It's A Satanic Drug Thing

Aberrant Necropolis

2010-10-29T21:37:00.003+01:00

Hello there, and good bye, I have left the waters of blogger and migrated to this here site.
Please join me there and update your RSS
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Katabasis

2010-09-15T18:54:00.003+01:00

New website

2010-09-15T00:37:00.001+01:00

I have a new website you can see it here , let me know what you think.

For those who follow the rss on my site this is the new link http://ellenrogers.co.uk/feed

Much love.

Outlines

2010-09-14T22:07:00.000+01:00

For Piers Atkinson's lookbook, reviled at fashion week 17th-21st.
Styling Kim Howells, Hair by Kenna, Make up by Martina Luisetti.

Of late I have been thinking about something an old photography teacher told me, something about outlines, something of which has never left me. This was before my long trudge of formal education and long before I became a professional Photographer.
The twist is, I can’t tell if this information was ever even told to me at all or if it is the work of my perverted mind like so many other things I remember.
I remember being told, that before photography was here, in its vernacular sense, loved ones might remember their other loved ones by drawing their outlines on a wall. As though you might go from house to house and see outlines everywhere, like ghosts on the walls. Thousands of them.
I’m so used to the idea of seeing outlines as a mark of death in crime scenes but these are scenes of intense love and romance but involve (in a sense) the same imagination. I suppose the two have always been so closely linked for me aesthetically.
I imagine this scene as a white outline on a blackened wall. This seems much more tangible to me than a photograph, obviously I can’t carry this around, but I might trace around it and remember the form, stance, shape and mass of my loved one.
This may or may not have been something that happened regularly, but I want an outline of someone I love.
I want evidence that she existed, photography affirms this but to remember her as a nebulous with mass, with weight, something I can hold this is the one thing photography can never give me, so, as a work of documentation it fails me.

Folie à deux

2010-09-14T14:01:00.002+01:00

Glass Magazine, Styling by Tamara Cincic, Hair by Kenna, make up Attracta Courtney.

These images are for Annie. A girl I owe so much. For we share so much, perhaps we share madness too? My love knows so well that loss is just a word but the reality is much worse. Take care my dearest Annie, for what you have given me is far bigger than I can measure (in words alone).

The Metetherial

2010-09-06T18:56:00.001+01:00

This shoot is for issue 52 of Tank magazine, styled by Pandora Lennard, Make up by Thomas De Kluyver and hair by Tomihiro Kono

It feels like an absolute age since I last sat here posting things. I guess I’ve missed it. Things have been somewhat strange lately, I fear I might be spread a little thin.

Whilst shooting this story my attention was drawn to the metetherial realm from my own kindred spirit, so this also is dedicated to her and the space we occupy together, the place we meet frequently, the place we carry around together.
A place Past the digital and past the analogue, where life exceeds matter for our own introspection.
Where we separate from our earthly selves like ghosts leaving machines to be together.

jp

2010-08-18T17:28:00.003+01:00

Model Katy Dron @ Elite, styled by Matthew Josephs, Hair by KIYO and make up by Mia Yang.

You look but you do not see.

Oubliettes

2010-08-04T12:15:00.000+01:00

I recently visited the surrealist house exhibition in the barbican centre. It bought to light something I had been trying to put my finger on for ages. The idea of the house as an expression of self. A location acting as an innate part of artistic practice and how we live, it says so much more than it might on face value, becoming, even, ourselves, a self fulfilling prophesy told though our homes.

I want to live in the Barbican centre, it is something my boyfriend and I have been working towards unconsciously.
So British so brutal so simple, so that I associate with it.

These images are of my dear Hana, in a house we live near, it is to be torn down soon. So that they might bring down the old in favour of the new. The house is beautiful, it has its own heart beat, its own putrefying smells, perhaps it is dying.
Its so still with silluettes in oubliette’s, waiting , waiting for us.

Babalon

2010-07-08T18:47:00.002+01:00

Another story for 'Ballad Of'featuring Francesca @ Models 1. Styled by Rose Forde, hair and wonderful head peices by Tomihiro Kono and make up by Martina Luisetti.

You my love, Take you a forefinger and cross my mouth, blot my red painted lips.
With that same forefinger touch my forehead and sign the red letter A.
I’m bound, I love you. Your motherland misses you and so do I.
And you my hate... Take take take, I hate you.
You are a psychic Vampire.

The Dissolution

2010-06-29T16:55:00.002+01:00

The Dissolution website

I have been working on this project. It’s made many a dreary night, It is called the dissolution. It’s a collaboration between me and Prizme. I have mentioned before that my relationship with film making is tepid, but it’s getting easier. We have just launched the site for the project.
I should also mention what it is, it is essentially a CD of music by Prizme, and film by me set to music by Prizme and a book of my photography from this project.

Please let me know what you think.

The dead lay around here.

2010-06-03T17:21:00.001+01:00

I am troubled by the Idea of our souls knowing more than us
Like a ghost in the machine.
The dead lay around here, here where I sit now

I can see her as though she might be sitting there still.
Catatonic, like when I saw her last.
Finger nails turning black and yellow eyes falling into the pillow.
Now, my eyes see only that, in black foam and needle blood.
Giving health to the fever-stricken ghost.

"The Five and a Half Minute Hallway"

2010-06-03T11:28:00.000+01:00

I finished reading ‘house of leaves’ whilst my mother was dying only to discover that the book itself was a reaction to the author’s Father dying of the same thing.

This book really struck a chord, I can see many a shape and character unfold in both my life and Navidson’s not least the parts about him being a photographer.

The various narrators moods flux and influx when speaking free minds to you, when you (like them) try to make sense of a seemingly impossible new environment. This warp of a psyche I can relate to, some days I can feel it bend and contort beyond any shadow of recognition.

I struggle to see this book as anything other than a book about love and death and a coming to terms with them both. Two agonizing beauties I have come to know well.

Mark Z. Danielewski, I declare with Lips too cold to pray and too dry to sing that these images are for you and our amorous sleepers, now let them sleep in unimagined bliss for death cannot touch the secrets of their souls.

Rest In Peace

2010-05-14T19:04:00.002+01:00

My mother died last week, she had barely turned 50.
My boyfriend and I were visiting Norfolk where my parents live when my father took us straight to the hospital. We didn’t know she was ill, turned out she didn’t either.

After that visit she lasted about 6days.

Tobias was away for most of them recording a band and I slept every night with my door open and the lights on, in her dressing gown. Hoping for comfort.
The day he returned my mother died, he missed the 12 hour days of watching her go slowly mad and die.

The 5 of us, my family, held each other and mum’s hand and would not leave her side.
During this time she wrote us all a letter.
We managed to convince the nurses to let us have her at home for a few days, they gave birth to both beauty and terror. We watched our coherent wonderful loved one turn into a husk, someone we no longer knew or understood.

She went back to the hospital and we were given our own room.
It was hell, I think, possibly. It is hell, replaying it over and over is hell.

During her stay at home, I showed her my recent photo shoots I had been working on in London the weeks before. There were three, two in places of rest and one in a forest.
The forest shoot was for Vice magazine, she didn’t think much of those, but she liked the other two, that was until she could see faces in them, clear as day, she would tell me where the head was tilted and what way he or she was looking. It terrified my cousin but fascinated me, I kept asking questions about them, who they might be? Are they dead? After all they were in grave yards.

Later in the hospital she began screaming that there was a man with long gloves near us, trying to get to her, we couldn’t see anyone but shortly after telling us that she took her last gasps and died.

I miss her every second she was my best friend and my father has lost the love of his life he is in pieces.

If you have ever been though something like this you will know exactly how I feel and my heart is with you ( please let me know because I would like very much to talk to you) , if you have not you may not understand what staring death in the face looks like, feels like, but you will, we all will.

