Once again it seems I am neglecting my blog writing duties. Once again life has prevented me from regailing you all with tales of delight and surprise. That being said, I did spend a proportionate amount of my weekend this week trying to disentangle playdoh from my hair. Of course, work has been the usual array of the weird, the wonderful and the severely demented.
I shall start today with the message I recieved recently via Myspace (yes I know, Myspace, Facebook et al are the tools of satan) from an 'amateur' photographer enquiring about booking me for a shoot. When asked if this 'amateur' photographer could provide references, background history and sample pictures (of anything, even his dog would have done provided the dog was happy to pose to a minimum level of US magazine TFCD....actually no, let's not go there) he was, shockingly unable to provide anything aside from his word that he would 'show me some pictures he had done' when I went to meet him. This naturally made me feel immediately at ease, especially what with him having no details at all on his own myspace profile. I immediately sent him a message back saying that as he had offered to pay me to take my clothes off I would be delighted to meet with him, despite his lack of desire to actually prove his identity. I would also be happy to come to his house, in fact if we could meet down a dark alleyway or in the middle of a dense forest that would be far more ideal. I also made sure to let him know I wouldn't be telling anyone where I was going or take my phone with me.
I am of course, lying. Being sarcastic. Telling untruths. What truly terrifies me are the number of girls who would have gotten as far down his first message as ' I will pay you.....' and immediately messaged him back to book themselves on the first rung of the ladder to success. Or on a first class ticket to a ditch in the back of an abandoned farm. Of course, there is the possibility that the photographer was entirely genuine. But I'll never know. He could have been sitting there, camera poised and portfolio ready for display. Or he could have been Fred West's wet dream. There are so many people who believe that this is a dangerous industry to be in, but the truth is it's only dangerous if you're stupid. If you're so ridiculously dumb you can't see the danger in believing that faceless lines of text are in fact who they say they are, get out of the industry. Start running now.
There are of course, those who are genuine, but take the piss. Like for example, the photographer who approached me recently regarding a shoot. A total amateur, with pictures of a somewhat questionable standard. Aforementioned photographer mentioned being hard up for cash and asked if I would consider a part pay/part TFCD arrangement. Out of the goodness of my heart (I do have one, even if it is made of ice) I did offer to reduce my rates only to find in his confirmation email that he had added an hour of free work to my already reduced rates, meaning I would in reality, be working for an amateur, for pictures of no use, for less then minimum wage.
Guffaw.
I was glad this week to be able to work with someone who really is a true artist, appreciative of my craft as much as his own and as a result I will be working with him again. Because despite those that tarnish the reputation of the many genuine photographers that there are. Of course in some cases their jokes and their ability leave somewhat to be desired, but I'm not perfect myself. The truth is, in the majority of cases, their intention and their motives are genuine.
Well I'm off to try and make something constructive of my week. In the words of my good friend Gary G Sanderson, who remains to this day a faceless line of text, Dance, Monkey, Dance.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Stuck in a rock and a hard place....
Yes, I know it's been awhile since I updated this thing, but I haven't forgotten about it. The truth is that at the moment the whole modelling industry seems to be going down the shit pan rapidly and what with bookings, cancellations, the calendar, birthday parties, losing money, losing patience and generally being so busy that my diary is melting and my computer is screaming I have been very busy lately. The other day I did the unthinkable and actually turned my computer off for a little while. Sadly when I did get back to it I had to trawl through 146 emails mainly from people who didn't have a clue what they were talking about.
Anyway, it's early in the morning and it's a new day. I am powered by caffeine and nicotine - the two greatest and most powerful sources on earth. So strap in and prepare yourself for the inevitable rollercoaster of wrath we are about embark upon.
Ready? Ready.
The deminse of the internet modelling industry. Obviously the words 'demise' and 'of' and 'modelling industry' do not bode well for myself or my fellow models (especially those of us who do not have the requisite 32-22-32 statistics to be signed to most agencies). So who do we blame? The models? The photographers? Heat magazine? Big Brother? The truth is I blame all of them. Because right now everyman and his dog wants his five minutes in the spotlight. I bet if you did a survey of 14 year old girl's ambitions that a large perecentage of them would say model or to marry a footballer. Well let's have a reality check shall we ladies? For those of us who live in the real world this is a job, a profession and an industry not a fast ticket to Chinawhites. For every Jordan there are a thousand girls trying to make it, some working hard to earn a minimum wage and sometimes even less - doing it for the love and the passion and not the infamy. Three years now and I've yet to sup from a single glass of bubbly in Funky Buddha, I am yet to appear in my own three page article ion The Sun about how I just bought a new biro and the closest I have ever come to marrying a footballer is standing on Steven Gerrard's driveway.
The sad truth of it, that although my job is different, it is no more noticeable or newsworthy then your local postman's is. It is this delusional belief that modelling makes you better then everyone else that makes so many girls think they deserve to do it. Of all the modelling sites I work from there are an inumerate number of new models everday and a steadily declining amount of work. Models who believe that they should be paid above professionals who have worked for years, because their boyfriend told them they should be a model.
