Ok. Well... I still can't get the rest of those photographs off this stupid XD card. Tomorrow, tomorrow. SO I will fill you in on yesterday's shoot. Test shoot, sans stylist, MUA and hair stylist with Edward Le Poulin. Amazing.

By sans I mean... SANS. This look is akin to the one with Nick Parisse last Spring - no brush and no make-up, albeit foundation and a slight bronze on cheeks. I love these kind of shoots for a few reasons, but mostly because they are free from any unnatural or enhanced alterations aside from the photographer's choice of studio light. And playing with light is awesome.

Part of the reason I posted these photos is to show you what a skilled photographer can do with a natural subject and an understanding of light, even if the scheme is minimal. When you see the alteration with make-up, you'll see what I mean. I will tell you right now, it would be unfair to only show the final product.

Without make-up, I look mean. Or like I really hate something, but have to be apathetic. Haha, I actually can hear my mom saying, "Al, you look mean. Why doesn't anyone ever photograph you smiling?"

With make-up, you get a completely different feel.

Anywho, super duper excited to head into the real shoot in the near future, but until then, you'll get more Australia tomorrow. Guaranteed.

Light source: one speedlight.

Problem Solving. Aussie style.

We are back to the slow season in the photo world here in New York, so I will be calling upon Australia to help me fill the space.

The above photo is Andy (friend/guide/dive-boat chef) explaining to me at Cape Tribulation why we can't go back to the beach with the bouncing rocks. Not really, but I was probably equally as concerned about that as I was with whatever we were actually trying to figure out.

Bouncing rocks. For real.

Friday, Friday, Friday.

Last night was gorgeous. Hanging out in the West Village, we all decided to call it a night around 12:30. Early evening, if you ask me. Most of those kids live over in those parts, so I was the only one with a glorious long walk ahead of me.

What? Were all the cabs in New York broken? Were the MTA workers on strike?

No. I'm just bananas.

Bananas and in all of my glory. I had my baby with me, I had my music with me, there were happy people with margaritas and ice cream cones everywhere, what more could I ask for?

For Madonna's "Cherish" to come on my iPod about 15 minutes into my walk. That's what. My favorite "sing and dance your little heart down the streets of New York" song. And sing and dance I did. There are plenty of loonies in New York, that no one even bothers to turn their head when someone beebops down the street in his/her own little world. No one of whom I was aware at least.

But I guess that's standard too.

Photo: Mural on Houston and Bowery. Taken on another evening's late-night walk home, but fitting for this entry nonetheless.

Jeffrey Fashion Cares 2010 fashion show held at the USS Intrepid Air-Space-Sea Museum on March 22nd in NYC.

Yeah. The USS Intrepid is an Essex-class aircraft carrier which served in WWII, Vietnam and the Cold War. Built in 1941, she's been used for everything from submarine surveillance to a NASA recovery vessel.

Awesome history. Amazing venue.

Bottom photo courtesy of maritimequest.com.

Jeffrey Fashion Cares 2010 event held at the USS Intrepid Sea-Air-Space Museum on March 22nd in NYC.

Way, way cool.

A piece from "The Dream Shop" by Lies Maculan. Running through March 31st, the life-size pop-art installation opened on March 11th in Chelsea.

Jo Dee Messina's intimate residency at Feinstein's from March 17th to March 21st in NYC.

There is something outrageously invigorating about flying west as the sun is setting. Something about traveling with the same sunset for hours upon hours with unobtrusive color change. Something so natural and so beautiful just makes you wonder how it's even possible to be a jerk, to be unforgiving, to take things for granted. On that plane, you have reversed time - a continued ending that remains just as beautiful as the hour before. As it minutely descends with every hour, the colors get deeper and deeper, your gaze more intent, questioning if there really ever will be an end or not. But it doesn't really matter, you're too captivated to care. If it does draw to a close, the plane eventually stops and the standard and equal exchange of darkness to light takes half the time it took to change light into darkness.

Time travel is beautiful. Fly more. Write more.

Why, why, why, why can't New York do this?

Rhetorical.

If you've been reading this blog for at least the last minute and a half, you may have picked up on the fact that I am a photographer and I have a photo blog. On the internet. Photos. Many.

BUT

I must tell you this. My name is Alli and I hate excessive and overwhelmingly empty online photo albums. If you have two or sixty, I have one question (well, one appropriate question) for you. Why do you insist on posting photographs that a) are not in focus b) are repeats (with a wee hint of a different smile or alternate angle on your neighbor's daffodils) c) HAVE NOTHING IN THEM.

Do I hear the "hypocrite!" cry coming from the peanut gallery? Correct, I have photos online and yes, I have a lot. Hundreds per year. However, I shoot close to everyday. Sometimes, God help me, feeding myself and paying rent via what I post. But rather than waste anymore of your time, let's look at what's important here. Maybe you, you with your little Canon SD1300 snapping away at the bar, could grow into a moderately skilled amateur photographer, but no one! would ever! know! because! 44! out of! 50! photos! are! useless! Take out the aforementioned a, b, and c and maybe you are left with something that doesn't make you look like a snap-happy narcissist. Whatever, I know that blown-out, "soft focus" photo visually erased what you think is the beginning of a single crow toe, but get rid of it! Another flower from your recent visit to Georgia? If you think people need to see it for the 17th time, pardon my Tagalog, but fuckin' frame it.

