Completely loving this newest set from Ellen Von Unwerth, nympholept photographer extraordinaire. Everything about her photographs screams sexual tension and excitement, of youth and innocence and child seductress. They’re about frilly and dirty all at the same time; of the destruction of prim and proper and the revelry in it. Featured model in this set is Emma Watson and appeared in the Spring/Summer 2009 issue of Vs. magazine.
And since all the image hosts that Gilding can find seem to think that these fully clothed images of Emma Watson are somehow indecent — and just in case they happen to be deleted when you view them and before Gilding has had the chance to correct them — the full series can be found here; Ellen Von Unwerth, compiled by William McFadden
Neither doll artist is what you would call the classic pretty in sunshine curls and frilly dresses kind of doll maker, and while West’s dolls lean to the side of Polymer Lolitas, Bychkova’s dolls would be the more ethereal counterpart to something Tim Burtons claymation creations.
The life found within the details of her creations is awe inspiring. While dolls in general are creepy and to have them stacked on shelves staring at you is a thing of which Gidling finds all together just plain disturbing, these dolls have so much life within their form and face and features that it inspires you spending hours perched upon something staring at them instead. You wonder at their sensual forms. Your eyes tweek their rosy little nipples to buds where your fingers would be to large and clumsy. You marvel at the detail of underarm hair and that delicate thatch of pubic hair decorating the gently sloping V between their legs. What’s most remarkable is that each doll really and truly is different even if cast from same molds so to speak. From their eyes to their nose to their lips, its all unique, fitting to the personality of the doll and the vision of beauty they portray. And they’re not the conventional beauties either. There’s something quite eerie about them, but in truth, Gilding has always thought the ethereal to be eerie.
Featured below are Bychkova’s works, Alice, Bride of Frankenstein, and Princess Swan.
Gilding loves Loli Surrealism. So naughty, so fun. So warped, and twisted, debauchery inspiring, perhaps nightmare inducing of once pleasant childhood loveliness. Yeah, good stuff. And here’s the newest collection of it all in The Garden of Eye Candy.
An artform driven by Id, its impluses and alter egos illustrated as toys, cartoon characters, and iconic images, Eye Candy introduces us to the immaculate illustrations of artists the likes of: Cabizbaja, Candybird, Dolly Didit, Jaime Zollars, Kennys Work, Kukulaland, Lisa Petrucci, Amy Sol, Melanie Florian, Mijnschatje, Noferin, Brandt Peter, Danielle Lamberti, Kokomoo, Majeakann, Mark Bodnar, Rmyers Art, Saul Zanolari, Luke Chueh and more. Encapsulating is in the whimsical to the adorable, erotic to innocent, the dark to the gothic, luring us into the lush worlds of fairy tales and the dark desires the powers that be wrote laws against. Available from Ginko Press.
Once a beloved collection of childrens poems in Soviet times, as one person wrote, “just ask any Russian about Agnia Barto and he’ll have some sweet memories from his childhood.” Ok, so they were a bit gender specific given it was meant to be a general statement, but we’ll forgive them this since they are translating from Russian to English.
And while the writer of this post points out that no double entendres are meant by this Russian equivalent of our Mother Goose rhymes, they ask if this newest modern addition of the book is “OK”? Gilding has one thing to say — can we say Loli?
The translation of the poem on this particular image as well as more images of this new Loli naughty edition of the children’s poem book, may be seen on English Russia.
Written from the perspective of the firs-person narrator, a cultivated man of middle-age, looking back as he tells his story of amour fou for the daughter of the house which he takes lodging in while traveling abroad. The moment he sees her, he is lost. She is pre-teen. Her charms instantly enslave him, and heedless of her age, he becomes intimate with her. In the end, she dies. The narrator — marked by her forever — remains the rest of his days alone. The name of the girl becomes the title of his story: Lolita
But wait. We are not speaking of Vladimir Nabokov. The author of this Lolita is Heinz von Eschwege, under the pseudonym Heinz von Lichberg, written in 1916, some forty years before Nabokov’s celebrated novel.
Von Lichberg went on to become a prominent journalist in the Nazi era. Not a far stretch from his familial background, an ancient line of Hessian aristocrats who were more military than literary, his own father being a colonel in the infantry. His youthful works of poetry, and of Lolita, faded from view.
Nabokov ostensibly grappled with, what would have been a historic folly, destroying the work that became his Lolita while in gestation.
“Once or twice I was on the point of burning the unfinished draft and had carried my Juanita Dark as far as the shadow of the leaning incinerator on the innocent lawn, when I was stopped by the thought that the ghost of the destroyed book would haunt my files for the rest of my life.”
Juanita Dark was the name Nabokov had then given his young herione. But had it not been for Vera restraining her husband from destroying the manuscript, Nabokov “would have died a professor of literature and a ‘writer’s writer,’” as Michael Maar puts it.
“Google would not spit out millions of entries under a single term. Lolita, Texas, would not have considered applying to change its name. Lolita would not have risen from name to concept. The literature of twentieth century would have lost one of its most audacious works. And yet, there would have been a printed Lolita in the world.
Maar speculates that Nabokov may have had cryptoamnesia, a hidden, unacknowledged memory of von Lichberg’s tale. Or had Nabokov adopted the story of Lolita consciously, Maar drawing on such key facts as Nabokov having lived in the same section of Berlin as von Lichberg until 1937. Maar makes point: “As Van Veer remarks in Ada, there is no logical law that would tell us when a given number of coincidences ceases to be accidental. In its absence, it is not easy to answer — but, of course, even more difficult to dismiss — the unavoidable question: can Vladimir Nabokov, the author…of the proud black swan of modern fiction, have known of the ugly duckling that was its precursor? Could he have been affected by it?”
Still, Maar takes the side that accusations plagiarism should not apply, stating: “Literature has always been a huge crucible in which familiar themes are continually recast… Nothing of what we admire in Lolita is already to be found in the tale; the former is in no way deducible from the latter.”