Fashion Faves – Samantha Gradoville
Photographed by Thomas Cooksey for Vogue Latin America comes this selection of photos of Samantha Gradoville via Fashion Gone Rogue, all chosen because they showcase different uses of lines in the photography to bring out the beauty of the model and the styling. Samantha and her swimsuit are showing off some lovely curves here but it’s nicely framed to form a diagonal line through the picture. Good use of sticking two fingers up to the rule of thirds (rules are there to be broken, after all) by setting the horizon dead centre through the image too. The inky blue sea and cool colours in post-processing are bringing out an urge in me to wrap a towel around Samantha and urge her to get onto dry land. If that’s what Thomas was going for in this picture then well done sir! Interesting backdrop for this picture of Samantha featuring sky to one side and what appears to be the light through blinds on the other. It’s like she’s outside and inside at the same time. It’s making my mind think crazy things! On the plus side, it’s nice to see her subtly checking to see if she needs any more deodorant. If you’re trying on clothes that don’t belong to you – as models are prone to do – then it’s important that you’re not leaving them stinky. I’m not saying that Thomas had any problems with Samantha Gradoville on this shoot but this picture says he may have some deep-seated resentment for models in general as he’s clearly indicating the untrustworthy nature of them in this shot. We can plainly see the imagery we associate with a police line-up and captivity; portrait shot with lines behind for height; manacles on the hand. But just in case we were in any doubt as to whether this could mean the model was innocent and framed Thomas makes sure we can see she’s sitting down to disguise just how tall she is. Why would a model make herself smaller? Duplicity! She’s looking to avoid punishment. Oh, Thomas, what did a model do to you? Nice lighting and tones,...
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The Eurovision Song Contest Is Broken
For as long as I can remember I’ve been a fan of the Eurovision Song Contest. I recall, when I was young, being wowed by the spectacle and the amazing fact that it was a show being broadcast all over Europe, bringing so many different people together in a moment of continental hilarity. And in later years it was something special too; something that hit the nostalgia nodules of the brain just right, something different from all the usual crap on television, something gaudy and kitsch and unashamedly us. America couldn’t do this. This was Europe. Parties! People like parties! People all over Europe like parties! Not so long ago we had a party every year with people who wanted to sit through, eat, drink, and enjoy the Eurovision Song Contest. But now there are fewer people and less enjoyment. The competition is broken; it’s been corrupted by greed. Right now we’re at a point where the whole event is just a few years away from yet another in the long, long line of generic “talent” programmes designed to find the next star of limited interest, with practically nothing to distinguish it from some Simon Cowell-produced tedium. And that moment of continental hilarity has been usurped by one of political complaints and bickering. Here’s what’s wrong with the Eurovision Song Contest: 1. The Jury Vote It used to be just the national juries who voted. Then it was just the people who voted. Now it’s the jury and the people in a 50/50 split. And it’s not working. When the jury used to vote it was at a time when people would accept that there may well be people who knew better than they did. We accepted it as much for that reason as the fact there was no practical democratic way to do anything else. The problem with a jury vote is that the members of the jury may not accurately represent the will of the people and, quite often, this was exactly the case. Luckily, there was no internet on which to complain. A second problem with a Eurovision jury is that it’s very easy to fix results. Juries are corruptible. When the people voted we hit another problem which I want to address in my list of suggested remedies for fixing Eurovision. People vote for things they like but the things people like are borne out of the environment in which they live. People who hear nothing but folk songs will tend to prefer folk songs to disco. People who hear nothing but ballads might suffer a heart attack if subjected to thrash metal. People listen...
A Visit To Bletchley Park
Last weekend we decided to head off up north (or “oop north” if you’re an inhabitant of the wildlands beyond Hampshire) to take in our annual Super League game in Yorkshire. Travelling up north involves driving in the car and it’s far enough away to warrant a stop en route so – with a printout of a map of England (other countries are available), two compasses, and a ruler – I used an old trick from my days studying Engineering Drawing (before it became Technical Drawing (before it became Graphic Communication for my exam (which I got a B in, thank you very much))) and drew a perpendicular line exactly halfway between Portsmouth and Wakefield to identify the ideal place to halt, have a stretch of the legs, and possibly take in some sight of interest. I quickly realised this was only of any use if the roads between the two destinations were absolutely straight and, since they’re not, reverted to Plan B of closing my eyes, plonking my finger down somewhere between London and the Midlands, and hoping for the best. Plonk! My index finger landed on Milton Keynes and a shudder rippled down the length of my spine. First time’s just a test, I told myself silently, and prepared to pick again when I spotted the word Bletchley nearby. In the back of my mind there was a whirr of dials and cogs and a memory made itself known: Bletchley Park. Codebreakers. World War 2. Alan Turing. Enigma. A quick search confirmed that Bletchley Park was indeed in Bletchley (cf. Leeds Castle) and we had our mid-travel pit stop arranged! Your first experience of the secretive nature surrounding Bletchley Park comes in trying to find the place. Up the A5 we did travel until we saw a brown sign directing us towards our destination. We followed it and then saw another sign. We followed that one and then hit a roundabout where there was no indication where to go so picked an exit at random. A few minutes later with no signs at all we turned around and headed back. We saw a new sign and followed that until we reached another junction with no obvious indication where to go. About to pick a route at random again I just spotted at ground level, half-covered up by grass a small sign with an arrow pointing the opposite way. Nice try, Bletchley Park, but we finally found you! Bletchley Park itself was not what we were expecting. But I don’t really know what we were expecting. Probably best I just describe it. Huts and buildings, a mansion, a...
Fashion Faves – Nika Lauraitis
Via Fashion Gone Rogue is this single photo from a shoot of Nika Lauraitis by Zoltan Tombor for Grazia Italia. There’s not a lot to say about this shot that shouldn’t be obvious from the photo itself; it’s a lovely outfit and shoes too, of course, but it’s the attention to detail in matching the colours with the brightly-coloured road markings that helps this stand out. The lipstick even matches the purse; very clever design for...
Ancient Aliens Drinking Game
I’ve had the pleasure of catching some of Ancient Aliens on the Military History channel (because where else other than a channel allegedly devoted to historical matters of relevance to the military would you expect to see a programme attributing every polished pebble and cave marking to an intergalactic civilisation?) and, yes, it’s been as ludicrous and hilarious as I suspected. Still, as much as I’ve laughed at it a thought did cross my mind: would it be possible to make Ancient Aliens even more enjoyable? And the answer, of course, is alcohol. For every sentence that starts with the word “could” to which the answer is “no” (could an alien civilisation have built this series of tunnels in Peru?): take a shot. For every sentence that starts with the phrase “is it possible” to which the answer is “no” (is it possible that these strange markings in Brazil are the same as these similar markings in Egypt?): take a shot. Every time Giorgio A. Tsoukalos appears on screen: take a shot. Every time Erich von Daniken is mentioned (but author of “Chariots of the Gods” Erich von Daniken has another, more sinister interpretation): take a shot. Every time there’s a pause after “someone” before “or something” is added (are these tunnels natural or were they fashioned by someone… or something?): take a shot. Every time some piece of historical evidence of aliens “mysteriously disappeared” (but shortly after his death the evidence he had been collecting mysteriously disappeared): take a shot. Every time two possible answers are given to a question and neither are true (are angels really winged visitors from Heaven or could they be aliens?): take a shot. Every time you hear that “the answer is clear” or some preposterous answer is preceded by the word “clearly” and you’re still puzzled or busy laughing: take a shot. Every time some actual science is used to dismiss one conclusion and then leap to the alternative of “aliens”, disregarding all the many other plausible options: down a pint in...
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