cerf
Assistant executioner
Good observation about Bisset, although she is not so young at 77. Still VERY attractive though. See the good write up on her in IMDb.
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Harsh Martinet
Consul
Art
Governor
Thank you. The closer you get to the people and faces, the more work you have to do. It's still not satisfactory. But thank you again, I always appreciate criticism. Whether it's good or bad. You can learn from both. It's not for nothing that there are worlds between my first image from 2014 and my current images.
wulf
God-Emperor
I am always reluctant to criticize any artists work, even constructive criticism, because I have no artistic talent and have no idea of what it takes to create these renders. I try to point out what I think is very well done and/or impressive work, because I truly appreciate the skill and effort that goes into making them. I understand that the feedback is important, but I think any 'mistakes' or technical errors are probably already known by you, and not my place to point out publicly. I would do so privately if asked about a specific image, though.
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cerf
Assistant executioner
In the immortal words of L. DiCaprio, "I concur". As basically a 2D portrait photographer, mostly using Lightroom, when I look at the work of many on this site I see Icarus. How do you keep your feathers glued on?
Art
Governor
I don't believe that every art critic has studied art. Nor do I believe that he can paint, write poetry or stories. Therefore, all I can say is, don't be inhibited to give constructive criticism.
I also have no inhibitions about writing short stories about my paintings, even though I am not a writer. To make matters worse, I write in a language that is not my native tongue. There are certainly some things that a native speaker would not write. That, too, would be worth a critique. I could certainly learn from that.
I particularly like @cerf's line, "How do you keep your feathers glued on?"
That's why it's good to keep in mind that you also have to leave feathers in order to achieve something.
Art
Governor
In the Torture Prison of ESMA.
A thirty-year-old German journalist went to Argentina in 1978 to attend the World Cup for her newspaper. She is supposed to interview wives of soccer players on the sidelines of the events.
She knows that she will not necessarily make a career out of these unimportant interviews. Also at home in Germany her orders become less and less.
Therefore she decides for herself something impossible. Something dangerous. Since Argentina has the reputation of a torture dictatorship, she wants to be arrested as a subversive student at a demonstration in order to report on it later as an investigative journalist. She keeps this a secret from all her colleagues. Her article about the dictatorship's torture methods is supposed to go off like a bomb and make her famous in one fell swoop.
In preparation, she dresses more youthfully, puts on nickel glasses and braids her long blond hair. She also doesn't use any makeup.
Thus disguised, she mingles with protesters who are demonstrating for more freedom and for the release of innocent prisoners. She also loudly chants socialist slogans. Nothing happens.
Disappointed, she makes her way home to the hotel after the demonstration. Halfway home, a neutral van stops next to her. People jump out, put a bag over her head and throw her into the van. Her hope of being arrested in public does not work out. No one knows what happened to her. No one has seen anything.
Already in the van she is stripped completely naked and raped several times. Then she realizes that she has a mistake in her concept. She has not reinsured herself. Nobody knows where she is. All her colleagues think she went shopping.
She is led with the sack over her head into a stuffy room smelling of blood and fear sweat and is fixed to a cold metal chair with hand and foot cuffs. Then the sack is removed from her head.
She faces two grim-looking men.
She immediately complains that she is completely naked and tied to a very cold metal chair.
The spokesman for the two smiles and says "That's not a problem...we'll change that right away."
His assistant laughs and lights a viscous flammable paste in a drawer under the chair.
Immediately, bright flames blaze under the metal seat. Within a short time, she notices that the seat is becoming unbearably hot. She screams and jumps up, noticing that she has little room to escape the heat because of the restraints.
She stands in a completely cramped position over the now glowing metal plate and screams in pain "I am a German journalist and insist that my embassy be notified. This will have serious consequences for them."
The spokesman says calmly, "Now sit down, you're standing there all tensed up. You can talk about everything calmly."
"Besides, you don't have any identification papers with you... for me you are a dirty little subversive socialist! You are a parasite in our state!"
"If anyone has to fear consequences it's you!!!"
He looks to his assistant.
"Ohh... you're totally digging the blonde. I'll make you a deal...we'll leave her here and go have breakfast first. After that, she'll have a good pre-warmed ass. I'll leave you alone with her for a while."
"But after that we'll interrogate her with all our might - the alleged German journalist!"
"If she really is one, she has a lot to report - in the survival case."
Laughing, the two men leave the interrogation room, leaving the screaming journalist or subversive student in front of the glowing chair.
A thirty-year-old German journalist went to Argentina in 1978 to attend the World Cup for her newspaper. She is supposed to interview wives of soccer players on the sidelines of the events.
