WHITEPLACE_1. PART 2Yesterday we began exploring the work of
Whiteplace_1 (白寺), a mysterious independent Chinese photographer who uses the body, fetishism and BDSM aesthetics as tools to construct his distinctive visual fantasies.
In his photographs, the model rarely appears as someone simply posing naked in front of the camera. Every gesture, pose and accessory seems to form part of a carefully staged performance.
The body becomes character, setting and language all at once.
The tension of the ropes, the anonymity of a mask and the apparent discomfort of certain positions aren’t there merely to provoke. They also create contrast, introduce an element of mystery and encourage the viewer to imagine what might be happening both inside and beyond the frame.
It is precisely this interplay between beauty, vulnerability and domination that gives his work its identity. His photography can feel sensual, unsettling or hypnotic, depending on how long you decide to keep looking.
We continue with the second installment of Whiteplace_1.
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- Expecto Patronum!
AUGUST IS SLIPPING AWAYAugust officially ends on Monday, but we’ve decided to say goodbye to it today, the way it deserves, because the end of August should always be marked with
a minute of silence, a cold beer and a distant stare into the horizon.
August isn’t just a month. August is a way of looking at life. It’s the month we automatically associate with holidays, even if it’s been years since we had the kind of summer break we remember from childhood. It means waking up without an alarm, having no idea what day it is, eating at ridiculous hours and discovering that a shower, a pair of flip-flops and a clean T-shirt can be considered perfectly acceptable formalwear.
For a few weeks, even people without a penny to their name get to feel rich. Not because their bank balance suddenly has more zeros, but because they have something far more valuable:
time in which nobody is telling them what to do.
You can be sitting on your balcony in a plastic chair, drinking a can of beer while listening to your neighbor argue with his wife, and still feel as though life is smiling at you. Because you don’t have to work tomorrow. Because you don’t need to set the alarm. Because for a few hours, the world can keep spinning without you having to take part in it.
But everything comes to an end. The suitcases go back into the closet, the flip-flops return to the bottom of the shoe rack and the alarm clock reappears on the bedside table with the same asshole attitude it has always had. September arrives loaded with schedules, unanswered emails, school runs, traffic and people claiming that this time they really are going to start taking the gym seriously.
Most people will already have to start looking ahead to
August 2027 to fantasize about that brief period of the year when we can pretend we’re actually in control of our own lives. There are twelve months to go, but there’s no point thinking about it too much. We just have to keep surviving one week at a time, one public holiday at a time and one beer at a time.
Today, we raise a glass to August. To those who traveled to the other side of the world and those who never left their neighborhood. To those who slept in five-star hotels and those who set up an inflatable pool on the terrace. Because holidays aren’t always about going somewhere far away. Sometimes they’re simply about
nobody being able to force you to be anywhere else.
Until next year, August. You didn’t last long, you cost us far too much and, as always, you disappeared just as we were starting to get used to being alive.
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