Rest in peace mum.

Location

2010-05-10T13:08:00.000+01:00

In my travels it becomes obvious that locations are dying.
I wish to preserve them as I will never see them again, as I do now.
These will cease to be our own. They will be state property and not that of our restless imaginations.

Restless impulses I share with those like myself will die too, in dilution and ignorance.

The world is dying, not from the hand of man but his handlers.

I want to see more of it, while we can.

i-D

2010-04-27T16:45:00.000+01:00

Here is a men's wear story featuring Dan Felton for i-D. Styled by the very Talented Matthew Josephs, hair by KIYO and make up by Mia Yang.

Make up is my vice but I celebrate it.
Some one told me I look like shit today, he is a G-man, he loves Girls, Guns and Guts.

Stop time

2010-04-26T12:12:00.003+01:00

Photo by me, Model Cat B at MandP, styled by Katie Burnett, Make up by Ken Nakano, Hair by Kiyo, with thanks to Prangsta and Hayley Brown.

I literally feel that my life , world and views on other people are being ripped out from all around me, around, underneath, inside.

My home.
This undermines any feeling that I have ever had up until now.
And it makes for a lot of sinus pain and I am very unhappy.
But here is a pretty picture never the less.

Karley Sciortino

2010-04-13T15:51:00.001+01:00

Photo by Jermaine Francis

This girl is someone I have wanted to shoot for a long time now, from the first time I saw her I was somewhat captivated.
I see Karley from time to time whilst I’m sitting in Mavi’s amazing apartment having my random meetings with Matthew.
Mavi’s flat is somewhat of a hub and meeting place of London creative’s at the moment. Occasionally Matthew and I sit and talking about our next shoot or what direction we want to take our collaborations in while Karley floats in and out of the room. She is, although her mind appears beautifully filthy, a graceful and quite girl. Who sits and quietly and muses, falls asleep on things and I have to find all the strength I have not to stare at her constantly whilst being in her presents.
Her writing reads like a contemporary Tropic of cancer and it is all so effortless for her. She looks like my imaginations version of Clara from the Torture Garden, graceful, womanly and wonderfully aroused by sex, death and destruction. What a beautiful creature.

2010-04-04T22:58:00.002+01:00

Oncoming, a collaborative project between Prizme and I.

Jewellery

2010-03-21T16:50:00.001Z

Pt 2 for You

2010-03-16T21:55:00.002Z

Catatonia

2010-03-13T18:20:00.002Z

I have two seporate stories in the current issue of Crash magazine,
You can find them here and here

It apears that I might not be made of much so I left London for a break.
From commersial work and the like.
I'm traveling around England.
I'm in north England at the moment staying in the peak district.
It's one of my favorite places in the world. Although the lack of anything makes it hard.
I'm with my other half and a model called Tasha, I/we feel at home.
Tasha and I go out exploring and shooting to come home to Tobias at night.
It's beautiful and it feels right some how.

I have no blue garden
Or beautiful suit
I want my dream girl.

Is this what you wanted.

2010-03-05T21:18:00.005Z

(Hana at the church by me)

To find someone you like then to twist and grind and pull them until they are something else.
It tires me , exhausts and insults.
Use someone else, someone who is that shape to begin with.
Or maybe I just don’t fit in.

Eschatology

2010-03-01T22:33:00.003Z

Photos by me (Sometime ago) Styling by Matthew Josephs and Modeling by Yasmina Dexter (two fo my favourite people in the industry)

OH fashion week's joy's.
I'm waiting to post so many things but joy of all joys I have to wait till they are published, in print first.
Not that I'm dying inside or anything,
and everyone else for that matter.

You may know who you are.

2010-02-28T23:58:00.001Z

Charlotte Olympia

2010-02-24T12:54:00.002Z

A page from Charlotte Olympia’s look book I just shot.
Charlotte and Valentine made the process easier but It is one of the first wholly commercial shoots I have done. I am often shooting editorial now but it is somewhat different to an actual ad campaign. So I am happy that the two of them put up with my angst and well, generally being and odd ball in the fashion arena. There are a few more here.
The edges are blurring between commercial and personal, I'm still so unsure of what it all means.

Silence

2010-02-17T15:20:00.002Z

A picture of PRIZME by me

I am desperately trying to find something.
My search in the black foam and the fog of my psyche.
I see no other way to that place/emotion/world, oh I don’t know.
I saw it in a dream recently. I knew instantly I would be there again.
I hope I am there again.
I need to find that place, to right the wrongs, it is the punishment that I need, perhaps?
I can feel a reality slipping away from me, with this drive replacing it, this quest.
Where my problems are worked out and my worries are confirmed and made corporeal, real worries walking and seeing, they are deformed and contorted ideas in the flesh (and in the fog), where in there/here even your taunts will leave me smiling.
I think I will get there, perhaps I will see some of you there.
There where crows call and forest silences are broken.

Cryptomnesia

2010-02-13T00:08:00.003Z

by me, hair and head peices by Tomihiro Kono ,Make up by Mia Yang, with models: Polly (Next Models), Lizzy (Elite Models), Tasha (M & P Models) and special thanks to my dear assistant Hayley Louisa Brown.

You can’t imagine how much I miss women. I barely know any anymore.
I’m working on a project with Valentine and Charlotte, both amazing women, it makes for a change.
Lately I see things that are something like human remains. Sometimes I see something and I feel contaminated. As though that possession contains disease or a blunt instrument for knifing me.
The meat of my mind is getting thicker and my madness returns like health to a sick sick man, I’m happy to greet it.

s&p

2010-02-07T00:02:00.001Z

by me, styling by Yelena Buck, model: Holly Denny (Next Models), Make up by Mia Yang, Hair by KIYO with thanks to my assistant Hayley Lousia Brown

My site has had a spit and polish, please stop by if you have the time with interviews and all.
I have so many photo stories to post but I cant as they are awaiting publishing so I wait also, to show you.

with love.

www.ellenrogers.co.uk

Scraps

2010-01-30T22:21:00.001Z

by me, styling by Yelena Buck, model: Holly Denny (Next Models), Make up by Mia Yang, Hair by KIYO with thanks to my assistant Hayley Lousia Brown

Detached, forgetting, feeling numb. Don’t remember how to sulk. Sex is the only thing that makes me feel. Remind me of purpose. Scenery wakes me up. Breathe again. Hold it until I'm back.

Lungs full already. Tender eye ducts. Pressure and cry. Worried jealous.

Documents

2010-01-15T20:22:00.002Z

by me, styling by Linda Portman Sagum, model: Kim (Next Models), Make up by Mia Yang, Hair by KIYO

My Father is a biker (motor biker) he raced a bit and slowed down when I was a kid he took up photographing races instead. They (my parents) used to be part of bike gangs, most of which they still are and sometimes the sight of them both in leathers can bring me to tears.
When I was a little girl I was left with the next door neighbour when they went out. One day they all came home with the usual low buzz of bikes and brakes only on this day the women where hysterical. They all took off their helmets and walked in to my house. My mum spoke to Sue-lin my neighbour and explained that I had to stay with them for a bit longer on that day.
My friend Po-yee and I were trying to jump over the wall and see what was happening. We got nowhere.
Slowly everyone went home and my mum came round to pick me up.
They explained to me that a friend of the family had died and that if I hadn’t noticed already ‘it was very sad’.
It just so happened that my parents had witnessed their friend’s head come clean off in its helmet.
Apparently my dad’s natural reaction to this event was to raise his camera and photograph it.
For weeks my mum wouldn’t let him develop the film. They would argue and argue about it. Eventually my dad ignored her and hand printed it, Mum would never allow it in the house so dad hung it in the garage. I wasn’t allowed to look at it. But I would always try to.
I think he was right to document it because that way the event was harder to forget. Perhaps that’s what my mother took aversion.
She is a repressor by nature largely owed to the fact that she is from a generation that sweeps things under the carpet. I can honestly say that the day I see my friends severed head in front of me I too will photograph it, it’s the least I could do to help preserve their memory.

