I have been so busy wrapping up life in Portland the last two weeks, I have neglected to post the second half of my Fashion Week trip. Here it is. I'll be updating soon about my first few days here. Hopefully I'll have some amazing stories!
...continued:
The next morning was 9/11. I had nothing to do until my Bess call time at noon, so I went down to Wall Street and checked out the happenings. I went to ground zero ten years ago as the last stop on an epic historical tour of the east coast. I remember it well. The rubble was still being excavated. It had been nearly two years since the attack, but the place still smelled like fire. I will never forget the eerie feeling that space held. I was very young and naive, but somehow still entrenched within deep sadness.
This
visit was much different. The site has been cleaned up, with a nice
memorial in place. I didn't get to see the memorial because it was
blocked off for the families. But I could see a bizarre but beautiful
sculpture made out of what looked like airplane parts. The new One World
Trade tower is stunning. I stood underneath it for a while just
watching the people pass by, and the loads of police officers keeping a
watchful eye. Realizing I had quite a large backpack, and had been
standing there for some time, I decided to "move along" before I was
asked to do so by a nice man with a large gun.
I
sat in the St. Mark's graveyard for a while. Listening to music and
watching the people look at headstones. I decided to take a look for
myself, and was floored by how old the graveyard was. I grew up on the
west coast, in a town that is known for being really old. Oregon
City was the last stop on the classic pioneer trail, and founded in
1829. But that pales in comparison to St. Paul's churchyard. The place
was build fifty years before my little town was even a thing. The energy
was so intense. I can't wait to get overseas and experience true
ancient history.
gravestone
With
plenty of time to kill, and a concerted awareness that I need not be on
time, I decided to aimlessly walk around Wall Street for a while. The
architecture is just stunning. Everything seems so much larger in NYC,
and particularly in the financial district. Bigger steps, columns,
doors..wallets. It's easy to feel small being surrounded by so much
money and grandeur. I wondered how often the politicians and bankers
around me ever stopped to appreciate the art and architecture around
them. I'm certainly guilty of not stopping to "smell the Rose City" back
in Portland. As I was wondering about art in the land of big money, and
looking for a place to pee, I heard a saxophonist playing.
The
young man was playing tenor sax in front of a Starbucks. He had his
headphones in, eyes closed, and was completely tearing it up. I saw many
saxophonists busking in the city, but the talent until that point was
fair to gut-wrenchingly awful. It was a really nice to see someone who
had obviously practiced their craft a great deal giving it away
carelessly. The best part of the scenario was that his case was
completely
stuffed full of dollar bills. The were almost flowing out and blowing
away, but he didn't care. Lost in the music, and channeling some serious
Coltrane, he just played and played.
My
bladder kindly reminded me of our mission, and I went inside. I decided
to buy something so I could break a bill and give the saxophonist some
change. But by the time I got back out, he was gone. Disappointed that I
couldn't tip him or talk to him, I asked a lady which way he went and
continued my travels in that direction. I had a feeling I would just run
into him (saxophonist ESP?), but it never happened.
With no more time to burn, I headed to my show in SoHo.
I
got there right on time, of course. But it wasn't entirely a bad thing.
The people were friendly, and they had REAL FOOD! The great gods of
sustenance were smiling down upon me that day. Hummus, carrots, popcorn,
grapes and juice! It may not sound like much, but I'm thoroughly
impressed when there's more than celery sticks and water.
After
chatting up a few other models, and figuring out what I was wearing, I
got called for hair and makeup. I was prepared to sit in a chair for an
hour while three people tossed and pulled my poor locks. But I was
pleasantly surprised when the stylist put a mild bit of product in,
mashed it around for three seconds, and told me I was good to go. I
almost kissed him. It was the best hair experience I had so far.
 |
| courtesy of @alessioboner |
Makeup
was done upstairs. It was similarly un-invasive, but took a while
because John (the makeup artist) and I got chatting about all sorts of
things. He was wearing a Chet Baker shirt from the movie Let's Get Lost.
Apparently he lived in Amsterdam when Chet plunged to his death out of
an apartment window. He said it was tragic, and that the community
really loved him. After chatting about jazz music, Portland, and French
films, I was done. My affinity for Portland had convinced him to make a
trip out here. I promised to show him around to all the jazz spots, and
we exchanged contact information. I do really hope he makes it out.
After
fitting into my wet-suit top, shorts, studded Doc Martens, and black
superhero mask (don't ask me), I was told that it was time for the baby
oil. Wait, what? Baby oil? Yes. We were covered head to toe in oil to
make us look like sweaty stinky party animals. At some point beer showed
up. Doug (the owner) didn't want anyone being uptight. Unlike every
other show I did, it seemed perfectly fitting to drink on the job.
Needless to say; we obliged. Between the leather, baby oil, and basement
full of boozed up twentysomething models, I was sure we had been
dropped into a bad teen vampire movie.
The
presentation was unlike any other show I had done. Now that I think of
it; most everything about my time at Bess was unlike anything I had ever
done (which was literally and figuratively refreshing). Hiding
downstairs; we were instructed to go up one by one, walk on a treadmill
for 30 seconds (again, don't ask me), and then go outside and line up
with the rest of the models on the sidewalk. The whole thing was pretty
simple, really.
