I love Women, I love NYC

Two things that rarely fail to push me to be inspired: Beautiful women and NYC. And together? Shit, fahgetaboutit. I love the small curves of women; in their neck, fingers, mouth. I find myself blatantly and shamelessly staring at pretty girls, admiring and holding their image in my mind, figuring out an angle, slowly piecing together a photo that slips together bit by bit. It's fascinating and I love it.

There's this girl I met (from Model Mayhem), who I hung out with and talked to for many many hours; over coffee, lunch, drinks. Which meant I was free to look at her as much as I wanted, excused in the expectation of intimate watching as we exchanged stories after stories (as girls will do). It really was so terribly nice, watching her expressions, her moments of intense talking and then peaceful calmness. She'd get this look in her eyes while holding mine, her mouth set and she'd let whatever small tragedy she was sharing with me pass - as if to say, "shit happens". And, of course, burst out in passionate oppinionated and very expressive banter about god knows what.

And suddenly I understand the idea of Muse.

But that thought, of shamelessly observing, that to me is wonderful. How often is a person allowed to actively admire a gorgeous person face to face? Women, indeed, are meant to be admired for their beauty. Somehow because I have a passion for my cameras, and I am female as well, this makes it okay, right? Or maybe it's my shameless adoration for charming girls. Which, by the way, I know a few. Lucky meee!

So. My miserable winter depression is breaking, New York let me fall in love with life again, and the six beautiful girls I got to share company with made me hopefull that I am not an untallented photographer. I got my closure with an ex, I got to kiss a pretty girl, I was free and had fun, I got naked in a park, I came home and was taken on a date and got to kiss him, too.

I'm BACK!


by Marko Cecic-Karuzic