Models are turning against photographers, photographers are turning against models, professionals are turning against amateurs. Perhaps one day we could all sit around a giant virtual reality campfire, break out the guitars and teach the world to sing. But unfortunately, jaded is our view and tarnished are our ideals. For most of us, the best plan seems to be to get comfy down between this rock and hard place we've put ourselves in. Because if we tell a new model with new hope, bad attitude and a 'the world owes me this' outlook that she is kidding herself and that we would very much like her to fuck off, then we damage ourselves. We are branded as being dream crushers and bullies. Funnily enough I was bullied myself for years, maybe thats why I can take the criticism without being reduced to tantrums and throwing my toys out of my pram. We are supposed to sit back and support and welcome these fame seeking money draining wannabes into our industry and settle back while they take our jobs without any justification. They lower the bar for expectations and so more and more models are becoming lazy, inarticulate and shallow, leaving photographers to imagine all models are this way inclined and to let us suffer the fall out of their actions.
But don't worry girls, because one beautiful day there will be the realistion that we are not bullies or haters, and the photographers will realise that the reason they only book models who can't perform, who don't turn up and who drain their pockets without yielding results is because all of the real models will be sitting here, between the rock and the hard place, painting their toenails and saying we told you so.
Anyway, it's early in the morning and it's a new day. I am powered by caffeine and nicotine - the two greatest and most powerful sources on earth. So strap in and prepare yourself for the inevitable rollercoaster of wrath we are about embark upon.
Ready? Ready.
The deminse of the internet modelling industry. Obviously the words 'demise' and 'of' and 'modelling industry' do not bode well for myself or my fellow models (especially those of us who do not have the requisite 32-22-32 statistics to be signed to most agencies). So who do we blame? The models? The photographers? Heat magazine? Big Brother? The truth is I blame all of them. Because right now everyman and his dog wants his five minutes in the spotlight. I bet if you did a survey of 14 year old girl's ambitions that a large perecentage of them would say model or to marry a footballer. Well let's have a reality check shall we ladies? For those of us who live in the real world this is a job, a profession and an industry not a fast ticket to Chinawhites. For every Jordan there are a thousand girls trying to make it, some working hard to earn a minimum wage and sometimes even less - doing it for the love and the passion and not the infamy. Three years now and I've yet to sup from a single glass of bubbly in Funky Buddha, I am yet to appear in my own three page article ion The Sun about how I just bought a new biro and the closest I have ever come to marrying a footballer is standing on Steven Gerrard's driveway.
The sad truth of it, that although my job is different, it is no more noticeable or newsworthy then your local postman's is. It is this delusional belief that modelling makes you better then everyone else that makes so many girls think they deserve to do it. Of all the modelling sites I work from there are an inumerate number of new models everday and a steadily declining amount of work. Models who believe that they should be paid above professionals who have worked for years, because their boyfriend told them they should be a model.
Models are turning against photographers, photographers are turning against models, professionals are turning against amateurs. Perhaps one day we could all sit around a giant virtual reality campfire, break out the guitars and teach the world to sing. But unfortunately, jaded is our view and tarnished are our ideals. For most of us, the best plan seems to be to get comfy down between this rock and hard place we've put ourselves in. Because if we tell a new model with new hope, bad attitude and a 'the world owes me this' outlook that she is kidding herself and that we would very much like her to fuck off, then we damage ourselves. We are branded as being dream crushers and bullies. Funnily enough I was bullied myself for years, maybe thats why I can take the criticism without being reduced to tantrums and throwing my toys out of my pram. We are supposed to sit back and support and welcome these fame seeking money draining wannabes into our industry and settle back while they take our jobs without any justification. They lower the bar for expectations and so more and more models are becoming lazy, inarticulate and shallow, leaving photographers to imagine all models are this way inclined and to let us suffer the fall out of their actions.
But don't worry girls, because one beautiful day there will be the realistion that we are not bullies or haters, and the photographers will realise that the reason they only book models who can't perform, who don't turn up and who drain their pockets without yielding results is because all of the real models will be sitting here, between the rock and the hard place, painting their toenails and saying we told you so.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Victory, Success et al
The day has been, the day has gone. The day, was good. Yes, that is correct the day of the calendar shoot has been and gone and it was in all successful. Five of my initial ten models booked turned up to the shoot but they were by far and away the best models I could have hoped for. The calendar will be released in June and as soon as I can I will release more promotional details. My sincere thanks go to Wendy, Suzy, Kelly, Nerys, Simon, Colin and Mark for their dedication, their enthusiasm and their entertainment. I also thank Pete for getting me tipsy on two glasses of white wine, given they were the size of buckets, and sending me home on the right train rather then the wrong one. Other then the success of my creative directorial debut I have been basking in the delights of working from home, spending mother's day with my beautiful son (who gave me a card that said Happy Birthday Grandson on it) and watching Dancing On Ice.
Oh shit, I mean, I have mostly been going to fantastic celebrity parties, quaffing champagne and having mad drug fuelled orgies in hotel rooms with Z list celebrities.
Oh shit, I mean, I have mostly been going to fantastic celebrity parties, quaffing champagne and having mad drug fuelled orgies in hotel rooms with Z list celebrities.
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