Stumped

The last couple of weeks have been a haze of days running into eachother. I have so much to do, so much I want to do, but am lacking inspiration. I feel trapped. Useless. The eye of the storm, calm around a fury of emotions and thoughts and desires. So often lately I feel this way, and I thought with age this immature spurts of depression and hiding from the world would go away. For the first time, I feel caught between girl and woman, entering that time when I have to leave my careless days behind me, buckle down and put my nose to the grindstone. But it's hard, without inspiration.. Drifting, waiting...

But forcing myself out of bed early to get things done; mentally challenging myself, cleaning, reading, writing, planning photo things.. Is a good thing. Recoop, I guess.

What exactly is it that makes a person decide to do things that aren't in her best interest? This boggles my mind a bit.

And it's not like my life is so bad. I know this. But I am selfish and I want more. More from myself and my life. Which should be cherrished and not wasted and I should use what I have to make myself the best I can. End of story.

Get yerself together, Meg.

Eleni

I had this friend, Eleni. She was Lebanese and Greek with long black hair. She was beautiful and always smiling and rolled her cigarettes and talked about living "off the grid". She loved whiskey and Ithica. She went to massage therepy school before I knew her and once gave me a massage, putting me half asleep. In this photo, we drove out to a park that she knew of. It was the end of winter or the beginning of spring and just warm enough to not be cold and just cold enough to still have snow. She was hung over and self consious. I had fun shooting her and she was a great sport. Afterwards, we went to a hick bar and drank scotch and played pool and messed with the locals. I was 18, she was 20.



Crazy how a few years can feel like so long ago. This picture was from another night, though no less fun. Eleni now has a baby. Nuff said.

I've quit smoking. There's this torture that I realized about the withdrawal from cigarettes that I can deal with and even enjoy. It's the same pit in my chest that I felt when I missed James so much when I was in Utica. I have an addictive personality.

Rolls of film are starting to build up. All I need is developer to develop my own film, hurray! I have vague plans of stealing some from MVCC. Wish me luck!

God I love being up until the sun comes up.

Attention!

I just found math I like!

"For films and Plates: mix 1 part of this solution with 3 parts of water. At 18-20 C/ 67-70 F in fresh fixer, fix films and plates for 2-4 minutes with these exceptions: fix Kodak Panatomic-X filmsfor 1-2 minutes;fix Kodak Tri-X Pan Professional Films for 5-10 minutes. Discard the fixing bath when the time to clear exceeds one-half the total fixing time. Under normal conditions, if an acid stop bath such as Kodak indicator stop bath is used between development and fixation, this diluted bath will fix about 120 rolls of 620 film or the equivalent per gallon."

Self Control

It is a mantra. Have self control, have self control, have self control. I will not call any of the boys. I will not smoke. I will have composure. I will not call, I will not call, I will not call...

On my list of things to do today:

-Shoot Marice (Cute eccentric boy with neat style and an affinity towards making music)
-Possibly shoot Andrea (heavily tattooed and I've shot her many times)
-Clean out my car
-Get wasted and watch that new vampire HBO series that apparently you can get for free at Blockbuster. (Thanks Mell)

What I really want to do is take my feeble $100 that I have to my name and drive out to Texas and shoot the aftermath of hurricane Ike. The other night we got hit with the left over storm. The power went out at exactly two, and I begged Holly and Jon to go outside with me to check it out. All of Syracuse was out and it was ghostly, the wind was terrifying and I was convinced that there were monsters in the shadows. I was this close to getting in my car and searching out a cool shot from some high spot. But I didn't have my tripod sooooo.... sucks cause the moon was huge, too. Anyway, I grabbed my film just in case.

I have yet to see any good photos come out of Ike, and it's killing me. I know there are tuns of dudes with cameras around there so why the fuck haven't I seen a worthy photo of the 20 thousand people still in Galveston? I've been listening to NPR and watching the news and I'm going ape shit bat CRAZY wanting to just hop in my car and go take pictures. Oh! ohoh! And the NEWS, man, the news is crazy. Who's lighting these people? TV in general makes my head hurt but I want to watch it more (I don't have cable, myself) so I can be so inspired to go out and do shit.

But instead I have to go look for a real job. Fuck. I don't want a real job. I'm pretty happy scraping by and modeling for Thriftwares and going down to NYC every once and a while and taking pictures every where I go.

I think maybe I'll look into wedding photography. Buuuuut I need a digital camera. Need. I've got my precious film cameras (minus the Olympus). I finally have a light meter (two, actually, though I haven't figured out how to use them... Thanks Jeff and Tim!!).

Aright so I just spent ten minute playing with them and I figured it out. Fucking cool. They are so cooooool... they're the old kind... with swirly dials and needles and such. Which match my old cameras so weeeelll... and I found a 50's hot pink bike on craigslist for $50 bucks and I don't care if it's really fucking stupid I WANT THAT BIKE. Hopefully she didn't sell it yet *crosses fingers*.

Aright enough of this bullshit. Time to go out and take pictures to prove that I rock and that James can kiss my happy cute ass. I'll show him! (and everyone else, too!)

Watch me prance with my nose in the air.

