Posts from the “Women” Category

April Flores: Fat Girl

Posted on May 4, 2010

Photograph © Carlos Batts

I was introduced to April Flores through photographer Carlos Batts, who I have known for the better part of this decade. I had seen photos of April for years, as she was Carlos’ muse, and inspired a great many hardcore photos that made me blush to my roots.

The thing that intrigued me were the photographs of April, where she was fully dressed, as she has a style unlike anyone else I have ever met. Changing her look with the drop of a hat, April’s photographs remind me of the work of great models.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

But there was one thing that made her distinct—her weight was not going to be getting her contracts with Ford any time soon. But the way in which April carries her body makes me envy her ever time I neurotically try to lose five pounds.

I have been captivated by the way in which April presents herself, and approached April and Carlos about the possibility of doing a book. FAT GIRL it was to be called, and I had shown her photos around the office. Needless to say, the response from everyone, save one (slim) woman was truly negative. I heard it all, from the usual anger directed towards overweight people, to the unexpected backlash from women against April’s sex appeal.

While the book never came into existence, I think it’s impressive that fashion magazines are finally beginning to consider the appeal of voluptuous women. With Christina Hendricks making the cover of Esquire’s Women We Love issue, it’s clear that the size zero is getting serious competition.

My thanks to April for graciously sharing her story and to Carlos for these beautiful photos.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

FAT GIRL
Story by April Flores

I think the first incident that made me conscious of my body happened in the 7th grade. I overheard my crush talking to his friend and two other girls in our science class. The girls were asking the guys to rate all the other girls in the class going one by one. When they came to me, my crush said something like “she has a pretty face, but she’s too fat.” I was shocked and hurt and humiliated. First, because one of the girls was a “friend” of mine (girls can be so cruel sometimes) second, because my crush had said something negative about me. But I was mostly hurt because I had done nothing to provoke them to say anything mean about me.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

From then on, I looked at myself differently in the mirror. I had always known that I wasn’t a skinny person; I was average sized. In elementary school I had friends and classmates that were much thinner and much bigger than me. I hated PE and playing sports. The fact that I wasn’t skinny wasn’t a surprise to me. The fact that people were now judging me on my weight was.

I was now aware of how I looked, and I always dressed so that my fat rolls wouldn’t show thru my clothes. I dreaded wearing the PE uniform because the inside of my thighs rubbed together, so I was always pulling them down passed my thigh area.

I was very fortunate in the fact that I had good skin, so acne was not a problem, but my size played a huge roll in my self-esteem. I thought that happiness would come if I were thinner. I believed that I would have a boyfriend, and my life would be perfect if I was just skinny.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

Not much changed through out the rest of my Junior High experience. In 8th grade I learned from the class jerk that I had big boobs. He was asking all the girls if their mothers had big boobs. When he came to me, he pointed and loudly said, “Your mom had big boobs!” I was so embarrassed.

In the 10th grade I joined the swim team with a friend. Our goal was to get a tan and get into shape. Being on the swim team was a lot of fun, and did get me into shape. I hated the swim meets because I am not a competitive person, so I could care less if I won or lost a race. But I loved watching the cute guys swim, all muscle-y, tanned and wet!

I did notice that people were treating me different in slight ways now that I was thinner. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like they were nicer to me in some strange way. This really confused me because it wasn’t just the boys at school. Family members, people of my same gender and strangers all seemed more pleased with my body size and thus with me.

In 11th grade my parents got divorced and there was a lot of turmoil in my home life. I suddenly gained about 50 pounds (putting me at 180) during my junior year of High School. It just came out of nowhere (it seemed.) I guess I had comforted myself with food… delicious fried food.

I talked to a few boys on the phone here and there, but I never had a boyfriend who went to my High School. I did get teased about my breast size. There was a group of boys who would shout out “TITTERS” every time I walked by them. This made me very uncomfortable, and made me wish I had an older brother to kick their asses.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

My first “boyfriend” had really bad acne, but I was fat so I figured that was the trade off. He would be really cute if he had better skin, and I would be really cute if I lost some weight. It’s funny now.