I say this now only because I look at this photograph and say, "Ok, what is this photo?"

Matter-of-factly, it's the "View from our hotel balcony." Lame, lame, lame. Whooooo cares what the view from our hotel looked like aside from the two of us and my mom? And at that, my mom is only really interested if there's some kind of tale to accompany said photo.

"Ok, you photo elitist," you may say, "then why are you posting this if you have nothing to say?"

Well, darlings, because I do. It's just not in the photo. My bed, which was just inside those French doors, is my main interest in this shot. What's so great about a bed to a girl that finds sleep to be optional*? Well, it was nothing less than a delightful Murphy Bed and I did have to do some sleuth work to find it. If you know me, you know that some hidden furniture/Easter basket/presents and a little Nancy-Drew-ing go a long way A tip? Spot a room with a private full-bath and a large, mediocre painting done by an unknown artist on one wall and you may have yourself a Murphy Bed. What can I say? Malibu beach houses taught me well...

I know that it's weird that I could write just as much about the bed as I can the view, but... Murphy Beds are awesome. So again, I ask, "What is your photo?" and "What is this photo?" This photo is the grand possibility of one human to be sitting on a Murphy Bed in Paris, looking toward a different world...

Never exploit what it means to be in that kind of a moment.

I triple-dog-dare you to go edit your albums.

*Note to the wise? If you ever want to get me to sleep find me a Murphy Bed - or make (by make, I mean just ask) me do 1,000 cartwheels.

Escargot. Snails. Yes, yes, you may be a tad bit overwhelmed by the unknown utensils they bring you or perhaps by the slimy, yet tender pieces of meat you are about to pull from their homes and devour like the carnivore you are, but fear not, friends. I am your humble servant ready and willing to teach you everything you will ever need to know about escargot.

First and foremost, snails can be either farmed or captured (I like to say captured... brings about a hilarious mental image a la Chef Louis and Sebastian the crab) in the wild. Those that are farmed are often fed fresh greens, dried foods and the occasional herb for enhanced flavor. All snails must go through a week-long fasting period prior to cleansing the intestines. Like deveining fresh shrimp, cleaning out the snail gets rid of bacteria and other impurities that change texture and alter flavor of the dish. Depending on what the snail has eaten, the contents of the intestines can be toxic, thus unsafe for human consumption.

Now let's get to the good stuff. These little guys are usually simply prepared with plenty of garlic and plenty of butter. The snails are removed from their shells, cooked in the sauce du jour and placed back into their shells for presentation. As you can imagine, the hard part here is making sure you have clean, quality snails on your hands and a simple, delightful sauce to accompany it. Well, that and making sure that your final product doesn't resemble a small piece of rubber.

If you take a look above, you can see that my dish was a slightly different take on tradition, adding fresh basil to the standard garlic/butter mix. With such a heavy basil aroma and flavor, the sauce was much closer to a pesto (sans the nuts and olive oil - uh, I guess that doesn't make it a pesto - you catch my drift) than a butter sauce. How was it, you ask? Let me tell you. Goodness gracious, oh-so-delectable-please-sir-may-I-have-some-more.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't everything you needed to know about snails, but it certainly starts you off on the right foot. If you are ever in the mood for snails and are afraid to trot down the path alone, I certainly will be more than willing to hold your hand and maybe even your tongs for you. It's the least that I could do.


Note: not all snails are edible. Please do not go to your garden, round up some escargot and plop them in a pot.

No one else is probably as amused by this as I am.

The most delicious French onion soup on the planet, accompanied by a lovely glass of Champagne. Really, we may as well have just went to Champagne for all the Champagne that we consumed. At least two glasses of bubbly in attendance at every meal.

Very decadent we were. Decadent? Or necessary.

Candy Candy Candy Candy.

Enough of this damn tower already!!

Just kidding.

It was my first time in Paris. Cut me a break.

Lite-Brite!

Sometimes it's kinda nice to explore unknown territory with another person. As I've mentioned many times before, there are certain advantages/disadvantages to each situation and I do generally prefer to be solo at least the first few times around. But, you know, sometimes your eye misses a perspective you wouldn't have otherwise seen if not for your companion. What a lovely natural frame. A thank you to Brad is absolutely in order.

Arc de Triomphe - monument dedicated to all the Frenchmen who fought in the Napoleonic Wars. Construction was completed in the mid-1830s.

On maps, this stretch of tree-lined concrete is known as the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, thought it is fondly referred to by Parians as "La plus belle avenue du monde." Translation? The most beautiful avenue in the world.

Quick fact: The Champs-Élysées begins at the Arc de Triomphe (seen in photo) and extends to the Place de la Concorde. Not really that long, just that famous.

It's a Vuarnet day, John.