Arthur's show.

2010-01-13T19:29:00.004Z

Poster designed by PRIZME

Myself and my other half have been working on an exhibition of Arthur Ranson's work that opens tomorrow at Orbital Comics (near Leicester Square in London).
The private view will be from 8.00 tomorrow and there will be free drinks, not to mention we will be selling posters from the show signed by Arthur.
He is such an inspiration to both Tobias and I and it would be great to see of your faces (Susu this means you also!)

With love
Ellen.

P.s, I would like to thank my dear friend Mr Warren Ellis for helping me with the publicity and another dear friend Mr Garry Leach for introducing me to Arthur, and of course the notorious Rich Johnston.

Insects

2010-01-01T23:19:00.006Z

Photographs by me, Masks by Keko Hainswheeler and Jewellery from Mavi Power Staiano.
With thanks to Matthew Josephs and Jess Dubeck.

As a child I associated death with animals, and animals with men.
Early on I decided that I would never eat animals as it felt like I would be eating a dead boy and I was above such things. I am still surprised today when someone tells me that their pet is a female, I will still refer to it as a he and I still refuse to eat animals.

Insects however were fair game.
I would catch spiders and pull them apart eat them and look at the chewed parts.
I loved to sit for hours in fount of my house and watch the ants, when I fully realised the intricate homes they occupied, I would nip indoors boil the kettle and pour the boiling water down the holes until they would drown and float out. The water never needed to be boiled it just seemed to add assurance to me that they would die in it.
Id watch flies suffocate and pour the collected winged insects into my bath while I cleaned myself watching their life fade away.

I feel it may have been a precursor to sexuality. My single need to control life.
Of cause it would later manifest its self in manipulation and creation, with less obvious destruction. For the female adult alone can cause both devastation and creation simply by living.

Metal

2009-12-31T23:37:00.001Z

Photos by me, masks by Keko Hainswheeler and necklace from Mavi Power Staiano.

I am somewhat taken by theses.

DR

2009-12-19T01:09:00.004Z

Photo by me, Styled by Linda Portman Sagum, hair by KIYO and make-up by Mia Yang

Whenever I have done something entirely awful in the darkroom I become unbearable.
This is, as it stands, more often than not. This is, because I now spend more time in there than anywhere else.
I have had a darkroom since I was very young and still, I learn everyday that I will make new and very annoying mistakes.
I suppose what I am saying only really applies to the photographic darkroom geeks like myself but here is a list of the idiotic things I have done in the darkroom just this week alone.

1.
Whilst shooting for a fashion magazine about 2 days ago I decided to do half the shoot nude and the other half with a stylist the magazine had designated. I developed one half at about 3 in the morning that night after a very long and tiring day of shooting and hung them out to dry. The next batch I developed at about 4 in the morning, somehow I poured fixer on first and developer on next. Needless to say the second batch where unusable. I was furious and tired so I went to bed when I woke up I looked at the negs that did come out and they were all nude. So the only images I had for the fashion magazine where nude!
2.
My day started with a model not turning up for the shoot so I sent my team home and I decided to develop my film from the shoot a day before (I should add that a model not showing up is one of the single most aggravating feelings a fashion team can experience). The shoot from the day before had been for a relativly big magazine so I had to make it count. I loaded the film (I have those large bulk film tanks) and I poured in the developer, all was fine apart from the fact that I was talking to the stylist on the phone so when the buzzer rang for my chemical change I poured out the developer and filled the tank with water(its the same as using stop don’t let anyone tell you otherwise) and tipped it out thinking that I had already added fixer (I had not) I then unscrewed the lids to see white film glaring at me. It took me a second to realise what had happened, I dropped the phone screwed the lids back on and threw in the fixer. Luckily they were ok.
3.
After running out of room to hang many many rolls of film I had started to sew them onto hangers and let them dry over night, I woke up to find several conjoined together in the morning.

I suppose film isn’t the most reliable source for an industry like fashion. But I would have it no other way.

Please do share your darkroom related horror stories, they may well make me feel better.

Litanies

2009-12-10T23:02:00.002Z

Photo by me, Styled by Linda Portman Sagum, hair by KIYO and make-up by Mia Yang

Whilst standing outside of myself I witnessed myself traffic in human flesh and shame.
I wonder if I could grow to hate myself and my work more (I doubt it).
This week I have watched nude women wonder around me, I have watched women screaming and crying and treating the other ones possessions as disease and whilst I watch the meat of their minds both women remind me that all women get exactly what they will.
Myself included and let it be known that Morrigan is with her now.

What a week it has been.
Now let us sleep off this week in unimagined bliss.

Arthur

2009-12-02T22:55:00.000Z

Water colour by Arthur Ranson.

I wanted to tell you about this artist.
You see he has this way about him, he has this patients and calming.
I wrote to him,
I told him of our mutual friends and that myself and Tobias are fans,
We ended up at his house.
I would say his colouring and compostion is one of my single most influences ( I told him this)
He resinates within Tobias I can see it, Arthur’s work stuck him at an early age.
He is one of the artists at 2000AD, only he is no ordinary comic artist.
He took us into a room in his welcoming house and showed us a unit filled with art.
We spent 7hours looking through all the pages he had done for various magazines and comics, just the 3 of us in this beautiful room, in a beautiful county looking at astonishing art.
He let us take a peice of art each, I could barely believe it.
I know the comic industry well and I know what original artwork means. And especially what it means at the standard he sets.
I would like to thank Arthur for that day, and for setting a standard I know I have to work for.

As repayment for this beautiful work Tobias made him this site. Please if visit if you have a love for the medium as I have.

www.arthurranson.com

WWM

2009-11-28T18:08:00.004Z

Photo by me, Styled by Matthew Josephs and Jack Sunnucks, Make up Yuri Okada, Hair KIYO Models: Rachael (next), Nicola (next) and Yasmina Dexter.

Whilst studying photography I was taught by the great Ian Jeffrey. Ian wrote books such as ‘The Photo Book’, ‘Photography; a Concise History’ and ‘How to Read a Photograph’ amongst others.

He was as you might suspect a great man. I was then and still am now totally in awe of him.
He babbled, I mean in a good way. He had a beautiful way with words, which was just as well because he knew a lot of them.
One day whilst drifting in and out of consciousness in a lecture Ian bounds in beaming and mindlessly begins talking over the lecturer about how to write about your photography. Ian was very old and cared very little. His talking would always excite my imagination. He was a man who resonated with me profoundly.

That day I came away with many notes which to this day are very dear to me. Here are some of the points that changed my perspective, I hope they help you also should you be a fellow photographer.

P.s
I just wanted to say that I didn’t name my last shoot in i-D,
thanks to all that blogged about it.