After I graduated high school and before the fall quarter of my first year in college I was enrolled into a summer program at my college. This program was really great because we got to stay in the dorms, go to classes, and they even gave us a food stipend. It really prepared me for college life. Since I was away from home for the first time, I was now responsible for what I ate. The school’s food court was average, and I mostly ate chicken sandwiches, Jello and fruit. I started losing weight but not because I was trying. It was just coming off. I was happy about it because I wasn’t trying. (The truth is that I was only eating once a day.) I didn’t have much of an appetite. Plus I read somewhere that your metabolism is at its fastest between the ages of 18-23.

When I was 18 I left the dorms and got my own place. I never had food at my house and I was in an emotionally crazy relationship, practically fighting everyday, which also curbed my appetite. By the time I turned 21 I was at my thinnest ever, 123 lbs.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

While I was losing the weight I heard many odd comments. A few people asked me if I was on drugs. A friend’s mother asked me if I was ill. However, most of the feedback I was getting was very positive. Everyone was very happy for me and if I hadn’t seen them in a while, they were especially vocal about my weight loss. I was getting a lot of attention from guys, and fitting into smaller, cuter clothes. This all made me feel very happy and confident. I was having fun, but it didn’t make my life easier in any way.

When I was about 23 I had a job as a receptionist. I was sitting for the majority of my day. My favorite dinner consisted of a hot dog, lime flavored chips and salsa. I slowly started gaining weight. I was fine with it. I was at a point in my life where I was becoming very comfortable and happy with the person that I am. I had a cute little apartment, my own little car, and I was single and loving it. Even though I had been living on my own for 5 years, this was the first time I had really embraced the freedom I had of just living my life.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

People around me started to drop little comments here and there about my weight gain. It was so strange to me because it bothered them more than it bothered me. I didn’t care. I was happy, and I finally realized that happiness is a choice. Happiness won’t come in a size 6 or in a man. I was happy with myself and I wasn’t going to let anything affect that. I never wanted to go back to that insecure person that I was, letting other people’s comments get into my head.

Since then my weight has gone up and down the scale. Those are my genetics. I’m a Latina—we have curves, big hips, big arms, and bigger frames. I know if I want to lose weight I have to eat less and move more. That’s it; it’s just as easy as that.

Photograph © Carlos Batts

www.carlosbatts.com
April Flores Website

Categories: Books, Photography, Women

Ellen Jong: “Did They Think I Was Dangerous?”

Posted on April 15, 2010

Photograph © Ellen Jong

I’ve always had bit of penis envy, but only when it comes to peeing in public. I’ve admired how men could just whip it out and go with no hassle—unlike us ladies who have to find somewhere discreet to pee, and make sure we don’t splash our shoes. So, needless to say, when I met Ellen Jong, who has been taking self-portraits for the past ten years while pissing wherever the damn well hell she wants, I was fully in awe. Jong has shamelessly leveled the playing field, proving women can do anything guys can do—and not ruin their shoes.

Miss Rosen: What is your favorite part of taking photos of yourself peeing in public?

Ellen Jong: What is the most incredible is that these photos bring a smile to everyone’s face because everyone’s got their own story, both men and women. The smile seems not to be a response to my photos but a smile at themselves while remembering their own stories, which always makes me so happy. Peeing is harmless. There are some things that you just can’t take too seriously about yourself.

MR: I’ve noticed a range of reactions to the pictures, all of which are very strong. It’s not exactly a subject that goes unnoticed. As the photographer and subject, how do you feel about exposing yourself—to people’s opinions be it positive or negative?

EJ: I take many of the responses very personally. While creating the book, I was on the verge of insanity grasping on to the little bit of self I could hold onto. I’ve exposed myself a great deal and pushed even more to reveal what is in the book’s text. It’s difficult to remain distant from criticism when I feel so vulnerable. But, I prefer to hear all the reactions, good and bad. I can’t get the taste of sweet without the bitter.

