“Bodyscapes” is a body art series by artist John Poppleton that uses fluorescent pigment to paint landscapes on female models. He then photographs the models under UV light for the final fluorescent effect.
A sample of some of his behind the scenes painting timelapse:
When we caught up with Poppleton over email, we were curious about the how behind these photographs. What gear did he use, what settings did he use, what was his inspiration and so forth. He was kind enough to answer a few of those questions for us:
John Poppleton: The gear I use most is a Canon EOS 6D with 24-105 f/4L IS lens on a Manfrotto tripod. The black lights I use most are the basic 48? 40 watt tubes from Wal-Mart in two 2-tube fixtures. I rim light the subject with my own invention I call UV light Panels.
My equipment plans for the near future will be the new Sony A7s. It will mainly be used for video but it could turn out to be the perfect camera for shooting BL. My first pro DSLR camera was the Canon EOS 1Ds at 11MP and it did a beautiful job, so Sony’s 12MP with more light sensitivity may turn out to be more important than resolution for the black light, but remains to be seen.
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John Lopez dissects some of Paul Haggis’ techniques from his body of work including Third Person, and Crash.
If you want to start a knife fight with a film nerd, casually suggest that Crash 100 percent deserved its Best Picture Oscar for its profound examination of contemporary race relations. (Personally, I think Avenue Q did a better job in a fraction of the time with “Everybody’s a Little Bit Racist.”) But the fact remains that Crash won, earning an oddly eternal notoriety and giving us the strange, frustrating filmography of Paul Haggis. As much as the word auteur means anything these days, like it or not, it applies to Haggis: Only Paul Haggis could make a Paul Haggis film.
You can tell them by the relentless heaviness of the hand tweaking your expectations: In the words of Spinal Tap’s Nigel Tufnel, Paul Haggis’s drama goes “to eleven.” It’s not that Haggis’s films are incompetent; it takes genuine skill to be that consistently blatant. He knows all the buttons and pushes them with reckless abandon, apparently guided by the belief that in excess veritas. Haggis briefly flirted with the thriller genre in The Next Three Days. But he’s back to his old tricks in Third Person, a meta-film that L.A. Weekly’s Amy Nicholson likened to “walking in on Laurence Olivier in the bathroom.” But what are those tricks? As a public service, we watched Third Person to deconstruct the multiple-Oscar-winning formula and discover what gives a Paul Haggis film that special Crash-y feel of firm, gleeful manipulation.
Some people hear this ubiquitous writer’s maxim and try to interpret it so as to justify their script about time-traveling vampires. Paul Haggis doesn’t get hung up on such technicalities; he embraces it viscerally and literally. Crash famously came about because Haggis was carjacked, which caused his white-guilt circuits to overload. Third Person, which is centrally concerned with a prize-winning writer having an affair, came about (as Haggis candidly admits) because he is a prize-winning filmmaker who had an affair. See how easy it is? Stop fretting about making your heist movie as accurate as possible and go rob a bank. Or maybe you still believe that Paul Thomas Anderson didn’t beat someone to death with a bowling pin for There Will Be Blood.
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Scott Myers analyses the character of Mr. White as played by Harvey Keitel in Quentin Tarantino’s Resevoir Dogs.
It was back in 1992 when the heist thriller underwent a clever genre dissection with the application of a crime novel-style nonlinear narrative by screenwriter and director Quentin Tarantino with his debut feature film, Reservoir Dogs. Aside from his dynamic puzzle-pieced storytelling, other future Tarantino trademarks were also established with this crime caper: gritty violent scenes that are still talked about, snappy harsh dialogue, characters that kill for a living and beefy roles for movie stars of the 1970s. The soul sonic, disco dancing, karate kicking, mean street 70s cinema that Tarantino came-of-age in inspired his casting of Pam Grier in Jackie Brown, John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, David Carradine in Kill Bill: Vol. 1 & 2 and Harvey Keitel as thief-for-hire Mr. White in Reservoir Dogs.