Writing about your own photography (notes taken whist Ian babbled)

Think of your readers. One idea among writers is that there is a disembodied ideal reader, a sort of institutionalised intelligence. This is an aspiration. In reality there are no more than a few readers, whom you can count on the fingers of one hand. There is yourself twice: first of all just after you have written the text, and then weeks or months later when you come across a copy and wonder what exactly you said. You read your texts to see what kind of rhythm they have, how they proceed- you can recognise yourself in them. You are the most important reader. Then there are the people for whom the text is intended.
You have to be careful with your writing to catch a reader’s attention; otherwise they will speed read’ or scan the text looking for certain signs, certain configurations in the language. Make sure that the text is placed well on the page, that it is grouped and that there are gaps between the groups.
Some of you will want to tell the story of where you took the pictures. Photographs and videos allow you to re-live the past; they are part of a mnemonics, part of the work surrounding memory. Normally the past falls away, but you can often remember the circumstances of a photograph-sometimes in surprising detail. There is also quite a lot to say in terms of hunches, plans, intentions and accidents about taking pictures- for all sorts of outside circumstances can intervene – they can support you or deflect you or change your outlook together. So there can be a lot to be gained from telling these stories, for some of them can be and having been formative. Secondly, you can tell the story of your thinking after the event, for you may have a lot of second thoughts and doubts about the worth of the pictures you have taken. If you can identify these doubts and second thoughts you will have done well.

You might, on the other hand, regard your pictures and records as no more than a way of illustrating a topic and you may think that your time is best spent exploring that topic. However, at the same time, you might find that the pictures go beyond the topic and have another life or other meanings, that they are not simply subordinate to the topic. You might argue that you select a topic in order to take photography, and that the pictures constitute some kind of opening into reflection-that they contain n far more than you ever imagined. There is also the question of re-visualised pictures which also, in some way, might deliver more than intended- there may be more in the finished picture than was envisaged. Perhaps the purpose in photography is to see what the idea looks like when materialised and thus is a condition which is a constant in our lives- how will things turn out?
It is useful and stimulating to consider other types of writing as you work. There are a number of choices: some of which i have already discussed . The kind of academic/theory texts to which you are directed in universities are, of course , interesting but they have adverse effects on your imagination. They are aimed at consensual use of language, meant for the achieve, and they are in debate with others texts of that kind. To use that kind of language you have to be well versed in ‘the literature’. It is a kind of dialectical writing meant to contribute an area of study. It is additive or meant to supplement the stock of research.
If you have time read examples of philosophy, for it is mostly dedicated to argument. You will find this useful if you want to consider , say, relative values in your picture taking- or your choices and preferences. Philosophy proposes something like a sceptical questioner standing at your elbow and asking if you can say a little more about your preferences and judgements. Sometimes the questioner proposes a different way of doing things, or a more successful version. You are expected to reply.

You might also read something in art history with respect to the kind of pictures you are taking and their meanings. An art historian will be expected to account for the details in a picture and their meanings. They take a rather empirical approach, and like to answer practical questions concerning pictorial arrangements and iconography. Art history is worth looking at, but you may find that its procedures don’t apply to your pictures-but there may be reasons for this. And you may locate some of the reasons. But in most of your pictures there will be iconographic details, even if you don’t think of them as such.
Look at instructional literature, by which I mean guide books and analyses of equipment: electronic goods and cars. The lists of instructional literature extends widely: botany, biology, all sorts of guides to how to do things. Normally you would take this kind of writing for granted, but it is worth study in terms of how to lay out and organise your prose. It is interesting also for its objectivity- or can be. I will refer to cookery books and to the kinds of things which can be learnt from them.
Read something on travel, because as photographers and videoists you suspend time on new ground or in transit-and in the cause of events you notice things with respect to dress and manners and inscriptions which are everywhere. Normally travel writing is in the first person singular, and is quite close to letter writing. Writing of this kind makes a particular appeal to the reader, for there is a kind of intimacy about it which can be irrespirable.
The purpose of writing (in this context) is to allow you or to promote you to make discoveries, for as you write ( which is a slowing down or acceleration of thinking) there is a chance that the insight will enter into your world. Writing invites you to concentrate, and you should except revelations.

Assistant Needed

2009-11-17T20:51:00.000Z

Photo by me styling by Matthew Josephs and makeup by Yuri Okada

Hello all, something I’ve been holding back on for a while now has been the search for an assistant. Not just because of my own experiences as an assistant several years ago but also I’m not particularly fond of employing people without pay, especially given the current economic climate.
Alas, after great deliberation and much good advice from friends I’ve decided to opt to take on an assistant, or intern if you will, to join me on my photographic adventures. So here we go:
I’m going to need someone who is available to work on 2-3 shoots per month on a voluntary basis. Though I can’t offer any money what you will gain is great first-hand experience and a chance to build your contacts in the industry for your future. These contacts will include model agencies, stylists, magazines, designers, make-up artists and other photographers. You will also, no doubt, pick up photographic, lighting, make-up and design techniques if you are so inclined.
You should be based in London, be able to drive and have access to your own vehicle for transport to and from locations. I have to say that the position pretty much pivots on these two needs for obvious reasons.
That’s pretty much it on the technical side of things. It probably goes without saying that this position is for someone who is set on making a future for themselves in the fashion industry.
If you’re interested in the position and think you fit the bill or you just need more info please email me at me@ellenrogers.co.uk and we’ll go from there.

Runatext

2009-11-16T15:54:00.003Z

Lore

2009-11-14T13:25:00.000Z

Photography by me, Styled by Matthew Josephs
Models: Dan Felton, Yousef, Rachael (next), Nicola (next) and Yasmina Dexter.
With thanks to Jack and Mavi.
You can see the whole story in the current November issue of i-D. No winking women this time but a lovely day in the woods.

...

I get this occurring twitch; it’s the feeling that I should be worrying about something.
Something to do with my future.
It is not until I remind myself that perhaps my souls secretly harbouring that which I know I have to fulfil and I search for the answer with
A hope-A radiance which tinges it with Rose and Gold. I am babbling what I mean is...
I have this idea.
That perhaps we need not rely on families or jobs and that we can find an alternative.
Why work for money when you can survive from food you grow, alternative energy to power your necessities and water made from vapour.
And if you do choose to work it would be disposable money you would earn that you can spend on anything but bank charges, rent and other things that involve giving away your money to other people.
It’s something my partner and I are working on.
Building our own house and to remove ourselves from what we are now realising to be a type of slavery set about by those holding the worlds purse strings.
It won’t happen overnight and of course technology and politics will progress as our plans unfold, so it may be a bumpy ride, but it’s a no-brainer.
I wonder if other groups of people are considering alterative energies? or perhaps an altogether alternative lifestyle? Or is it just the gypsy in my bones?

Prints

2009-11-06T22:46:00.007Z

There is now a store section on my site where you can buy reprints* of my work.
I have only elected 3 of the images for reproduction, but if things go well then more may follow.
Each print is 16 X 16in and will be signed.
The price includes shipping and packaging.

http://store.ellenrogers.co.uk/

*please note these are not the original photographs, merely reproductions from high quality scans.

Dirge

2009-10-27T00:04:00.003Z

I am secretly and altogether concerned for the face of fashion.
Her lips are too cold to kiss and too dry to nourish, she maddens for women so that she can grind her tiny feet into their faces in spite of her own dry features.
There is no end to her happy or not.
And in spite of my own poor human judgement I am in love with her and welcome her like the return of health to a fever-stricken man.

I havent been posting recently mostly because the shoots I have done are going into various magaznes and I cant put them on the web until they are published.
I shot for the December issue of i-D magazine so please pick it up if you get the chance (out mid November).

Chaos

2009-09-21T00:06:00.002+01:00

Photo by Susu

AS the culprit is aware imitation isn’t the best tactic.

AS Susu and I know Chaos lures us and chaos rules us.

Happy Birthday my friend.

Yasmina again.

2009-09-18T21:58:00.002+01:00

Simply because she is so beautiful.

Staf

2009-09-18T15:51:00.003+01:00

Staffordshire

I spent the past week walking and ploughing through ancient history in Staffordshire with my other half.
We visited druidic ritual sites, land slides and were given freshly grown vegetables.

Food without hormones water with out bleach.

onedotzero

2009-09-07T21:49:00.004+01:00

Hana and Sophia taken during the filming of Switch.