She knows that she will not necessarily make a career out of these unimportant interviews. Also at home in Germany her orders become less and less.
Therefore she decides for herself something impossible. Something dangerous. Since Argentina has the reputation of a torture dictatorship, she wants to be arrested as a subversive student at a demonstration in order to report on it later as an investigative journalist. She keeps this a secret from all her colleagues. Her article about the dictatorship's torture methods is supposed to go off like a bomb and make her famous in one fell swoop.
In preparation, she dresses more youthfully, puts on nickel glasses and braids her long blond hair. She also doesn't use any makeup.
Thus disguised, she mingles with protesters who are demonstrating for more freedom and for the release of innocent prisoners. She also loudly chants socialist slogans. Nothing happens.
Disappointed, she makes her way home to the hotel after the demonstration. Halfway home, a neutral van stops next to her. People jump out, put a bag over her head and throw her into the van. Her hope of being arrested in public does not work out. No one knows what happened to her. No one has seen anything.
Already in the van she is stripped completely naked and raped several times. Then she realizes that she has a mistake in her concept. She has not reinsured herself. Nobody knows where she is. All her colleagues think she went shopping.
She is led with the sack over her head into a stuffy room smelling of blood and fear sweat and is fixed to a cold metal chair with hand and foot cuffs. Then the sack is removed from her head.
She faces two grim-looking men.
She immediately complains that she is completely naked and tied to a very cold metal chair.
The spokesman for the two smiles and says "That's not a problem...we'll change that right away."
His assistant laughs and lights a viscous flammable paste in a drawer under the chair.
Immediately, bright flames blaze under the metal seat. Within a short time, she notices that the seat is becoming unbearably hot. She screams and jumps up, noticing that she has little room to escape the heat because of the restraints.
She stands in a completely cramped position over the now glowing metal plate and screams in pain "I am a German journalist and insist that my embassy be notified. This will have serious consequences for them."
The spokesman says calmly, "Now sit down, you're standing there all tensed up. You can talk about everything calmly."
"Besides, you don't have any identification papers with you... for me you are a dirty little subversive socialist! You are a parasite in our state!"
"If anyone has to fear consequences it's you!!!"
He looks to his assistant.
"Ohh... you're totally digging the blonde. I'll make you a deal...we'll leave her here and go have breakfast first. After that, she'll have a good pre-warmed ass. I'll leave you alone with her for a while."
"But after that we'll interrogate her with all our might - the alleged German journalist!"
"If she really is one, she has a lot to report - in the survival case."
Laughing, the two men leave the interrogation room, leaving the screaming journalist or subversive student in front of the glowing chair.
Attachments
cerf
Assistant executioner
Watching the news coming out of Ukraine and the States this morning I sniff a convergence of trends that will give Art an 'embarras de choix' for future inspiration. Unfortunately.
wulf
God-Emperor
Yes indeed... quite unfortunate.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Art
Governor
At that time, most young women were not shaved. Neither on the legs, between the legs, nor in the armpits. There I also speak from experience. The armpits were shaved when the ladies wore an off-the-shoulder and sleeveless dress.A very liberated German woman for her time....not many frauleins we're shaven down below in 1978....and yes, I do speak from experience
This has changed in the eighties. Some singers still had hair under their armpits in the mid-eighties, for example Nena and the front woman of the group Cock Robin. After that, they all shaved and waxed what they could.
Art
Governor
I want to be that girl with the most cake.
"You are just obnoxious!!!"
Those were the words my boss yelled at me. He's right. I can't complain about him and other colleagues. He is a good boss. It's up to me.
I had last met a former classmate. The top of the class. She was the girl with the most cake. Standing confidently in front of me, she smiled at me "How small the world is, now you work for an enforcement agency in this intolerable dictatorship. You were nothing...you will never be anything...you are a failure!" When she left, I was sure she had forgotten me, a nothing like I am.
My little self-confidence continued to shrink in on itself. Afterwards, I went to the office with tears in my eyes. A nice colleague asked me what was wrong. With him I cried about the nasty former classmate.
I am a secretary in a special investigation group. We are subordinate to the Ministry of the Interior. I have a very high level of secrecy. But I never get to hear internal details from the interrogation rooms. Many people say behind closed doors that confessions are extorted by torture in our agency. I have never thought about that. Well... our interrogation rooms are absolutely soundproof. You never know.
"We're going to change that! You're coming with me right now!"
With my heart pounding, I followed the boss. I was afraid I was going to be fired. We went into the new interrogation center, not yet completed.
