coqsinister
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10/19/07 11:27 am pst
Again, the dwindling interest inherent in the attenuated working week has had twenty thousand erotic volts projected into its prominent neck-studs and the promethean dream of a reawakened torso, once subdued, pallid and inert, is proven to be all too achievable.
Another sublime Bailey Photoset has punctured raw trauma in the grey realm of complacent repetition and proved, yet again, that to transcend the limitations of a given art-form, in this case the veneration of the female nude, one need only combine a handful of unadulterated ingredients. Those vital resources are: a narrowed concept that can withstand a relentless exploration of its visual potential, an extremely gifted photographer and, of course, the ever reflecting, alabaster-skinned marvel that is Bailey.
This latest set is a consummate example of the analysis, investigation and revelation of a single beautiful individual through the sequential photographic medium. Her form, although present in the shots, nevertheless remains stubbornly detached from them. This is no grand and expressionistic cyclorama against which a primping drama is intended to be played, but merely an abandoned point of arrival or departure, apparently bereft of the trappings of living. Neither is this faux-domestic set up used as a crutch to support a tired retread of other sets. Too often has a leather couch been used as a sculptural horse for some sublime body to cavort upon like a fugitive piece of exotic and wilfully decorous meat. Not this time. Bailey’s lack of movement, the absence of over-rehearsed poses and modelling short-hand is the key to the set’s success.
Bailey seems to exist in the clenched space that sits between the imminent approach of a significant future event and the melancholia of a moment that has already passed and whose significance is now lost. How can a simple white blouse be quite so endlessly fascinating as this one? When we see her in her white underwear, it seems like sudden, retina-scorching pornography and this is a testament to the discretion used by all involved. Bailey achieves much more with much less.
In a muted and simultaneously saturated palette of uneasy colours (how did the photographer do this, I wonder?) rests the slight, implausibly charming figure, constrained by time but twisting with energy. She is coolly detached, luxuriously reticent, endlessly fascinating in her reluctance to relinquish her unremitting control over our bruised male gaze and as such it becomes exquisite torture to admit to ourselves how affecting her fetchingly remote presence is.
I am enthralled by the spare, unhurried brilliance of the sequence and can only marvel at the icy heat of this, Bailey’s finest appearance so far.
This set is an astounding achievement and I simply adore it.
Kisses,
Coqsinister
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OH. MY. GOD. that's a schoolgirl outfit.