My film ‘Switch’ will be in the onedotzero festival held at the BFI this week, under the ‘Dazed and Confused presents fashion in film’ umbrella. First showing is on the 9th (Wednesday) and the second 13th (Sunday).
I will be there on the Sunday; I look forward to seeing those who are there then also.

Zaria

2009-09-02T21:25:00.004+01:00

The beautiful Yasmina Dexter, Styled by Matthew Josephs by me.

Imagine the most beautiful person you have ever met or seen, and I would give you that person twisted at the bottom of the stairs.
They would be lifeless and paler than usual, cold and still with blood coming out of their eyes, ears, and mouth.
Then I would photograph it.
It would be the single most beautiful and meaningful thing you would ever see.
It would affect you profoundly, and I gave it to you, because death is the utter beauty.
Would that not be the best thing I could ever give you?
The complete beauty, the image you should never forget, of that a man or woman that never left your psyche, shot in their prime, for you forever.

Switch complete

2009-08-11T20:41:00.010+01:00

This was very difficult for me, I’m sure I think in still images.

Pang

2009-08-08T00:47:00.003+01:00

The everyday ‘Dull-aching-Stare-thoughts’ come.
Quease-twisting and hitting my gut occasionally with ‘low sinking’, all in the realisation that doubt will never leave or inadequacy will never end.
Do you know how I feel?

Newwebsiteee

2009-07-29T23:11:00.005+01:00

New Website

Good evening.
I have yet another website, please stop by.
I could never shake something Susan Sontag explained in ‘On Photography’. (I’m paraphrasing here) that a photograph is (at the time and still to many people) an object, something real you can hold and possess
I think this is why I always feel so detached from digital photography because it was never an object to begin with.
I want to stress (in perhaps a reactionary jolt) that my images are real objects.
So my new site is designed to allow you to see the images much larger so their online presence is more arresting, whilst at the same time leaving the viewer wanting to see more.
They are all crops of the originals so that it fills the screen’s ratio.
I did not make this site as I am entirely hopeless, but through collaboration and nepotism someone far savvier than I did make it (Tobias).
Anyways I hope you like it.

Runa

2009-07-24T00:24:00.003+01:00

The sitter is a bizarre concept, I think about it until all words lose meaning. I am a photographer of people, but that is not all. As a photographer I am faced with a choice of camera, a choice of format, a style of printing, a range of apertures, an option of post production and as I mentioned a choice of ‘sitter’ or model.

There are a few photographs that have truly crept up on me over the years. Those few have seduced and drenched my daydreams and night dreams.
In fear of confronting the material on a regular basis I let it seep into me.
Let it haunt me and drag me into a violent worry and fascination that leaks into my every day.
These photographs have mostly been images of mystical and character-full women and of course these images are empowered by the choice of model.
It just wouldn’t work without ‘her’ the photographers muse.
She (to me) is ‘Pain’.
This very suffering binds Hana and me.
‘Suffering’ is an open acceptance of struggle, pain, and comfort in restraint,
in order to aid mental and spiritual control.
This binds us in understanding.

8

2009-07-19T23:47:00.004+01:00

Hana and Sophie by me.

I’m scared to death of seeing it again.
‘It’, the psychic vampire, ‘It’ sucks life from me and expects love in return.
Never can you love so dry as that!
It asks me to teach that which I learnt, but I was never taught.
It’s impossible if you cannot help yourself.
How can you tell someone you love that they are closer to death than life?

\infty

2009-07-19T23:43:00.003+01:00

Marysia (Next), Styled by Katie Burnett photo by me.

I think a lot about sex and death. More than I used to.
‘Old sex’ and ‘old death’, mostly my own.
Reliving the acts in my mind.
I also shake more than I used to.
I can’t help think that the two are connected psychically.
The shaking soul ruptures and rattles my body from the inside out.
I (My soul’s master) try to vanish illusions of the ‘objected world’s’ newness.
I wonder if then it might be free and able to flourish creatively.
For where ‘its’ creation lays so does our destruction.
I can not separate the two.

(±4Þ)

2009-07-02T20:46:00.004+01:00

Hana and Sophie Styled by Prangsta Costumers, by me.

Should inhibitions and sentient being fail me,
I should like to act fully on instinct.
I shall pull alpha females apart, chew skin, throw blood, and bate men.
The bubbling and un-named impulses pound under my skin constantly.
I stand firm.
Instead, kneel down to that of fetish and worship.
Only then can I defy my instincts to focus on a new form of inhibition.

Switch

2009-06-14T19:31:00.008+01:00

All are stills/photographs taken during my recent filming in Norfolk.

On my 18th birthday the Black house* was torn down.

October is a dark month.
Extended to me is a frequent and often generalised hatred of what a ‘Libra’ I am.
I am not sure I believe in any of it enough to change.
Dawkins likens the generalization of star signs to the generalisation of a countries stereotype, but I am not sure if I agree with that either.

I am making a film at the moment.
I am discovering that the transition from photographer to film maker is a difficult and trying process.
I think in still images, stills of something moving with out a sense of consequence.
Now I have to think outside of a 6x6 film square and my mind is bleeding.
I am certain that, trying to make my photographs move it is something I shall struggle with forever.
Perhaps many photographers are the same?

*The birth place of Satanism.

Oneirophrenia

2009-06-07T21:57:00.007+01:00

Lizzie Tovell (Independent) Styled by Katie Burnett, by Me

These are photos of me by Susu Laroche for Milk magazine.

Your chosen path (be it artist or spiritual) is the one who begs and begs to be fed.
Until it is larger than you.
You live and die to give your name to your work.
And host it.

Besides ‘it’, everything external to me is vapid, material and satanic.

If it is not fed it sits ‘there’, where the conscious floats, and eats.
‘There’, it chews on my mind and guts until the ‘blood leeks’ show.
Its business is with the destruction of bodies, for the greater good.
It is all for the good of your psychology (the profound region of my mind).

Art and death are ancient and closely associated obsessions for even the vilest of minds.

I (like women before me) have dedicated my life to that of which is scandalous and vampiric. In order to let the macabre be woven in to my mind.

Who knew, before me, what this was?

I was walking in Nunhead Cemetery today.
It smelt as though the trees where breathing straight into our faces.
Tobias said as we walked around the over grown Victorian graves
‘Look at this place, its taking from its own corpse to feed and grow over the graves’

The very Englishness of the cemetery reminded us of what our country is disposed to look like if we leave it alone for more than a few years.

But it reminded me also of other things that beg to be fed.

ll

2009-05-08T23:50:00.003+01:00

Lizzie by Me, Styled by Katie Burnett.

Of late something has become almost too obvious.
We all fit in a little too well,
And if we don’t fit we shall be cut until we do.
Things are constantly changing shape.

This will not include art because art is entertainment therefore a distraction from the horrors of reality.
We the artists are only serving as a buffer.
A light to look towards as the world fall apart.

Co

2009-04-15T22:33:00.004+01:00

Jade and Imogen by Me, Styled by Katie Burnett.

‘The cut of their clothing, fashions born in dead brains.’
I bet you can say it better than me.
That sentence is the reason I could never wear anything new.
If I take a photograph and don’t have a stylist the girls will wear nothing at all.

My Lured thoughts are always there and caging them up makes them roar all the louder. So I best not get rid of this as was recently suggested.
I used to write comics, it helped the brain bleed.
It helped the intangible mess my head would spew.

No wonder I love comics, they are the world that makes sense, when mine can not.
The writers brains; they invent, your ‘very existence is spectral.’
Moore, Ellis, Morrison, Gillen, Clowes, Jones- What a frenzied sexual release.
As Lavey would say ‘your’s the deep salt sea’.

