featuring Model: Morgan Vail, age 28 from the ongoing series “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl”—
a timeline of photographs over 19 years with the same model
Mystic, CT USA
Photograph by Michelle Gemma
https://michellegemmaphotography.com
https://michellegemmaphotography.wordpress.com/
featuring Model: Lena Curland
Photograph by Michelle Gemma
https://michellegemmaphotography.com
https://michellegemmaphotography.wordpress.com/
from the series “Yung Love”
featuring Model: Piper Meyers
October 2015
Stonington Boro, CT USA
Photograph by Michelle Gemma
https://michellegemmaphotography.com/
https://michellegemmaphotography.wordpress.com/
featuring Model: Titus Abad
Photograph by Michelle Gemma
22 October 2015
Coogan Farm, Mystic, CT USA
This Mortal Coil was a music collective led by Ivo Watts-Russell, founder of the British record label 4AD. Although Watts-Russell and John Fryer were technically the only two official members, the band’s recorded output featured a large rotating cast of supporting artists, many of whom were otherwise associated with 4AD, including members of Cocteau Twins, Pixies, and Dead Can Dance. The project became known for its gothic, dream pop sound, and released three full albums beginning in 1984 with It’ll End in Tears.
“Song to the Siren” is a song written by Tim Buckley and his writing partner Larry Beckett and was first released on Buckley’s 1970 album Starsailor. The song has become perhaps Buckley’s most famous due to a number of artists covering the song after his death in 1975, notably This Mortal Coil.
featuring Model: Kathryn O’Reilly
Photograph by Michelle Gemma
15 September 2015
Mystic, CT USA
https://michellegemmaphotography.com/
Home Is in Your Head is the second studio album by His Name Is Alive, originally released via 4AD in the UK on September 9, 1991
this post features the lyrics from “Why People Disappear” track 12 of Home is in Your Head.
featuring Model: Morgan Vail
Photographs by Michelle Gemma
11 June 2015
In the Backyard, Mystic, CT USA
featuring Model: Morgan Vail, age 28 from the ongoing series “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl”—
a timeline of photographs over 19 years with the same model
Mystic, CT USA
Photograph by Michelle Gemma
https://michellegemmaphotography.com
https://michellegemmaphotography.wordpress.com/
[Cooper’s dream, sitting in a chair in the red room. The Man from Another Place twitches uncontrollably with his back to Cooper. Cooper stares at a smiling Laura Palmer.]
this post features a narrative sequence from Twin Peaks (TV Show).
Twin Peaks is an American mystery horror drama television series created by Mark Frost and David Lynch that premiered on April 8, 1990, on ABC. Its story follows an investigation headed by FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) into the murder of homecoming queen Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) in the fictional suburban town of Twin Peaks, Washington.
sweet desolation,
you kick my leg again, beneath this victorian table
you stand me up and exit me out with your bottle, your grin.
we leave in a fluster of goodbyes.
we are alone now, you and i,
and what sweet victory,
desolation.
it is another radioless evening driving out here along the pavement
and out and north i have spent all my money
on tankfuls of gasoline and a styrofoam cup.
all i need is the interstate wind,
a chance to be alone and taken.
it is this time of year
when the leaves have fallen to slick the asphalt surface
and the trees have grown bare to admit the halogen glow.
it is this time of night
when the october rain glistens in the turn
and the rearview mirror is dark and empty.
i have spent my money on gasoline, desolation.
i have spent a lifetime in your avenues
and i am still awaiting
your perfect kiss.
that’s when we scatter the ashes
and pull on the purse strings
in cinching it a little tighter
finished with a simple granny knot
things run their course, they always do
(just let it happen)
but there’s never any way to predict the outcome
it can only be coached along, coaxed along
molded when malleable and hardened when necessary
(let it happen)
the problem, or whatever it is
didn’t just happen, did it
the foundation of it was laid ages ago, wasn’t it
it just silts up after a while until
something must break
(it happens)
walls, will, and the will of man
all bunched up like a tense fist
you could cut it with a knife
but it probably wouldn’t help
it builds, though –
nonetheless
it builds until it’s palpable
taking on a certain dimension
a weight unto itself
(happens)
it builds until it spills
and it’s like the cascade can’t stop
and we all give in and watch it crumble
or better yet, watch it burn
I had written the letter as an endgame. After a year of subtle negotiations, there did not seem to be a way forward after all that had transpired.
the call came
the call for words
letters forming words
words forming strings of meaning
meaning that has yet to be discovered
this is what happens
the indefinite asserts itself
a drifting of sorts without any intention
intending to, but not quite capable of execution
the intent or execution to make this the here and now