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I love the idea of getting my photos taken. I love photos in general. They capture a moment in time in a way that stories and poems do. Reality, only altered by light and the photographer and the viewer. People say that I’m photogenic, but I’m sure people say that about most everyone. So, in concept, having photos taken of myself is great, and enticing and intriguing.

In reality, not so much. I get nervous. I don’t know what to do with my facial expression, or my eyes. I tighten up. I look fake or scared. Or just plain stupid. It’s infuriating.

I bring this up because I spent the morning in a photo session with the wonderful Eric Griswold of Griswold studio, shooting photos for the upcoming charity calender of mostly naked local writers for Oregon Writers Colony. Eric was great — very calming, welcoming, open to ideas, and enthusiastic. He showed me the shots he’d taken of writers like Marc Acito, which were very very cool. And then I stripped — which, oddly, is not nerve wracking for me in the least. He put on good music, had the studio warmed up, talked to me in calm, soothing tones about what he was going to do (yes, it sounds like setting up for first-time sex to me too!), and still… I got in front of the camera, and forgot how to move my body or what to do with my face. I swear… you’d think I’d figure this thing out.

Still, we shot for about three hours, and by the end of it, I was relaxed. I was also exhausted. You think you’re in shape until you ask your body to hold this pose or that pose, to arch back, to bring the knees in, to hold hold hold. My ass is sore. My back hurts. My thighs are killing me. I don’t know how those models dorubens_-_adam_et_eve this for a living.

I sound like I’m complaining, but I’m really and truly not. Eric was amazing. I had a great time — although I would like to figure out just why I can’t seem to relax in front of the camera. And the test shots we took looked amazing — we were going for something sensual and erotic, with a lot of warm light, so we tried some with a campfire style light and then with some Christmas lights, both wrapped around me and giving me a warm glow from the front. Not to mention, I looked at the shots and realized that I’m built just like Rubens’ Eve. Like, exactly. Small perky boobs, thin waist, hips and ass from here to never-never land. Give her lighter hair and a nose ring, and I swear, it’s me. Or, give me a leaf or two, and I can be her.

I can’t wait to take the final shots, to see if I can discover a way to calm and, as Eric kept saying, “just do what you want to do.” Either way, I know the shots are going to be amazing, as is the whole calender when it’s complete.

Now, I need a hot bath and, ideally, a massage. Or at the very least, a nap.

Kiss kiss bang bang,

s.

ps — cool photo by this artist.

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