Elegance, Hood, Insouciance: Monica wins on all counts in her dome-hugging cornrows and checkered, two-piece fatale suit. Here she is scoping out the photorealist painter Nick Flatt at White Walls gallery in San Francisco.
Up next… Camber. Mixing it up a bit with a photoshoot from the founder of one of my favorite sites, Babes At the Museum. This should be super fun for sure. As always, don’t let me bore you with my words, let’s hear a little bit from Camber…
Everyone always asks me what it’s like to be a native New Yorker. What’s it like being a native from anywhere? I loved growing up in the city: the diversity, the endless opportunities and experiences, the energy of millions of strangers so close together on such a small island. When you grow up in the city you have to learn how to be self-reliant, independent, to take it all in stride — and for that I’m the most grateful. It means that no matter what comes my way, chances are, I’ve seen it all before ;) And if I haven’t, then here’s to another new experience! -Camber
I live in a spacious room of wonderment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, where my cellphone gets practically zero reception but where faces come to hang, in real life.
I met Camber at the American Museum of Natural Museum. The encounter was brief since it occurred around the same time the museum was closing. So a couple photos with reconstructed dinosaurs and taxidermied elephants would have to suffice.
Soon after, I was tapped on the shoulder by MIMP to shoot a museum “babe” for the site. Camber was the ruling choice, hands down. It’s with enormous luck that Camber was enthusiastically into the idea of being shot in a series of poses that would have felt a bit misplaced and outright forbidden in a museum. -Xavier
As always, those of you with the MIMP APP have already started enjoying this wild wild ride… and you can attest to the fact that this is going to be super fun ;-)
Blue radiated from everywhere in the room, from all surfaces, some darker and others translucent, but we were all of the same color from one end of the room to the other. A little boy, not older than five, stared at his newly ultramarine palms with curiosity and delight, then looked up and waved at me furiously, his smile wide and his teeth sapphire. I returned his wave, the back of my hand a warm and bright indigo. In this one long room, we were all the same color, a few darker, a few lighter, but the same. I stepped closer to the source of my wonder—two rows and endless columns of neon lights. The discreet tag on the wall read “Dan Flavin.” Continued here…