Story Noº 18 / 151: Like a Ghost
Noº 18/151: Like a Ghost
Collection: Sundays in the Solarium
I like finishing. I like taking my time getting there, too.
This one took two days.
Believe it or not, there’s a model in this photograph. His name is César. We shot in a botanical garden on Tuesday. By Thursday, I had made him nearly disappear. A strange thing to do with a man you’ve enjoyed looking at. But I left enough to make you look twice.
I photograph naked men. I enjoy my work. You’re welcome to notice.
My tastes are all over the pictures: what gets my attention, where I linger, how much I let you see. I’m behind the camera, fully dressed, and somehow the photographs keep giving me away.
When I love a song, I wear it out. Alone, on repeat. I know where the pleasure is and go back for it. Sometimes this produces a photograph.
This time it was “Where’s My Love” by SYML. I kept thinking about the missing lover. Everyone wants to know where he went. I wanted to know what made him leave.
Maybe hiding felt safe.
I know the feeling. You want someone to come looking. You want a say in what happens when they find you.
This was my first shoot with another person since April. I wanted a new photograph for my birthday, and I’d had enough of waiting for the right moment. So we made one.
I’m finishing my sketchbook, too. Two drawings left. Some of those men and impossible places will stay on paper. They’ve served their purpose. They kept my hand moving until I wanted to make photographs again.
For years, I expected every idea to be extraordinary. Very little got finished. Giving myself permission to enjoy the work turned out to be considerably more productive.
I’m finishing my thirtieth year.
I’m finishing a photograph.
I’m finishing a sketchbook.
You’d think I’d be satisfied.
Now I’m making a video game, Elsewhere, where the men in my photographs become characters you’ll meet. Buying an artwork helps me build their world and gets your name in the credits.
Wanna help me finish?
If this was worth your time, pass it on.
This work will become a book.
Photographs and field notes by James Miille
Words by Jona Montoya