Washed
up and soft as a baby, I stayed for one more beer then left. There were
three different parties I could have attended that night: Purple
magazine party, Jeremy Scott ft. A$AP Rocky, and the Bess after party in
the East Village. After deliberating for a short amount of time, I
chose to go to none of them. My body was completely wiped from working
on little sleep, and the stresses of a new city.
I
was very grateful to have been invited to stay at a friend's place in
Brooklyn. She's a first year fashion design student at Pratt, as well as
a gracious host. When I arrived, she and her friends were having a
study party (emphasis on the party). I socialized for a quarter of a
hard cider before starting to feel sleepy. I asked my friend if I could
lay on her bed to write some emails (they had taken over the floor with
homework).
The
next thing I knew, it was 6:30 am. I was in the exact same position I
had fallen asleep in. Clothes on, contacts in, and teeth certainly not
brushed. After taking a couple of seconds to get my bearings, I looked
down and saw my wonderful host sleeping on what should have been my bed.
She woke up soon after, and said it was just fine. I was sleeping like a
rock through their "study" session, and she didn't want to wake me.
What a dear.
Pratt
is really cool. I definitely plan on spending more time there. The
sculptures on the campus regularly change out and move around. I have
frequented the Portland Art Museum a lot more since moving downtown, and
hands down my favorite medium is sculpture. One of my favorite books, Stranger in a Strange Land
has a character, Jubal, who's passion is sculpture. Through that book, I
was inspired to look deeper. Heinlein writes "Creative art is
intercourse, in which the artist renders emotional his audience".
(Tooooootally didn't just look that up) ;-)
I
had no time to enjoy the sculpture, though. I had to be at a shoot in
Harlem at noon, and still had to pick up some clothes from my agency in
the Fashion District. I showered, changed, and was almost out the door
when I realized I left my cell phone charger and my phone behind. I have
since realized that I left my pillow behind as well.. The pains of
travel. After a cheap ($1!?!) cup of coffee from the diner across the street, I was off.
I quickly gathered my things from my agency, and caught the 2 train north to the Land of Trotting Globes.
On the subway I met a gentleman named Nate Jacobs. He owns an acting
company based out of Florida. I forget exactly how we got chatting, but
he asked me if I was with an agency. He was enthusiastic about his
career, and shared a lot of great experiences. Proudly mentioning that
he was visiting a star student in a play. He's not on the modeling side
of things, but I had a feeling someone with that great energy would be a
good person to know.
When the train got to Harlem, I stopped at the deli and grabbed a tuna salad wrap (suddenly wondering what's really
in that stuff). Jason's place was around the corner, and not hard to
find. He answered the door, and led me into a space that I would not
leave for over 13 hours. It sounds like a movie, and even kind of felt
like one. I met the hair and makeup artist, Lauren Whitworth, and we got
right to work.
Jason,
Lauren and I were a dream team. I plugged in one of his lights, and
somehow cursed it. So we were down one light, but made the best of it.
His living room was decked out in a seven foot tall white wall made of
fold up panels, and three (now two) professional eye blinders. He was
his usual; focused and professional, but always keeping the energy up
with quick jokes and an impulsive camera snap.
Most
of the snapping was serious though. We had a lot of ideas, and a whole
day to go to town. Starting with makeup, we found inspiration in history
by summoning the spirit of actor and director Buster Keaton. I was to
be dressed in fine suits, with a carefully combed curl on the side.
Lauren was a pleasure to work with. She introduced herself, and I was
immediately excited that I get to listen to a british person speak all
day. I heard a lot of accents on my trip. Many of the models in town had
move there from far far away to pursue modeling. I was comforted by the
fact that I have family so close. At least they're on the same
continent.
 |
| Buster Keaton |
The
makeup was a modern twist on that of the silent film era. Heavy
eyeliner, lipstick, eyebrow, and cheek bone shading. Lauren and I talked
about how we got into the business. Sharing stories of our travels, the
time passed quickly. Soon enough, I was ready, and we began shooting.
Starting by literally copying the poses and emotions of Buster, we
morphed quickly into an improvisational flow of looks and angles. Jason
and I work the lens like we're moving a delicate piece of Japanese art
through an angular hallway. Perhaps a large, but impossibly thin
calligraphy piece, composed of delicate mulberry paper. An intense
awareness, and an intimate connection to the task at hand meant we could
guide this art with grace.
 |
| courtesy of @lamickle1 |
Jason's
guidance is impeccable. He is a great teacher, and utilizes multiple
tools to communicate an idea. As a model, for example, keeping my eyes
"following my nose" was a huge lesson. It minimizes the distracting
"whites" of the eyes, and also keeps the subject from seeming too
"dramatic". It's easy to fall into the trap of "I'm a model, so I'm
gonna pose". Lighting and angles are another study I have a
lot to learn about. Being aware of where the shadows are on my face can
minimize photographer correction, and interrupting the intimate "moving
of the mulberry".
