For the past couple of months, I've been developing a new interest, and have been keeping it under wraps, for reasons that will be very obvious once I tell you what it is. A few of my friends know about it, but I haven't shown them any of it that I have stored on my computer. Here it goes, I'll try to explain the best I can..
For the past couple months, I've been very interested in vintage erotica. It all started when a friend of mine bought a book of old photographs from the early 20th century. They were all by some photographer that she claimed to have heard of, but I really don't think she had. I fell in love with vintage photography and through many internet searches ended up falling in love with vintage erotica.
Oh dear. Peter, Paul and Mary have stopped singing. One minute, I've got to go turn the record over.
Erotica is more of an art form than just plain pornography. I mean, sure, there is porn to some of it, but there is also a great deal more of it that is poignant, sweet, witty, or even occasionally humorous. There's nothing wrong with vintage erotica! (Although, you can probably imagine why I don't go around telling everyone I meet.) My favorite decade of erotica is the 1920s. I love the hairstyles, the lingerie they wear, the cheeky grins of the flapper girls.
Here are some of my favorite (and appropriate) erotica pictures.
Just doing makeup.
This one is my profile photo on various websites. I just love the bored, unimpressed look on her face.
Just a sweet, smiling girl lounging on her bed in her lingerie.
This picture always captivates me. I love the way she looks skyward, with a sense of urgency.
Just lounging with her cigarette.
A soft kiss goodnight.
Believe it or not, this was actually considered to be lesbian pornography way back in the day. Not hardcore, definitely of a milder sort, but still. I, personally, don't read anything sexual about this picture at all.
This one is absolutely my favorite. I just found it today and was completely in love as soon as I saw it.
This woman reminds me of a circus performer or something. Maybe she is one. :)
This is another of my favorites. The contrast between the two is so completely entrancing. The one who is proudly displaying her sexuality is so obviously in control, and the other, the one in the robe is looking at her with a glance of...jealousy? Is she impressed? Does she feel self conscious?
If these pictures have inspired you to be interested in vintage erotica at all, check out wickedknickers.tumblr.com. I would say that the mix is about half and half, artistic erotica and pornographic, but if you sort through it, you can find some that are really visually gorgeous. Sifting through pages of archives, I came across one stunning picture of a nude woman standing on the trail of a comet, with her hair turning into stars.
The oddest part of these pictures is that they've gotten me to thinking about my future. Not that I think I'm going to end up as a nude model or anything, that's not it. Especially with the recent departure of a good friend of mine, who went to chase her dreams an entire state away, the future has been on my mind. Where in the world is there a place for someone like me? I'm sure that's a question that everyone asks themselves at one point or another in their lives, but it's really starting to eat me up. How do I know what dreams I should pursue? What state should I move to? Do I really want to be a fashion designer? Should I have cast aside my other artistic interests like I did? What if I pursued painting, began practicing at it again, became better at it, where would it lead me? What if I picked up a camera and became a photographer?
And the biggest question of all...how long can I contain my wanderlust? How long will I be here, sitting in Michigan, damn near miserable, typing away on this computer about the life I wish I had? I know I've told people that I'm living at home for two years, getting my Associate's Degree before I transfer to a big university, but I hate being here so much. I hate the relationship I have with my mother. I hate that I don't see my friends anymore. I hate all the secrets I keep from people. I hate being couped up in this house for 18 hours in a day. I hate the fact that Spell Check says I spelled "couped" wrong. I HATE BEING DRAGGED TO FOOTBALL GAMES AND OPERA CONCERTS AND GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE.
I just wish that I could go somewhere different, where people actually care about what I want to do, and listen to me when I talk. I wish I could go somewhere where I could cry when I'm sad and not be made fun of. I wish I could be "Leaving on a Jetplane" with Peter, Paul and Mary.
Whoa. It feels good to finally get all of that off of my chest. It's been bottling up inside of me for quite a long time. Now, how does that relate to these pictures? Well, in these pictures, I just see pieces of these women. I feel like I get a story from these pictures, even the ones that are as simple as a woman bending over to fix her stocking. What's my story then? I don't even know if the part of it that's worth telling has started to happen yet. But that's what's so good about the early years of life, isn't it? They're all about discovery and filling diaries with story.
Anyway, that's all for tonight. I have to get some sleep or I'll be completely dead tomorrow. Here's one last piece of vintage erotica for the road. This one is from the 60s.
I don't know what she's crying over, but I feel like I could relate.