From the very first breakfast scene at that diner, Mr. White stands out as the only diamond heist conspirator of the rented six that has some seniority. Mr. White immediately has the guts and mutual respect to be an assertive ball-breaker while chatting up Joe Cabot (Lawrence Tierney) with the audacity that comes from being a trusted, long-time confidant. He not only snatches that repetitively reminiscing boss’s address book out of his scruffy palms, with the whole pack of hired hooligans watching on, but Mr. White also defends his unapologetic disposition against Joe Cabot’s hired guns that he is just getting to know.
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Craft Truck chats with the brilliant cinematographer Adam Kimmel discussing making informed choices, selling Phillip Seymour Hoffman as the diminutive title character in Capote, what it was like to shoot Jesus’ Son with basically no resources and no time, why he favours films that relate to the human condition like Never Let Me Go, and working with Spike Jonze on the beautiful short film.
Jiro Ono is an 85-year-old sushi master Jiro Ono, who owns a tiny 10-seat shop in Tokyo that has the highest Michelin Guide rating of three stars. He is also the subject of the documentary “Jiro Dreams of Sushi“. Dr. Jonathan Wai distills the film with seven life lessons we can take from the sushi master.
“When you work for Jiro, he teaches you for free. But, you have to endure ten years of training. If you persevere for ten years you will acquire the skills to be recognized as a first-rate chef.” In Jiro’s restaurant, many apprentices do not make it to the next level. Yet there are those who persevere. For example, one of the apprentice sushi chefs tried over 400 times to make egg sushi that met Jiro’s standards of being worthy to be served. When he finally received Jiro’s approval, he was overwhelmed with joy and cried. Take away lesson: Only when you understand what it feels like to fail and try again will you be able to cherish the moment when you achieve success.
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Matt Patches discusses the history of of bad movies – the culture of discussion that has arisen around schadenfreude and how this Ed Wood production sits in the pantheon of camp.
After the publication of 1978’s The Fifty Worst Films Of All Time, 393 readers tore out a suggestion page provided in the back of the book and mailed it to authors Harry and Michael Medved to inform them of an egregious oversight: Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space.
“People really took us to task for it,” Harry Medved said in an interview conducted for this piece. He was only 15 when he co-wrote the compendium with his brother and co-author Randy Dreyfuss. “We were shocked by the flood of fan mail—or, in this case, hate mail—saying, ‘We agree Robot Monster is one of the worst of all time, but how could you write a book called The Fifty Worst Films Of All Time and not include Plan 9 From Outer Space? What were you thinking?!’” In 1980, the snail-mail equivalent of a comments section was vindicated. The Medved brothers published a second tome, The Golden Turkey Awards. Based on the reader votes, they declared, damned, and exalted Wood’s chump-change science-fiction flick as “The Worst Film Of All Time.” The label stuck.
Bad movies aren’t made, they’re defined. Before Plan 9 nestled into the cultural consciousness as a notorious shlockfest—mainstream enough for Jerry, Elaine, and George to attempt to catch a midnight screening in the second season of Seinfeld—it was just another science-fiction B-movie filling the second slot of theatrical double bills. (The film unceremoniously premièred in January 1959 accompanied by Time Lock, the thrilling tale of a boy locked in a bank safe, known for costarring a young Sean Connery.) Today, broadband-enabled pop conversation races to new releases with scorching superlatives: “Flop! Disaster! The worst movie of the year/decade/century!” Adam Sandler movies arrive with one hand pre-nailed to the crucifix. But back in 1980, Plan 9 was dredged up from cult obscurity and thrust into the spotlight. It was still awful, but people reveled in its awfulness.
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Just one year after the release of Star Wars, fan made farce was already being made. This short 13-minute film made it’s way through film festival circuits, ultimately making $1,000,000 and becoming George Lucas’ his favorite Star Wars parody.