MR: My mother got a little uptight when I told her about the book, and my 91-year-old grandfather was in shock. And I’m just the publisher! How does your family feel about your work?

EJ: My mom and dad are my biggest fans. Though my parents were always really worried about me, when these photos became an expressive body of work and an identifiable thing that I can own, my parents could do nothing but support me. During my first show at Vice, we got shut down by the police because we’d blocked traffic on the street. There were people everywhere. I can even remember a drum circle. It was a crazy party. My parents sat at the window of a nearby restaurant the entire time, watching the mayhem with smiles on their faces. My boyfriend at the time got arrested that night for failure to control the crowd and my mom giggled.

Photograph © Ellen Jong

MR: Speaking of arrests, I understand you have quite a story.

EJ: While I was living in Miami, I came up to New York for a photo shoot in Times Square. While location scouting, I came across a storefront with red, white, and blue neon verticals in the window. It was 9:00 p.m. on a weekday and there was sidewalk traffic but I figured I’d seen way more crazy things on the street than someone taking a pee, especially in the Times Square area. I propped the camera on the sidewalk and set the self-timer while unbuttoning my pants. I ran to position and peed so fast that by the time I picked up the camera, I was dry and buttoned up. Then a pair of cops came out of nowhere with jaws dropped, asking, “Did you just do what we think you did?”

I couldn’t tell if they were more shocked from witnessing the actual urination or by my blatancy. Or were they shocked to see me, a face of innocence, behaving so provocatively? I explained my work while talking into the eyes of the female cop, telling her that my photos are not meant to be offensive: “I pee in cityscapes as if in nature, like we were once able to do as children…” I don’t remember exactly what I said, but she was willing to let me go. But then her supervisor rolled by and told her to write me up. Instead of giving me a ticket, she gave me a summons thinking she was giving me a break.

A couple of years later, after I had moved to New York, I was at a summer festival at the East River Park with an open bottle of tequila. The cops came up, took my license, and discovered I had a warrant for arrest because I had ignored the summons. They handcuffed me and escorted me a patrol car. Mind you, it was summer. I was wearing a mini skirt, a tank top (no bra), and flip-flops. I must have looked 12 if not younger. And, since the offense doesn’t come up in their system, they were expecting the worst. Did they think I was dangerous?

I went thru the system; I sat in the cell at the police station while waiting for my identity verification to get back from Albany. It hit midnight and I was taken to Central Booking for another round of fingerprints, mug shots, and paperwork, with all the other men and women arrested that evening. They finally took off the handcuffs and put me into a cell with four other chicks sleeping on floor mats. I took a bench.

The first thing in the morning, I was given a lawyer—she was awesome. When I told her that I was arrested for public urination, she shut her folder and said, “Well no woman should be arrested for that,” then disappeared into the courtroom. When we got in front of the judge, I was surprised to find that no one recognized the offense code. Once revealed there was a chuckle amongst them; even the judge laughed. I had to swear to behave for the next six months. Then my lawyer said I was free to go and directed me to the wooden gate held shut by a small hook latch. I just walked out. I can still hear the giggling in the courtroom. It has been six months and my record should now be cleared.

MR: It’s a little shocking to think this is how our law enforcement system works.

EJ: It’s easy to forget that peeing in public is illegal since it’s something everyone does; when you gotta go, you just gotta go. I might’ve taken it a little far considering some of the places I’ve peed (the phone booth is pretty crass). But I hope the combination of those crass moments and the serenity of the landscapes in nature create a bigger picture. I express my wild and quiet contemplative sides through these pictures. They’re my insides pouring itself onto film.

www.ellenjong.com

Categories: Art, Books, Manhattan, Photography, Women

Delphine Fawundu-Buford: Nina Simone/Four Women

Posted on April 6, 2010

I first met Delphine Fawundu-Buford a few years ago; damn I don’t even remember how we met, she’s just one of those sparkling magical people who seems to be in your life for the longest, kinda like family. We had been talking about publishing some of her 90s Hip Hop work: Lauryn Hill on the stoop, so innocent you might not even spot her in a crew of round the way girls hangin’ out; Smif N Wessun acting out, kinda crazy bringin me back to Bucktown; and then all these amazing shots taken of storefronts, of a place and a time that’s that old New Yawk that natives reminisce about when they remember how this city used to be… Let’s just say, Delphine’s got the photo album for a period in Hip Hop history that few people are checking for, but all of us need to be.