Lauren's
input and corrections were invaluable. What would start as a simple
hair correction may turn into a series of ideas that would completely
change the energy, sometimes change the look all together. She's spot on
with makeup. She, like Jason, has her own bag of tricks. We worked a
lot with my cheekbones (and eventually with all the bones in my face).
To exact her shadow application, she lightly pressed her hands on my
face. Simple, but not obvious, and very effective.
 |
| courtesy of @lamickle1 |
We
quickly shot a few different looks. After the Buster outfit, we moved
on to a more modern suit. Bulky, depression era boots were replaced by
fine dress shoes. A bowler with a brilliant blue pocket square topped it
off. Still channeling Mr. Keaton's dry, almost depressed, gaze; we shot
with me now standing up. We created a more regal vibe. I felt
like the heir to a Hollywood mansion. The dry gaze eventually faded into
passionate, "mid sentence" looks, and even a wry smirk or two. Quickly
changing, and subconsciously still channeling Hollywood, we put me in a
v-neck sweater, white pants, and a neck scarf. Rather than a trust fund
darling, I was now a movie director. Sitting on my stool, I looked very serious. Unimpressed, stoic, and challenging, these looks emphasized my dark eyes and sharp cheekbones.
In
the midst of all this seriousness, we managed to keep the energy light.
Ordering pizza, taking breaks, and joking about Jason's ability (or
lack thereof) to do the splits. There was never a dull moment, and the
time soared by. I'm glad we were getting along so well, because we were
about to get more intimate than I had ever been with two people in this
artistic context.
It
all started with Tyra Banks. Lauren showed Jason and I a picture of her
with skull makeup covering half of her face. She had mentioned trying
something like that earlier, but I didn't really register that it was
something we would actually do. Inspired by a dozen photos on her iPad,
she asked if I would be willing to sit for a couple of hours while she
did this makeup. My immediate "yes yes yes" was encouraging. We sat down
and got to work.
Eventually
we moved to the bed, and I fell asleep while she worked. Jason was in
and out of the house running errands, but would check in occasionally.
He and Lauren were trying to get something that would look best in black
and white. We figured out that I can shoot black and white on my phone,
so I ended up with a lot of pictures chronicling the process.
After
Lauren decided she'd better finish (she wanted to keep going, poring
over the details), we got to work. The first shots were shirtless. I was
grappling with a stool, flexing all my muscles while trying to keep a
calm expression on my face. It wasn't easy at first, but I settled into
it. The second, and totally unexpected, look was inspired by Vitamin
Water. Yes, 50 would be proud. I had a suit on for the final look, and
was sipping on a Vitamin Water with a straw (minding the makeup). Jason,
yelling "hold that!" shoved me back onto the set. Startled, but soon
understanding his vision, I hollowed my bony cheeks and drank in the
Sucralose.
The
final look was simply dangerous. I looked like a decayed Frank Sinatra.
The expressions were difficult because I had to mind the makeup around
my mouth. Because half of the teeth were painted on my cheeks, it looked
awkward when I opened my pie hole too far. We started by trying to
shoot head on. With me keeping the eye on my normal side open, and the
skull eye closed, I had to then make a series of expressions that were
supposed to be symmetrical. Again, difficult, but not beyond me. We then
tried shooting with a cigarette. I had a terrible time inhaling the
smoke into my mouth without letting it enter my lungs (I would cough
like mad). The smoke burned my eyes, and I had to keep them calm. I
guess it worked out, because we nailed some splendid shots.
After
twelve hours of shooting, we had one more idea. We wanted to work with
fire. Jason has done some amazing shots with fire in the past. He has a
whole series of models with flaming flowers that I just adore. My
original idea was to light my hand on fire with bug spray. I was kicked
out of Boy Scout camp for doing this as a youngin, and perhaps I wanted
to redeem my pyro past. What I remember doing is covering my hand in
spray so thick that it takes a couple of seconds after ignition to feel
the burn. Jason didn't have bug spray, so we tried (with the running
water ready) alcohol. That turned out to be too thin, and burned
immediately. Lighter fluid was the next contestant, and that was even
worse. It was so hot and intense that it wouldn't go out even after I
doused my hand under the water. Scared, and down a few knuckle hairs, we
decided it was best to move on.
But
we still wanted to work with fire. We poured the lighter fluid into an
ash tray, and lit it on fire in my palms. Shot from below, it looks like
I'm holding fire. I worked it at different angles, holding it closer
and closer to my face. Lauren is simply freaking out at this point.
After the tray starts getting hot, I asked to set it down. Lauren was
right there with a plate of glass for me to set it on. We took the fire
into the bathroom and killed it in the sink. The glass heat up fairly
quickly, so we tried a small sandstone bowl next. This worked much
better, and we were able to shoot for longer before it got hot. Lauren,
still having a cow, insisted we set it down at one point. I didn't
object because it was actually starting to burn. The shots were worth
the knuckle hairs, and all the time spent in the makeup chair. That was
one of the most fun looks I had ever done.
That
whole day, in retrospect, was my favorite of the trip. Thanks to the
fantastic energy of Jason and Lauren, I was able to explore tirelessly
the boundaries of this craft. I look forward to meeting them again, and
finding that magic once more.