I had forgotten your effect on me until today.
Perfect illustrations married to perfect words.
It is beautiful.

QM

2009-03-28T20:04:00.003Z

People who have copied others directly were, are and shall be again dead, but the inventive they sleep forever and cannot be dead. They will live forever in their minds exclusive footprint. They will never lack inspiration because it is instinctive. The imitators will be wise to understand what they are imitating because it could lead to their gross misfortune. I hope they are superstitious and like the imagination held up with no body the artists tear themselves open to look inside by whatever means they can to discover what lurks in their minds. The others can only follow.

I have had the luxury of meeting and knowing some truly brilliant artists/musicians whose very souls quiver and sear, leaving holes in arts future.
I look forward to an eventual look back at their early lives.

Women with a like mind will appreciate that art like sex is sacred and understand that art without sin is like a world without end.
Threats and promises come hand in hand, and power comes from a world of hate without conscious.
The most striking woman is often sullied and vampiric in nature. After all the vulgar and troubled consistently have the largest viewers.

S

2009-03-15T19:42:00.002Z

A wise man once said all woman who want to appeal to ‘that type of man’ should wear high heels of at least 3inches minimum because of the ‘S’ shape curve the body is thrown into.
I admit I like the idea of a single point throwing my body a chaos of circles and arches.
These hypnotic ‘S’ shapes are a key to understanding everything.
I, as a woman try to utilise them as much as possible.
Knowing yourself helps to know the shapes of things to come.
All hail the ‘S’s’, sex, shoes, sun and salt etc, for after all we are only a human animal, and like the ‘S’ and the pig’s tale we will be pulled out straight only to coil back.
So hail all you like, but remember, the Catholics will insist that ‘you’ like the fortune teller, are destined to walk forward with a reverse head for all of eternity because you saw into the future in your past.

Bother.

2009-03-15T18:54:00.001Z

Influences bother me eternally I always like to remember what Kate Bush once said in an interview. She explained that in her art she was only trying to impersonate her idols. The women she wanted to be.
As a result of her compelling personality her interpretations happen to be original to us the viewer.
I think most artists can relate to this, and possibly the idea that you are only a series socialised influences resulting in an eventual confusion with originality.
I know I am, it seems to me that all we have to do is acknowledge those that stand pages before us, for us to land on our own first page.

Hana in the hall

2009-02-22T18:47:00.002Z

Anger, anger, because people hold bones about the fact that we*, stand on the shoulders of giants. If you’re a creative, understand that originality is now built on a universal nurturing/socialization that would take eons to reverse. We are no longer attached to the earth because we never saw it.
On the shoulders we will all stand, because there is nothing but shoulders.

It’s no riddle.

* Our generation of artists.

V

2009-02-22T18:27:00.007Z

I'm in a tiny film By Tobias you can see it here

This is also a mini film, Im the one fiddling. you can also see this one here

Other people do exist and dear God do we* need reminding of it.
I hate many things, people who find Eddy Izzard funny, Eddy Izzard, things like that.

I’m hoping sex sells, I hear it does.

* Our generation of artists.

She.

2009-02-07T23:46:00.006Z

There is something in some heads telling some people what to do; I think I was taking to Hannah about it. It tells me who to tell, and who to approach. At least I think.
Some seek it with drugs and fast fingered logic while others feel it without wanting its burden. You can’t help what the voice makes up and it always has just a hint to the interesting.
Mine has my voice but I know it isn’t me. Apparently Hannah’s sounds like Janet Street Porter, or a small trapped Mexican man. It really was too much to believe that everyone hears my voice.
It knows who it wants in; it isn’t asking for apocalypse, it is just excluding human elements it doesn’t want.
It channels tales to those it knows will document them. It wants you to prove that it existed.
Some artists hear it, some authors hear it.
The characters are there.
The stories happen.
You feel them.
Some consciously follow it, or they wouldn’t create.
I mostly feel it when people talk to me.
It narrates my days, telling me to take notes. It wants a translator; it speaks not English or human but personal frequency.
Some days it is so faint that I only vaguely hear it, but other days it’s deafening, and in those deaf days I’ll zone out. I’ll say ‘sorry I'm not with it today’ but the truth is I am with it…I’m with her.

sb

2009-01-20T15:24:00.000Z

One of the best TV shows in the universe. Ah the sounds.

a

2009-01-20T14:07:00.002Z

Aye aye. It feels like I have been Wtching you forever.

An artist and her loose limbed lady¬.

2009-01-20T12:34:00.004Z

Myself, throat to heel in monkish black
Herself, with a snort of rage and fear
She plunged sideways into my arms and back

We fling, scratch and hack
With savage drumming pounding in our ear
It becomes a squealing tempest of my legged attack

She rolls and flames her eyes and nose then raises a coin filled sack
Just when I think it’s over or so it would appear
My bit torn mouth opens to bite her bleeding back

My muse strikes me with a vicious whack
Then from my stomach I pull out a leg length spear
And I jab it in the wound on her lower back.

Half dead we have made a pact
That each and every Friday in the year
We fight to the beats of the groan from a boy we keep round the back.

H&S

2009-01-19T23:19:00.000Z

SUSU

AND

HANNAH

My brain keeps throwing up.
These girls keep raising the bar and then pissing on it.

B

2009-01-19T23:00:00.005Z

Photo by Hana Rudderham-Baldwin

On the day Betty Page died Hana (my model) photographed me. We didn’t know she had died. I think Betty was in my body for that time.
It was nice to know our lives over lapped at some point with hers.

RIP Betty I guess this was our tribute to you.

o

2009-01-16T21:02:00.001Z

I was an artist in residence about a year ago now, and I was asked to talk to several groups of students.
With the first group I was nervous, full stop I was really nervous, but with the second group I was trying to remember points I had mentioned from the first group and somehow I had developed a particularly jerky style of speaking that was a bit like a drunk on some sort of sex machine, but luckily that style had wore off a bit towards the end of the third group (not entirely but mostly).
Eventually my mind had connected to my mouth and I could quote my ‘talk’ verbatim each time after that.
That was until about the 10th group, where a class of Btech ‘first year’ students all came into the studio I was working (as usual) and I began my little auto pilot word-a-thon (that had become so boring and lifeless to me now that I could almost feel the words falling out of my mouth like thick slugs). I had done this lap dance too many times. In fact I had done it so often that I would barely look at the students anymore. But this one time I could feel someone looking at me stronger than usual and with a bit too much soul for a person from Norwich. I looked up to see if it was a stare my sixth sense could smell and in true ‘first site’ style there she was. My muse,
Hana.
After that I wasn’t talking to anyone else in the class it was only her. When I had finished speaking everyone left but Hana and her friend, we spoke for ages about Berlin and art and tattoos and photography until we realised it was getting late, but before they left I turned to Hana and said something I had not said to another girl before, I said “will you pose nude for me?, I mean I have never asked anyone else…its not something I go around saying” (ummmmm blush blush blush) and she in true muse-like playfulness giggled and said ‘yeah I would love to’. I would like to say the rest was history but I never got her number and I moved back to London after that. I did however find her on Myspace which of cause was one on my classiest hours, I don’t like to make a habit of begging a girl to pose naked for me online, but in this case I felt I had to. And that was it, I now pose for her and she poses for me, it’s the happiest of artistic marriages. And I love her dearly.

Jack Kirby's Allstars...

2009-01-16T14:49:00.003Z

Ummmm Flattered I'm sure, thanks lads.
The 'I was not ready for that!' award

New website

2008-12-25T19:21:00.004Z

NEW WEBSITE
Merry Christmas to all, especially Hannah's and Hana's.

Momentum.