Eiffel Tower shot through the greatest sunglasses on the face of the Earth. Totally becoming my version of the roaming gnome.

Unfortunately, we were unable to reach the top of the tower due to repairs on the elevator. Apparently, it's not possible to take stairs to the top, which I would have much preferred anyway... so I was bummed. Still, just being able to look upon Paris, clouds or no clouds, top or no top, sparked enough thoughts revolving around its fairly lengthy history to keep me busy for a few years.

Climbing, climbing...

continued.

Tour Eiffel.

Classic tourist shot. Had to cross it off my to-do list.

I wasn't sure where I was.

See? Now... how could I lie about something like this?

The translation of the fine print reads as follows:

"All-star bodyguard and minor-league catcher, Robin Hood, to play country music while dancing with wolves in Waterworld, following latest underdog golf victory."

Please note the quote, unquote.

What a cool remote-controlled sail boat! Certainly not knocking little newspaper boats, but look at that nautical toy slicing through the water on its starboard side! What agility! Those little figurines must be having a great time.

Michael! Row, er, sail your boat ashore! Hallelujah!

Hôtel des Invalides, or more specifically for both of the above shots, Dôme des Invalides. Built in the late 1670s, the annex you see here served as the church for "aged" or injured war veterans residing in the Hôtel des Invalides and eventually as the final resting place of Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Bonaparte, Napoleon II, Jérôme Bonaparte and many other French military notables. The structure is also home to the Musée de l'Armée, a museum dedicated to French military history, which even if it is the French, is a major interest of mine.

Nerdy nerd, nerd, nerd, nerd.

I have the Military Channel on right now - a DVR-ed hour-long program titled "Wings Over the Pacific" about aerial warfare in the Pacific during WWII. First-hand accounts? Super. This is what I do with my Saturdays when my roommates aren't around. Grind some coffee beans, grab a sleeve of cookies and watch some history.

"We need to find a jazz club."
"Hm, ok let's ask around."

Brad and Alli ask around, on the street, in various establishments... nada. No one has a clue. What? How can this be? Defeated, they begin to make the trek back to the hotel.

"Maybe we should walk up this street just a littttllle bit farther..."
"Yeah, good idea."

Le Petit Journal: Jazz Bar, not even three blocks up from our turn off. Great. Mind you, this trip was intentionally made without the efforts of cell phones and/or computers. Computer stayed at home. Not surprisingly, I think we did all right.

Interior Le Petit Journal.

Bouillabaisse, a traditional French fish stew made with rascasse (scorpionfish in English) originating from Marseille. Served with rouille and French bread, the stew is heavy enough to recognizably hit the entire palette and light enough to lead you into your next course. If you were wondering, my rouille is hiding behind the bowl - not yet in the stew. Poor food photography, Alli. Way to go.

"I own the hotel - and I live there. My life is very much like Monopoly." - Hugh Grant and/or Napoleon.

Closing down the Louvre at 8 p.m. is the same thing as closing down Manitoba's in Alphabet City at 8 a.m.

Discuss.

And to think! All that time spent in Aussieland, trying to get the perfect over/under shot, all I had to do was come to Paris! Hmm... I wonder if it counts that I was with an Australian (hi Brad!). This photo is funny though, because one usually expects the old to be under the new, not the new under the old.

Ah yes, the age old dichotomy of new and old.

Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss by Antonio Canova, commissioned in 1787.

There are many, many reasons I find this masterpiece much more intriguing than the mystery of art history's favorite lady. Had the museum not been closing by the time we reached this piece, I would have been inclined to walk circles around it in admiration. It is, of course, admiration for the sculptor's craftsmanship and admiration for a physical representation of Apuleius' words describing the love affair of Cupid and Psyche. What makes this sculpture so great, aside from its neoclassical ideas of true love, is that the proper angle escalates the voyeur's emotion. I mean look at the difference in sensuality between the top image and the bottom image. You'd be lying if you looked at that top photo and told me that you didn't wish to be either Cupid or Psyche, embracing or being embraced by whoever it is that looks at you like that. Their eyes are stone (literally!) and they say everything you've ever wanted to say and everything you've ever wanted to hear. I'm not going to lie to you, I'd absolutely like to be Psyche in that top photo.

Psyche, by the way, means spirit, soul, breath, life, animating force and Psyche as a character became the personification of all of the above. Very, very cool.

If you are unfamiliar with the story, Google may be your best bud right now. No need for me to reinvent the wheel!

No need to identify this gal. Over the past 500some years, her PR people have done a GREAT job. Still, she falls short of today's lead spot.

The Coronation of Napoleon in Notre-Dame by Jacques-Louis David, completed in 1807.

Not bad for Napoleon's official painter. If this were a paint-by-number, it'd probably have over five million steps.

Winged Victory of Samothrace c. 220-190 BCE - an absolutely brilliant piece in person.

Trivia? On the night of September 3rd, 1939, she, along with Venus de Milo, was taken from the museum with the onset of WWII. Through the duration of the war, both pieces were housed at Château de Valençay outside of Paris for safekeeping.