Make Up Home Party

make up home party
    make up
  • Cosmetics such as lipstick or powder applied to the face, used to enhance or alter the appearance
  • The composition or constitution of something
  • constitute: form or compose; "This money is my only income"; "The stone wall was the backdrop for the performance"; "These constitute my entire belonging"; "The children made up the chorus"; "This sum represents my entire income for a year"; "These few men comprise his entire army"
  • The combination of qualities that form a person's temperament
  • makeup: an event that is substituted for a previously cancelled event; "he missed the test and had to take a makeup"; "the two teams played a makeup one week later"
  • constitution: the way in which someone or something is composed
  • A formally constituted political group, typically operating on a national basis, that contests elections and attempts to form or take part in a government
  • A social gathering of invited guests, typically involving eating, drinking, and entertainment
  • have or participate in a party; "The students were partying all night before the exam"
  • a group of people gathered together for pleasure; "she joined the party after dinner"
  • an organization to gain political power; "in 1992 Perot tried to organize a third party at the national level"
  • A group of people taking part in a particular activity or trip, esp. one for which they have been chosen
  • at or to or in the direction of one's home or family; "He stays home on weekends"; "after the game the children brought friends home for supper"; "I'll be home tomorrow"; "came riding home in style"; "I hope you will come home for Christmas"; "I'll take her home"; "don't forget to write home"
  • home(a): used of your own ground; "a home game"
  • provide with, or send to, a home
  • Made, done, or intended for use in the place where one lives
  • Relating to one's own country and its domestic affairs
  • Of or relating to the place where one lives