I could hardly believe what I saw in the huge hall. A completely naked woman, with her arms tied high above her head. Her legs were spread and fixed to small metal posts.
My hated classmate...class leader...the one with the most cake....
Boss handed me a bullwhip. "Here...I know you can handle this. I saw you at a rodeo in a skill test...you were the best."
He pointed at the woman smirking condescendingly at me. "She's a dangerous subversive. One who incites our youth. Give her a good spanking. Let her always remember us!"
I unrolled the whip...a wonderful piece of hard, braided leather. It felt good in my hand. Tentatively, I delivered a few strokes in the direction of the woman. You have to do a few practice strokes with a strange whip first.
"I knew you were too stupid for that too. You were nothing...you'll never be anything...you're a failure!"
That's when a barrier broke inside me. Skilfully and very hard I hit the woman I hated. Until she only screamed in the shrillest tones and whimpered for mercy. She is so cramped in her pain that her feet are already no longer on the floor.
With each lash I shouted:
"You! Were! The! Girl! With! The! Most! Cake!
And! Now! You! Will! Ache! Like! I Ache!
After that, I paused for a bit and furtively looked at the men's reactions. My boss looked at me in amazement. My colleague was just too excited. He was really cheering me on.
Grinning, I raised the whip and struck the grand finale.
I'm! The! Girl! With! The! Most! Cake!
Note:
I used a few lines from the song "Doll Parts" by Hole. Slightly changed, sometimes unchanged. A great song.
"You are just obnoxious!!!"
Those were the words my boss yelled at me. He's right. I can't complain about him and other colleagues. He is a good boss. It's up to me.
I had last met a former classmate. The top of the class. She was the girl with the most cake. Standing confidently in front of me, she smiled at me "How small the world is, now you work for an enforcement agency in this intolerable dictatorship. You were nothing...you will never be anything...you are a failure!" When she left, I was sure she had forgotten me, a nothing like I am.
My little self-confidence continued to shrink in on itself. Afterwards, I went to the office with tears in my eyes. A nice colleague asked me what was wrong. With him I cried about the nasty former classmate.
I am a secretary in a special investigation group. We are subordinate to the Ministry of the Interior. I have a very high level of secrecy. But I never get to hear internal details from the interrogation rooms. Many people say behind closed doors that confessions are extorted by torture in our agency. I have never thought about that. Well... our interrogation rooms are absolutely soundproof. You never know.
"We're going to change that! You're coming with me right now!"
With my heart pounding, I followed the boss. I was afraid I was going to be fired. We went into the new interrogation center, not yet completed.
I could hardly believe what I saw in the huge hall. A completely naked woman, with her arms tied high above her head. Her legs were spread and fixed to small metal posts.
My hated classmate...class leader...the one with the most cake....
Boss handed me a bullwhip. "Here...I know you can handle this. I saw you at a rodeo in a skill test...you were the best."
He pointed at the woman smirking condescendingly at me. "She's a dangerous subversive. One who incites our youth. Give her a good spanking. Let her always remember us!"
I unrolled the whip...a wonderful piece of hard, braided leather. It felt good in my hand. Tentatively, I delivered a few strokes in the direction of the woman. You have to do a few practice strokes with a strange whip first.
"I knew you were too stupid for that too. You were nothing...you'll never be anything...you're a failure!"
That's when a barrier broke inside me. Skilfully and very hard I hit the woman I hated. Until she only screamed in the shrillest tones and whimpered for mercy. She is so cramped in her pain that her feet are already no longer on the floor.
With each lash I shouted:
"You! Were! The! Girl! With! The! Most! Cake!
And! Now! You! Will! Ache! Like! I Ache!
After that, I paused for a bit and furtively looked at the men's reactions. My boss looked at me in amazement. My colleague was just too excited. He was really cheering me on.
Grinning, I raised the whip and struck the grand finale.
I'm! The! Girl! With! The! Most! Cake!
Note:
I used a few lines from the song "Doll Parts" by Hole. Slightly changed, sometimes unchanged. A great song.
Attachments
Art
Governor
Sometimes I can't help it. I then try to recreate images of great photographers.
This time I have chosen 'Big Nude III - Paris -' by Helmut Newton.
I had my problems with the lighting. I didn't really understand how he illuminated the model. But somehow I achieved a satisfactory result for me and made my peace with the lighting.
This time I have chosen 'Big Nude III - Paris -' by Helmut Newton.
I had my problems with the lighting. I didn't really understand how he illuminated the model. But somehow I achieved a satisfactory result for me and made my peace with the lighting.
