Who's That...Lady?

Who's That...Lady? 2
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

i wanted to give this set a name alluding to "the crying game," but hesitated because i thought I might be inferring a little much.

yet, "her" features are a little too hard for me. boldly, I’ll declare that I think I am a pretty good judge of these sorts of things after having taken hundreds of similar fotos over the last couple of months.

so albeit she has great calves, i would argue that they are almost too great, which leads me to think that she is either:

- a hardcore athlete, particularly a world class sprinter
- pumps iron regularly
- jamie lee curtis avoiding the papparazzi
- or…a hermaphrodite.

there is also something funny about her hair, almost wig like.

and finally, look at the long vein on her arm carrying the handbag, very male...

she was walking too fast for me to get a look at her front side, so i am only guessing.

sorry if this inference changes people's initial perceptions of this photo...but this is new york after all and it would not surprise me if this hunch is correct...

that said, i find that there are two important thoughts that arise from this discussion.

first, the notion that the metropolis is indeed a wonderful place for people to feel free to express themselves; whether it be through art, aspiration, orientation, style, or thought, places like new york city are hot spots of creative freedom which allow individuals to break free of the mold and pursue those penchants, inclinations, and passions that are true to themselves.

and secondly, i find it interesting that the unveiling discussed above might change people’s aesthetic feelings about this series.

as i’ve discussed before men’s aesthetic sentiments are often futilely tied to our physiological predilections. and so, if one suddenly realizes that what they were initially allured by is fool’s gold (i.e. the girl is a boy), should it automatically alter how we feel about the photo? is our concept of beauty inexorably tied to our libido? or is it possible that if we let go of such gender-specific biases that one can still appreciate the photo for its qualities apart from the element of gender that it so boldly evokes?

after all, when that intuitive part of my brain that i use to take photos started flashing i ultimately decided within a few milliseconds to pursue this person for three primary reasons: the exquisite physiological and garment detail, the extraordinary color and vintage vogue feel. and so should it really matter if this finely dressed pedestrian is a man or woman after all? i’d have to argue that it really doesn’t.

oh, i wish i were a hibernating human

Summer Days at The Creek 017
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

oh, i wish i were a hibernating human

Autumn is a second spring
when every leaf is a flower.
~Albert Camus

I saw a leaf fall this morning.

All alone, it seemed to magically descend out of nowhere. Apparently, the cool wind had careened it across the avenue from the elms smugly standing across the street.

Although the sudden relief from the infamous balmy days of August readily suggest September is on its way, the umber and wrinkled old hand I saw falling was the first visual cue from nature to wink at me and convey that we are indeed teetering upon the sprite brink of Autumn.

I’ve always loved the Fall. Especially, when it comes upon the wake of another sticky summer.

I tender much the same sentiment for Spring as well.

April - May, September – October are my four favorite months. Oh, what I would give to hibernate for the other eight.


Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it,
and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth
seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot

Autumn Looming

Autumn Looming
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Autumn Looming

Embattled by the sudden cold front and the lingering woes of over-indulgence, yesterday passed somewhat blurred and unappreciated.

Not that anything out of the ordinary occurred, but sometimes even the ordinary can be extraordinary when we stop for a moment to reflect upon the innocuous travails of the day, especially if, in an auspicious way, they contrast against the darker days of the past.

Thus, in retrospect, I must say that yesterday was rather wholesome and fun.


The day began with a slower rising of the sun, as I arose weary from driving in 96 wood screws to fasten 48 hinges and hang 24 rolling white shades for most of Saturday.

Hence, the house was dark as ever in the morrow, and I slept in accordingly, absconding the chill of the weather that was a changing.

When I did rise, I languidly took to brewing my coffee and sipped while finishing another musing.

Most of the day was spent lackadaisically in the backyard under the shade of the canopy, writing.

However, when the evening chill began to subdue the day, I stood up to shake off my laboring stupor, and after a stretch of chair-ridden musculature, I straddled my new bicycle and rode a timeless weave of infanous-eights for a while.

Invigorated, I then took to the park and futilely attempted to fly a kite. My sprints across the sloping knoll were in vain though, as the rustling breeze could not sustain a loft.

My spirit undaunted, I took off to collect Fall flora instead. Using my empty snack sack, I stuffed it with various sprigs and twigs of violet, white and gold wildflowers, which I would set out to dry and perhaps press in a field book later on.

And much the same as last year at this time, I picked a few dozen divine and dark blue berries to make light violet dye. Later, I would dilute this royal hue with a few drops of aqua-dew to paint purple pictures and write regal letters by.

Upon my return, I cleaned up, packed up, washed up and put away. And a few more chores later I was ready for a small repast so that I might fall fast into slumber and respectfully finish the day.

So, it wasn’t exactly unusual or unbelievable or uncanny by any means, but even if it was just another slow Sunday, I would not have enjoyed in any other way.

Three years and three days ago to the day, I similarly sat in my back yard writing, pondering recent days past. Alas, back then autumn looming bespoke of something different. Today, albeit it promises to be much more pleasant than the threat it once meant, I try not to be too disrespectful of this quiet fortune or too indifferent to the absence of calamity that one may once again begin taking for granted.