Too sensitive

Lately I've had serious writer's block.

Maybe it's from the pressure and judgment I feel from my ex reading something, or the way I miss posting about our fabulous life and adventures. It's sad how when you break up, your life splits in half. There are the people who will keep talking to you, and the ones who wont ever again. There are the boyfriends who will remain your friend, and the ones that wont. The ones who will be bitter, the ones who will be understanding. I wish to have one be understanding, calm, mature. To think, I've always dated men well older than me, and have found that with age there certainly is no guarantee of maturity.

I've wanted to express my joy of the last week and a half. My shoot with Chip Willis was amazing, I got to see my sister.. after which there were more adventures of a Harley ride before continuing on to Rochester to shoot with Frank Petronio where we continued to get blasted (or, I did..) and ramble about nonsense, then on to NYC where I first spent a night of tequila and tonic and limes with my super cute high-school BFF. Then, the next day I shot with HR Marshall who was a delight, followed by a date with a young republican (Weird!) who is quite adorable and showed me a City through eyes I've never seen on the wheels of a red scooter.

However, my buzz was killed like a joy ride interrupted by blue and red flashing lights. It's funny how seeing the back of someones stupid head with his stupid long girly grey hair and stupid matching button-up that fits him oh-so-well.

And another back-view of curly brown hair. Not so stupid, though...

Part of me believes that my ability to do dumb things makes me tough. Or, how he's put it, "punk rock". Yet punk rock died with strung out hospital visits and suicide. Part of me believes these irrational movements of mine are romantic and charming. But look at me, here, sitting alone, writing for the world to see. And because I stopped caring, that, too is punk rock and romantic. Stupid "punk rock" because I sat out there for hours, waiting. Romantic because I was too sensitive to go the extra step to act like a crazy bitch. I watched them go in. I watched his bedroom light go on. I wrote a letter and folded it up like I was in highschool and left it on the stoop. I thought about his crazy down-stairs neighbor picking it up and I almost hope she did, just to create an extra dynamic.

Always dramatic.

And suddenly I'm not over him. I'm crazy and pounding and terrified and aching. I am not stupid, though. I knew from the beginning. I knew from the middle, and the End.

Bury yourself in photography, Meagan. Bury yourself.

But, Still

So last week I went out to Columbus to shoot with Chip.. we'd been planning it for a while, and I decided to convince Melody to come visit me, since Columbus is more than half way to where she's staying with our grandparents in Michigan. I've missed her and we're finally able to reconnect after a long time of being in different universes. Ends up, Chip shot both of us, which was fan-fucking-tastic, and I'm elated at all of the images. Two days of driving around, shooting, laughing. We had a great time, and even our "behind the scenes" photos are great. I really love this one, it makes me feel happy and free and girly. Chip kept saying, "higher! Again!" and I was reminded of Avedon. Chip challenged me the first time we shot, and continued to do so, which is so much fun. I love working with photographers who I adore and who push me to do my best, and to work to get where they want me to be.

Once again, all outfits provided by miss Holly Ross, of Thriftwares.com. As usual.

Next is shooting with Frank Petronio tomorrow, which I'm also excited about. He's a little drama queen but that's part of the fun. I'm stoked to see his new camera, too.

After that, down to NYC for a couple of days, FINALLY! Working with yet another photographer who I really respect, though I only work with that type, anyway. Holly's putting together fucking fabulous outfits and I am really really excited about them. One includes a sequence bra top that I had to beg her to get, and damn, sure am happy she did.

Furs are also on the list, and I plan on wearing one (a different one every week, as Holly sells them, most likely) all winter long, and am totally prepared to catch a tun of flack for it. To me, furs are meant to be worn. I mean, sure it's a little fucked up to be wearing a bunch of little cute bunnies, minks, foxes, or beavers, but I don't care... they're so fucking... luxurious! I feel like a fucking rock star, yo.

Besides all that, I'm regretfully putting down my cameras after I shoot the rest of my 120 film. Sadly, the Rolleiflex that I've been borrowing from a very generous photographer, has been recalled by said owner. I almost cried when I read the email, but I could feel it approaching, I've known it was getting to that time. I mean, I've had it for a long time. But I will cherish it while I have it!

That film is the last film I have. I can't afford more, and I can't afford to get the rolls I have shot developed. So I am forced to not shoot. Instead I will start scanning old stuff that I haven't scanned, and working on trying to fanangle my way into making cd's (like I keep saying..).

I want to backpack Europe with Melody so I plan on working my ass off through the winter. Which is good, it'll keep me from being all winter depressed, which happens every year. I'm putting off finding said other jobs so that I can do things like run around naked for Chip and go play dress-up with Frank and be fabulous in NYC. Stupid, irresponsible, but fucking fun.

But through all the ups and downs and trials and tribulations and heart aches and frustrations... I still love being me. I love modeling and I love taking pictures. Somehow, modeling always makes me feel better, more alive and part of something. Being able to take a piece of my personality, a feeling or mood, and be able to have that directed by a photographer into a photo that'll say something, connects somehow, makes me feel... appreciated, exposed, liked, curious, active... useful. And I learn so much every time.

Another by Chip.