Miss Fawundu-Buford just reached out to me, to let me know about her exhibition of new work at a group show curated by the amazing Deborah Willis called Girl Talk, which is up at Renaissance Fine Art in Harlem through Sunday April 11. The show closes on April 11 with an artist talk at 2pm. In advance of then, I’m going to let Delphine speak about her pieces, an interpretation of Nina Simone’s Four Women.

Nina Simone’s Four Women, An Interpretation
Four Self-Portraits by Delphine Fawundu-Buford

With this series I created a 2010 interpretation of Nina Simone’s Four Women.

Nina Simone’s Four Women speaks to the legacy of slavery and it’s transformation into four archetypes of black women.

Nina sings… My skin is black./My arms are long./My hair is wooly./My back is strong./Strong enough to take the pain./Inflicted again and again./What do they call me? My name is Aunt Sara.

In my depiction, Aunt Sara is the “strong” black woman. This strength is reflected mainly in her character and level of endurance. Sometimes her strength is great as she is a vibrant, creative, hard-working woman who gets the job done. However at times, she finds this strength to endure the societal pain that has been “inflicted again and again.” The words on Aunt Sara’s back reflect these conflicting strengths.

Nina sings…My skin is yellow./ My hair is long/ Between two worlds./ I do belong./ My father was rich and white./ He forced my mother late one night./What do they call me? My name is Safronia.

In this series Safronia is often faced with the question: What are you? This is due to her light skin, light eyes and hair texture. In a race and image driven society we are often comfortable when we can quickly place a person within some racial or ethnic category. Safronia is an innocent spirit conceived into a world that refuses to holistically deal with the horrors of her ancestral past. Safronia’s ambiguous image, and conflicting ancestry leaves her wondering: Who am I?

Nina sings… My skin is tan./My hair is fine/my hips invite you../My mouth like wine./Whose little girl am I?/Anyone who has money to buy/What do they call me? My name is Sweet Thing.

In this series, Sweet Thing represents a hybrid between the racially and sexually exploited, Sara Baartman a.k.a “Venus Hottentot” of South Africa, and the scantly dressed hyper sexualized black woman or “Vixen” that has become iconic in urban culture. Here Sweet Thing is tired, “pimped out” and confused. Her mannequin with an attitude posture symbolize the little power that Sara Baartman must have had to not totally mentally give in to the harsh experience of being forced to tour Europe as onlookers leisurely examined her “abnormally” huge derrière. Sweet Thing like the “Vixen” is faceless. In our society, her image represents the manufacturing of beauty: breast and buttock implants, hair weaves, dieting products, and a host of other capitalistically driven cosmetic adjustments.

Nina sings… My skin is brown./My manner is tough./I’ll kill the first mother I see./My life has to been rough./ I’m awfully bitter these days./Because my parents were slaves./What do they call me? My name is PEACHES!

Although Ms. Simone’s Peaches may have been a revolutionary, someone ready to fight for what they believe in regardless of their past, I chose to depict Peaches as a young gang member. Peaches was born to parents who are both slaves to a system which perpetuates poverty, lack of self-education, consumerism, racism, and sexism. Deep down she knows that she comes from a significantly rich ancestry, but some how something went wrong. She rebels against a society that does not accept her, educational institutions that belittle her, corporations that control her, and a prison industrial complex that welcomes her. Misguided in her form of retaliation, she fights hardest against and even kills the ones closest to her. “My name is PEACHES!” She cries for help everyday. At what time do we listen?

www.delphinefawundu.com
www.theRFAgallery.com

Categories: 1990s, Art, Books, Music, Photography, Women