I wish they would only take me as I am.
I wish they would only take me as I am.
Me. Make-up: me No photoshop or other editing involved I don't usually talk about my work because I like my pictures to speak for themselves. However, because this photograph is being viewed with a greater frequency than most of my others, I will discuss it. Inspiration: Someone pointed out to me a few years ago that one of Van Gogh's self-portraits reminded them of me. I agreed. And after reading a biography about Vincent, I noted our personalities are also much alike. Except I'm trying to fix myself and not let my demons get the better of me. When considering subjects to transform myself into, I typically like to choose someone I already have somewhat of a resemblance to. Obviously, I'm not going to attempt to transform myself into Samuel L. Jackson. That would just be silly. In 1993, I took a photo of myself and tried "Van Goghing" it by adding strokes with felt markers. The result wasn't very satisfactory. Then in 2009, I took another photo of myself dressed in Van Gogh style clothing, and mimicking his expression. I used Photoshop to change my hair color to red. The photo looked good, but it wasn't immediately obvious who I was meant to be. Halloween 2010 came around... any excuse to dress up! I decided I would do the Van Gogh thing again, only this time make myself instantly recognizable as the famous, tortured artist. I used whatever I had lying around... some cheap grease paint.... nearly empty tubes of acrylic paint.... and the remnants of an old can of latex house paint. The jacket I purchased from a thrift store, but I didn't notice until I got it home that it had been used as a toilet by a cat. I tried dry cleaning it and spraying it with cat pee remover, but nothing worked on it. The smell was gagging me the entire time I worked on the jacket, and when I wore it to a party. Yuck! Execution: I painted the jacket (and a waistcoat which isn't visible in this picture) with extremely watered down blue, latex, house paint mixed with green and white acrylic paint. I had to dilute it so much because I didn't have very much. I applied it to the garment with 2 different size brushes. Using a fine paint brush, it took me about 2.5 hours to apply the make-up. Because it was poor quality make-up, it didn't adhere very well, and just sort of kept disappearing. I kept having to go over and over the same spots repeatedly. It never did stick to my ear, or around the nostrils and eyes. And then I ran out of the stuff and couldn't finish my neck. Oh well. It got the point across. Response To Feedback: 1. People ask why the wall isn't painted. The main reason is I like it better this way because the plain wall provides more of a contrast with the painty me. But even I had wanted to: a.) I wasn't at home, and my hostess would not have been happy if I painted her wall. b.) I ran out of paint doing my jacket and had no money for any more anyway. 2.) Other people have dressed up as Van Gogh (just do a Google search). Other artists have put paint on humans to make them look like paintings (Alexa Meade -- brilliant artist). Other artists have adopted different personae in their self-portraits (Cindy Sherman -- also brilliant artist). I am accused of ripping them off. I don't claim to be doing anything original. However, I am not ripping anyone off. I have been transforming myself as far back as I can remember. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Background Info: I did not start out as a photographic artist. I started out as a painter when I was a child. I had a cheap little Instamatic camera, but I did not think of photography as being an art. As far as I was concerned, real art involved painting and drawing. Nevertheless, when I was in my early 20s, I took a photography course at college. I learned how to operate a manual SLR camera, and acquired darkroom/developing skills. Unfortunately, even though I had found a new love and respect for the medium, I could not afford the film and processing costs. So once again, I went back to painting for a few years. Then, in 2002, I purchased a Fuji FinePix 3800 digital point and shoot camera. All of a sudden, a new world opened up for me. I no longer had to worry about development costs, and was free to experiment without fear of wasting film. The only problem was that the resolution was only 3.2MP. I really wished that I could obtain a better camera... one with a higher resolution... one that I could manually operate... a DSLR. But being on a very low income, I just could not afford to buy one. Then one day in July 2007, I checked my bank balance and found $54,000 in it. I assumed the bank had made a mistake, so I just left it there. Three months later, it was still sitting there. And all I could think about was really wanting a proper camera. So I decided I would just borrow $1000 of the $54,000 in order to buy myself a Canon Rebel XTi. As soon as I got it home,
Stripping away - Excerpts and Extras from Coulrophobia Series
Stripping away - Excerpts and Extras from Coulrophobia Series
'You're not a funny clown' he said. Pointing his finger at me, jabbing his pudgy didgets into my chest. 'You're a horrible, unfunny, messed up clown and I want you out my house now!' I said nothing. What could I say? I wasn't funny, I was a mess, I was pretty horrible. Hell I was half drunk (if not more) by the time I got to the stupid kids party and then I helped myself to a few of the fat Dad's beers before starting my show. That last fact may go a long way to explaining why I made phallic rather than animal shapes out of those goddamn shape shifting balloons. Nobody but me found that very funny. So yeh, as much as I hated doing what this wobbling suburban prick said, I knew I was in the wrong. I also knew if a sharp exit wasn't made then that little under-current of domestic violence that I sniffed in the air would soon be a full blown tide that would carry me away. As I turned to go, I caught myself in the hall mirror. It was gaudy and tasteless. A spit worthy approximation of some never happened classical era that this jellied fool of a Dad was no doubt so very f*cking proud of. But still, I stopped for a second and saw past all that expensive tat and looked right at me. 'It's funny' I thought, 'ain't it amazing how on these bad days, all this make-up and pizazz just looks like so many old cuts and bruises". Not funny ha ha. But funny somehow. A pudgy finger pressed into my back. It was all I could do not to turn and spray some vodka from my button hole flower into his jowel quaking face, but I refrained. 'The world needs clowns' I thought to myself 'this guy knows nothing'. I would get another job, another pay packet and another blissful bottle of beer somewhere else. The world needs clowns you see. Someone to be better than. Someone to laugh at. A little relief when things get tense, a little punchbag when the sphincter is twitching with all that caffeine addled stress. Only problem with that is, who do the clowns get to laugh at? I looked in the mirror one last time before the door closed behind me. 'Not funny' I thought 'not funny at all'. Who do I get to laugh at? Where do I go when I hear the call? The world needs clowns, but don't you ever wonder what the clown needs' Nah, of course not, not if you don't need to, no if you don't want to. But still, next time you see one of us just think about how much all that shining makeup just looks like so many old cuts and bruises. If you're still laughing after that, well hell, you're a lower person than I'll ever be.

make up home party