2008-11-25T14:22:00.002Z

Did it ever occur to you that we as humans might be born with ‘momentum allowance’, and life is simply the amount of momentum you where born with?
When the momentum runs out you die. The will is no longer there.
You see it most clearly in the elderly, they reach a point and realise they can self euthanize, with their minds alone. They can decide when they die. Only they didn’t decide they just ran out of momentum.
Mine is running out too. Everyone’s is.

I wish all minds stayed young.

P.S
I have been working on a new project. I’m excited at least; the top image is one of the new photos. It may take me some time. At which point I’ll have a new website.

2008-11-18T20:33:00.003Z

I'm weird.

The world's end.

2008-11-16T11:59:00.003Z

Hogarth says it a lot better than I can.

Ummm change, I need future change, I need to see less of the nostalgic people that bog me down in crap memories and see more of the new bright future.

When I get where I want to be each peak will wear a hat, and Streams will boil and splash down the hillside which will disintegrate the old ‘nostalgics’ along the way. Like hot acid on boiled skin they will corrode! Along with my memories.
The memories I never wanted in the first place.

The old red blood blue blood.

2008-11-10T22:33:00.003Z

I’m a very red blooded female, I was told I would shine brighter if only I wasn’t malnourished, and with time maybe I will shine bright.

In the past I was aware of my being ugly but comfortable, I suppose I was a bit like drowning in that respect.

That ‘remembering’, led me to visit the 6 femme fatales.
They still have hard noses, tease men and are utterly spineless.
I used to call them friends.
Now I call them future-necro-victims.

I was part of a group, there was;
1 girl for each of my index fingers +
1 girl for each of my 2 horns +
1 girl for the 2 brain cells my red body could bear +
I was 1 when it counted
That equals 7.

They hadn’t faired well…I returned to each of them to survey their current situation.

One in particular was not ready to make her peace with God so she died with ‘too little to actually live for’ as her cause of death. And yeah I was sad but I was also tempted to correct her grave stone.

Two She-Devils I knew turned their devilry not on each other but less fortunate paying men.

And Three ‘half eaten gut nibblers’ (fat girls) I had half forgotten about carried on to the temple like half mad hawks in a castle mew. And now, finally, the crack of the whip and the sound of bones being gnawed is setting in on them, I suppose office work doesn’t suit everyone.

And I'm the seventh, I returned to myself hoof beats later to witness myself shaking off parts of my own body. Soon I’ll take out a knife and a hammer and began to pound away at what pain I suffered for little jerks.

With all femme fatales, pull away the skin-curtains and listen to the colour and noise of the life within, it helps to understand.
Force your brain to accept her proportions then you might not die in the very sleep she induces. She is the illness of your ego and you should bar her from your subconscious.

I can not wait to meet my two ‘photographic’ other halves. I’m sure she will be beautiful.

Heart.

2008-10-30T16:55:00.000Z

When I took this set of photographs I had in mind the part between the head and the hands.

World leaders are the head with an iron lung attached and the 9-5ers are the hands of a daily trudge working in vain for an invisible slave wither they see it or not.

I want to be your heart.

Artists are the heart. Art keeps your soul and your spirit apart. Your soul needs exercise your sprit needs feeding. Feeding…in a different room to your soul.

‘Get rid of the random elements’ you said.
I can’t get that out of my head.
I had to dig to get this far.
If my physical mind and body must suffer to get what I need, they will.
The closest I ever came to understanding myself was when I was taken by the hand and physically dragged to your beautiful land.

You keep my elements in tack and merge my connection between achievement and soul. But mental contact requires practise and patients. But while I’m looking for reasons to create the junkie is angry and tetchy.

I found the situation. It is perfect, a true breeding ground for ideas. It just needs food and thought.

Magick rod

2008-10-30T16:54:00.003Z

Photo: Tobias

They* say that there are so few spots in the universe where night actually falls at all; it is only where a shadow from a planet is cast by itself.
Could it be that our serious misfortune of suffering a night could over shadow our spirituality too? Where our hours are cut by half maybe our potential is too.
Perhaps the mind is the traitor and reason is an inconvenience. Most visible is imperfection.

We are no longer free.
I will work and hope never to ask questions that in no way concern me, far beyond any conception are the winds of change, to offer anyway suggestion would end in my being locked away, We can save ourselves from the light and the dark, that’s the best I can offer.

*Science peoples.

Change.

2008-10-30T16:53:00.001Z

Change
Creative pushing is a virtue, if anyone can do it for you consider it a blessing, I know the push is a musing but you are the swing. A theory is only helpful if you can empathise with it, sketch an understanding of what you already realise and apply it if you will feel it benefits a change.

Revision
Total revision is a blessing too. I want to cleanse my head. Forget all the chaff and eat all the wheat like a spring clean that involves lobotomies and corn.

Decision
I like certain people more than others; I remember one man’s conversation had flashes of silence that had made his conversation entirely charming. I liked that.

Revision
If I don’t change I’m likely to witness my own fall with an almond glow of light behind my head whist watching myself extend only the forefinger and middle finger in obscene styles to find myself swearing at my own rotten body.

Apply
It seems no man is strong enough to have no interest at all, therefore all goodness and honour is pure chance and all cruelty is nature. But I'm unsure, is that because all honour is a masculine concept? Like I’m unsure if women are only beautiful in comparison to men?
I would ask the ‘better man’ but I’m scared to keep crying in his ear because I know the salt will fade all images he will come to see.

A coat with eyes.

2008-10-23T00:07:00.004+01:00

There are things I need to show myself before I remember the way I used to be. It’s not that I would be regressing but learning how to lie better. Since seeing another angle one thousand destroying winters have evolved in my head.

I heard it said once that to convert minds you have to prove that you are moveable. It’s a common politician’s tactic. Show your strong minded but willing to listen to the people.
I shall compromise for future minds I will meet, mainly because the eventual night is going to cover us all and wake us from waking.

Point the A’s to better understand, everyone with any personal power already knows that they would write just to write their muses name, just as I write to him (only to write his name), so to make a symbol of him with my hand.
I know I love you.

A fur coat with eyes.

Yoni sally bond

2008-10-20T23:13:00.002+01:00

Ian Fleming said ‘All women love semi rape’. What a stiff memorial.

Moore-land go explore.

2008-10-20T22:52:00.003+01:00

Bored blah blah I’m not blonde anymore 08.
NEW PHOTOS

11

2008-10-18T20:56:00.002+01:00

I always fancied being a 'gangster’s mole', the dolled-up type that flits about doing little but working men from the inside.
You know… like, I’d flirt with one of the smucks from a rival gang and when I return from my nose powdering and fiddling with guns in the ‘ladies’
He’d have been ‘snub-nose ozzied’ by a man who is only a man when lost to himself in such acts of violence or O!
Oh…a girl can dream, can’t she?
When feeling obsolete with a lustful nature in a world of masculine power?

What a joy it is to connect all his symbols with a phallus, and laugh at him.
Whist I blot my lipstick, the universe is exhibiting interplay between my lips.
I shall never be bored with such toys as men.

Take a week,

2008-10-17T23:17:00.003+01:00

I was welcomed to an imagination this week. I opened the door to a cliff face and watched the mist float in and out of someone else’s unconscious. I have been there now and nothing else cuts it.
Worlds within a world, we have it here in the countryside.
Those lucky enough to live in true British countryside should grab it with their five teeth and all 14 of their hands. I would! I will!
Strange things have happened at sea, but they are stranger still up in the north.

I think for a time (there) I held in my hands a future from my falsification of thought and someone else’s artificial mystery. I rest assured that things are clearer now. Now! In-the-knowledge that an artist (upon seeing an object/person), does not worship it, but breeds a master piece from it. Then the world itself is exhibited as one aspect of the great work.

We were dealt a good hand this week (my love and I).

