So I might be a failure with regards to blogging. I’ll attempt to be better… be a better narcissist, self absorbed in my every day life. I promise to try. Er. Anyway, so a bit of a retrospective. Moments from months ago, a week long trip to New Orleans. Brief news blast before hand. I have the photo studio that rock built; vinyl records paved the way for a pair of high powered strobes, lighting kit and backdrop set… life is good. Ed Babcock, god amongst pirates, and I have teamed up to terrorize the portrait landscape. More info, images and question marks to come.
I drove out to New Orleans early on a Sunday, hoping to make it into town with enough time to check out the French Quarter before we hit up a burlesque show that my friends had setup as the evening’s entertainment. My FUCKING AIR CONDITIONING doesn’t work. Six hours… in the heat… listening to a strange mixture of Burial, the Frogs, the National and Madlib…. I was baked in my Caprice. Arriving in New Orleans I found myself hailed by the community, enticed by the make and year of my car. Driving blind by sweat, ignorance and a lack of a local map, I parked and waited to be found by Ansley and Jon. Onward throughout the Quarter with moments for photography;
After a bit of walking, we ate at Angeli’s on Decatur… wonderful wonderful sandwhichs. A locale that we would return to as you got basically two meals for $7 and change. Lovely stuff. And good beer on tap. A necessity.
We eventually retreated from the heat to find refuge in our hotel room. The Hilton on St. Charles, which had previously been a masonic lodge. Baphomet watched over our sleep. A brief interlude for another photo;
That evening we ventured out to the so-called burlesque show. So-called burlesque. A much more particapatory event, the doorman says with a grin and a wink. Worried, we are. He’s not. Coke and Jack help encourage us upstairs. Goth tinged love den of darkness and teddy bears. Hosted by the Dragon’s Den, we found it was more of a mutual meet up for fetishists in the NOLA area. I was mildly drunk and kinda stoned and not really feeling the fifteen year old mascara wearing, too young to know skinny puppy music (speaking of the darkwave music, not the denizens). So, after watching the two cute girls start making out with each other in front of the large screen that projected Betty Paige stripping, I went home. Well… home to the apartment. Cue day two and the next blog entry. Will attempt to relay the whole trip this week as I should have new images and prints from NOLA on Friday for FF at Soho.