Technically NOT Pornography

The photo session is now done, and once again, I feel a little emptier inside.

When I arrived at ACAD, everything was in the process of being set up. The studio it self was small, painted black, and dark except for the for the one heavily lighted corner I'd be posing in. There was no seperate change room as I'd hoped, but I could console myself that there was a stereo in the room so I could, at the very least, strip to music. But before I can remove an article of clothing, I'm told that they want a variety of shots, starting with ones in which I'm fully clothed. Thrilled at the ability to keep my pants on, I almost have fun. Of course, this attempt at enjoyment is quickly nullified by the poses I'm asked to do. The artists explain concepts like "negative space" to me, but I'm far to embarassed to listen. In no time at all I'm prancing around the room doing action shots, twirling sheets of fabric around the room, and contorting myself into effeminate poses.

And then the clothes start coming off. The process is done gradually in order to, I assume, keep me from being freaked out. First I lose my sweater, they take a few pictures. I lose my shirt, a few more pictures. Then the pants come off. That's when things start getting a little weird. I'm not going to go into detail, but lying on the ground without any clothes and being covered in rocks can kind of sum up the experience. Also, as a fun aside, the ground was dirty, cold, and littered with old nails and pushpins.

I'm guessing neither girl was overly impressed with what they saw, because before long the pants were back on. After some more shirtless posing we were finished. Altogether, 3 rolls of film and about a dozen digital pictures were taken. The best news came late in the shoot. To the relief of people all over the world the film with my underwear-clad and nude pictures wasn't working. There are absolutely no nude photos of me out there, and for that we can all be thankful.

As a reward for my efforts (and in lieu of pay,) the artists took me out for dinner. Before eating they developed the photos and seemed to enjoy critiquing them over our meal. Evidently, I'm the worst model ever and a good 90% of the pictures were at once deemed "total crap." To my added embarassment, the waitress was an especially attentive one, and consistently dropped by the table viewing the the displayed topless photos. The unhappy artists then drove me home, (complaining about the inconvienience and the price of gas the entire way.)

So, in the end, posing nude wasn't as much fun as I'd have hoped. I made an ass of myself, disgusted strangers with my physical appearence, and got two artists mad at me about my lack of modelling skill. Tensions were high in that little black room and the next day one of the artists (my ex), felt obliged to call me and apologize for being such a bitch.

Despite all this, I'd do it all again and recommend that others do the same. Whether this says something about my current mental state or not, I leave to the readers to decide.