DR...

2008-10-08T18:55:00.002+01:00

My dear friend wrote me this and called it ‘Sitting next to Ellen.’ Whist we were in class one day during our MA. We had been odd with each other all week after an incident that broke out in the pub I lived in, this incident was regarding the two of us arguing about gender roles and feeling. I promised I would illustrate my feelings to it one day and now I have. Just like the man who wrote it I too was blonde once

I was sweating again. Forehead. I knew why she knew why.
I didn’t want to make a point of it. It was urge feeling.
I took her hand in mine. No words.
Her left hand lifted by mine. My right thumb paved in her palm. Firmly.
Perhaps I wanted to look at her but eye contact would be confusing.
As much as I hate communication I understand it.
It was touch this was about.
Mutual experience with no real history of thinking it through.
Action but not acting.
It was simple really her hand told what to do.
External force intrigues me (too much)
Moments should be let to happen and allowed before I doubt and choose to deviate.
If conscience choice was my virgin arsehole I would look for a suitable object and rape it till the point of rupture and feel it bleed to death.
Revision bothers me still, it’s a fucking necessity.
Edit, edit again. Rewrite, retype, rethink, And Re-feel?

Her finger tips with a lack of dry friction picking up the evidence of my self inflicted fuck up.
Regret is ok if only one can learn from it and then actually apply it. It was NOT about this.
It was sweat; exchange; contact-between newly accelerated energies.
Need, want, isolation of a moment. Illusion. Exploration. Energy. Basic, natural I guess you could call it. Unexpected and from a negative sort of intimidation. Questionable they might say. The others. She wouldn’t and if she did I still wouldn’t explain why. Thinking about personal questions is a virtue, welcome all. I never took her hand. Heat. I wish I did. I regret it.

Reader

2008-10-07T21:11:00.002+01:00

Words exhaust. Some times I wish the words would leave the page and float in front of my eyes because I can never be comfortable enough whilst reading. It feels like I have too many arms and not nearly enough sides to lean on. I’m a hexagon reader in that respect. Dear me, I’m missing my best friend right now. I have met some interesting creatures recently, who have the ability to write in time to my moods they prick a smile and fill a void.

I am trying desperately to finish something I started story wise. I need to put that unknown warrior to rest.

:)+(:

2008-10-06T01:29:00.004+01:00

'To take a photograph is to participate in another person's mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.' Said Susan Sontag

This is my 'Do something everyday that scares you'...

2008-10-05T01:24:00.004+01:00

When Photoshop and I were young, we met a boy who first changed my mind.
I knew there was something in me that others took dislike to and wanted to ostracize but it wasn’t awoken until I met Ryan. Ryan was a friend of mine that I fell out with some years ago when we finished school. We bought out the worst in each other. We had never met anyone like the other so we challenged one another always testing limits. Trying constantly to ‘out weird’ the other one, this culminated in a rather sticky end. I hated him for years after what he did. But I suppose he won. He out ‘weirded’ me. I could never look him in the eye for too long because he would look straight through me and know everything. I still can’t forgive or forget what happened but I’m thankful we met. In many ways he defined me and also raised the bar in mental standards.
Whilst I was looking through some very old files on a slab of a hard drive I found I came across a folder named RYAN. I opened it and found a comic he made for me when we were teens, when Photoshop was young, so don’t judge him. He told me I could show who I liked. And now I will.

When walking all night though the city, after school one day you stared at me and twisted your ear, you kept doing it, again and again. I stopped walking and stared at you, square in the eyes. We stood quite still for about 3miniuts solid, still almost but for your constant ear twisting. Eventually I said ‘What are you doing?’ and you said ‘I’m going to keep doing it until you think I’m a genius’, ‘But I’ll never think that’ I said.
What you did scared me to the core for years and your texts still haunt me but I like to think I gave as good as I got. You were a worthy opponent. It has taken ten years but I finally see your genius. It was always showing.
Keep safe my friend; I hear horror stories about you.

If you want to read ‘Bulimia’ By Ryan, do email.
ellenjanerogers@gmail.com

Oh the Breakfasts of hate have begun...

2008-09-25T17:35:00.012+01:00

I’m showing work at ‘Nail the Cross’ This weekend. Link yourself for Details.

www.myspace.com/nailthecross
www.nailthecross.com
Buy tickets here

The strong young futurists.

2008-09-23T21:43:00.004+01:00

Nice carcasses ladies, now release the earth men.
NEW PHOTOS

I miss London

2008-09-20T17:50:00.002+01:00

I have been in Norfolk for 2 weeks and from what I can make out there are three real humans here me, my love and Steven Fry. All the rest are mutants who remain so inbred that I can see small webs between every finger on their padded claws.

The truth is they are lovely simple honest folk who embrace their heritage and understand their roots, they do not try and tear down their Tudor buildings but continue to use them. They are healthier and prettier than ‘London people’, more primitive, maybe it’s the way they don’t force themselves maybe it’s the way they don’t care. They are true naturals. They have ironed out their neurosis and have been made sane again.

But…I don’t want that. I want to scream ‘I am the fucking Batgirl’ on top of my lungs to a gang of rapists whilst walking though Peckham in the dead of night.

I never wanted my lipstick on I always wanted my hair to be knocked out of place. All I ever wanted was to make art and have someone I admire near me physically and mentally. So now I have all that all I want back is London.

Panda.

2008-09-05T00:14:00.005+01:00

I went out of the house today wearing two black eyes I painted on myself. I can only hope people thought I was beaten by my partner. I have some new photos you can find them here.
PHOTOS

Mr Wilson, How are you tonight?

2008-08-17T23:16:00.002+01:00

I could listen to Alan Moore talk for the rest of my life and I envision I will do just that.

Mr Moore talking some real 'Wilson'.

The vernacular genius.

2008-07-30T22:24:00.004+01:00

The advent of the snapshot is not a serious enterprise. I believe the camera does the work. There is no genius in photography. Unless… you serve a higher purpose than documentation, you are a snapper.
A snap shot by definition is a movement in itself whether it is an uncontrived and genuine attempt to document an environment, person, event or time. So a snap shot aesthetic where you take a vernacular style and contrive it so as to play dumb to actual composition or arrangements is also at a push a snap shot to. An again you rely heavily on the medium or photography to do the hard work for you. And your only comment it a visual pun quite literally.

My belief is that variables make a photographer. To me a photographer is a person who can control variables with a camera. A static documentation of their own mais en scene. In time I have warmed to the idea of documentary photography and its aesthetic, in found vernacular photography and more highly regarded snapshot aesthetic photography and I was bought round by the advances of particular documentary photographers with a certain eye. It draws my attention to how one photographer can take an entirely different photograph to what I can take at the same time. But…they are but laws of variables. Variables such as personal experience and height. Rendering the difference a question of probability. By which I mean there are only so many ways to document the ready made. So in that light there is a chance that anyone is capable of taking a similar if not the same image as anyone else. The day is regardless the physical will only be the printed image. This illuminates the philosophical argument of it being a different image because it was a separate click of a shutter. The end result will look similar and there for lack originality.

So if all this is hypothetically true how does one differentiate themselves?
I suggest the control of factors and variables is the answer and to route to originality. So how do you manipulate variables? It is obvious really, by manipulation, darkrooms, additional lighting, making a set, casting a model, making the costume, etc. the quicker answer is untold fiction. Create a story a spin on an original or a new one. Vernacular energy alone can not serve as a form of originality it can only be considered documentary or journalistic. Documentary photography has its place in art I admit, but other than being an embodiment of creation it is not in itself creativity it is only functionality. Creativity is found in the unfathomable daily routine understandable but radical in ideals.
If you think I am being too general, shoot me, but make it original.