Yesterday, I didn’t. I was slow and the last few miles hurt. But today I’m doing okay, so that’s good. I comfort myself with the reminder that you need slow miles to run fast miles and no matter how long it takes me on Race Day, at least I’m out there.

But it’s hard not to get wibbly and not rail at the Universe and demand to know why I’m not faster when I do all this training. *sigh*

Some days are good. Some days you bonk. Yesterday? BONK.

And now I’m going to do something lovely and nice for myself. Because I am still a bit wibbly and need to remind myself that I’m doing the work. And that is enough.

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

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