ISSUES

thanks for the blog traffic the other day someone.

it’s nice to know that someone is here.

may not be more than that

but still. it’s nice

long and last summer weekend coming up.

i’ve been taking 4 day weekends most of the summer

pretending that it’s fun somehow.

escapism at its best

september launches sequential birthdays

birthdays of the most important people in my life

mine included.

the big six o

is that a big birthday?

ugh.

send presents.

pandemic times put some of my health issues on pause

some really have to be attended to

this fills up my time/because it’s stupid

hoopy loopy insurance game playing stupid

and, because my bandwidth for all of it emotionally is pretty low

i am having panic attacks.

well not attacks. i had one.

but still.

health issues

took two images of myself in august.

one is too revealing of my face

but i actually like it.

this one is the most recent.

i like this one too

i don’t know how much i will be around the upcoming weeks.

focus is going internal.

well being centric focus.

send presents.


Kind And True

there is traffic here.

at the blog

that’s nice.

thank you.

over at flickr.

gawkers, and collectors

and rif raf prevail.

a few are

“people”

kind and true.

i appreciate you too.

the people.

it’s been said that i use to be

different.

yes, i took more risks, i was more playful, i was expressed in a different way.

but that’s not because of me.

the really good images i’ve taken??

those come from

attention from all of you.

in the heat of things anonymously nude

where there was dating, and trysts, and newness

many many more of you were way way way more attentive.

i am not complaining.

truth be, today.

not sure if i could be as responsive as I was then.

i became broken if you recall

jilted,

and triggered.

it doesn’t mean that i am not still in here

somewhere.

it just means a certain patient understanding kind and true

person would have to be at the core of the attention i need and deserve..

i was finding self love way before it was trendy

but really?

self love is a crock of mainstream bullshit

love yourself??

be accepting?

nah.

how about allowing others to contribute

how about connection

compliments,

and attention.

be nice to your neighbor for goodness sake.

am i not the gal next door??

that’s what everyone use to say

don’t forget

some chocolate cake.

( had to throw that in there. i am off any and all food that is fun and i am dying )

images below all were spired by the personal attention of someone. a man.

the gift of their attention had me feel pretty, wanting to please and playful

plus i was way hairier.

sigh

 

Goddess

I’ve been wondering about GODDESS.

not woo woo goddess

not mystical goddess

or religious goddess.

at least literally.

i mean figuratively.

i mean the adored goddess

the old, fat, wise one.

and HER shape.

bear with me. pondering post ahead.

A goddess is a female deity. Goddesses have been linked with virtues such as beauty, love, sexuality, motherhood and fertility. They have also been associated with ideas such as war, creation, and death. In some faiths, a sacred female figure holds a central place in religious prayer and worship. ( wikipedia )

when you and i met

12 years ago.

TWELVE YEARS AGO!

i had just lost a bit of weight.

i can’t remember if i ever divulged how much weight i lost

when i began photographing  myself here at anonymously nude

i had just lost 100 pounds.

yay me!!

i irst posted to show courage, and to understand what another sees.

the camera and my minds eye told two different stories

i found self love before self love was a hashtag

i LIKED what i was then.

in 2015, eight years later, a surge of unexplained weight gain occurred.

enough gain to scare me.

35 lbs in 30 days.

i blew up.

it felt like i blew up

the gain was like get to the dr scare me.

“you must be menopausal ” the endocrinologist said.

SIGH

fast forward to now. 2020

all that weight. all those ONE HUNDRED POUNDS

is back.

UGH. it didn’t happen over night, the 2015 surge started it all …

recent dr work confirms – I don’t have cancer, or a brain tumor

YAY.

but two years into figuring IT out

i can’t lose weight.

i’ve lost my knees, and my feet hurt

and my thighs are thick.

and my self love is

HARD.

really hard to find the love

reasons why, like health reasons are still being explored.

BACK to goddess.

I began wondering about community

because to have that level of adoration one has to earn it.

bear with me.

i was back in town – the town i grew up in

on a break from school,

this guy from my grade school life

pumped my gas.

we talked for a really really long time

and he was a such delight.

like a guy i just wanted to hug.

and seeing him again and the feeling of our great conversation lingered

my growing up was detached from the community i lived in

he alone in those moments,  made me feel like i belonged somehow.

and then he died. death by choking on his vomit death.

horrified. mortified. not even equipped to …

i didn’t have the f-ing guts to attend the funeral.

because if i did that would have meant that i was part of the community somehow.

i’ve never spoken about this.

i have been thinking about how i was raised.

my one sibling and i agree

we were not parented.

we made it up as we went along.

literally.

who influenced me???

definitely the mothers of my friends, the librarians – is that weird? i loved those ladies. I felt so welcome and loved at the library, the nuns? uh no? ( actually … i’d have to think hard about that one. what characters those nuns were. perhaps there is more influence than i give credit . different conversation) 

MY POINT is in order to establish SELF AS GODDESS

one has to have a community who adores THEE.

perhaps that’s why i am here on the interweb.

is this why i’ve kept myself here?

This gets me to the history of where you didn’t belong

the million moves

the hyper focus of survival

the mortification of things failed

the make it up as you go along.

the WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU in the matter of.

ALL of this wondering was spired by a recent set of photos that

i see goddess in

SOMEHOW.

SHE is in there.

Finally,

why does said goddess have to be manifested in a physical form.

could my art, my thoughts and actions, could my knowledge be enough value?

somehow NOT rising to said goddess status feels way more authentic.

way more me.

way more earthly.

i mean, really who do i think i am anyway??

perhaps somewhere in the history of this blog there was that level of goddess adoration.

so much so, i felt assured and confident in that attention and in that following.

things change.

its so quiet here.

I drafted this post in early july.

one might think it’s yesterdays news but it is not

the goddess theme is finding me

in odd, mysterious and wonderful ways.

so far,  it has nothing to do with a nude alter ego

imagine that.

below, and behold

fat and wise

me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tippee Toes

I met him when i was 17. he and i were not dating then, but by the time we married and had our first child we had been together/known each other for 9 years. the years before children he still liked me. for some reason today i was thinking about how much that meant to me, that he was into me. our apartment was a 5th floor walk up. i would hear the car door slam, i’d hear him climbing each flight of stairs, i’d unlock and open the door and I would wait for him. he would cross the threshold into my arms. and he’d kiss me, breathless from the stair climbing he’d still kiss me. i’d stand on my tippie toes, my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He’d push me into the hallway wall. He would pause from the kissing and say “Hi” I’d say “Hi” in return. We’d kiss some more. It was this very sweet moment that happened each night during the work week and i treasured it. I remember telling him. I love that you come home to me. I love that are happy to see me. That you kiss me and let me kiss you in return. I love that. He told me he got a kick out of how breathless i became, and that my standing on my tippee toes was endearing. He said he loved the smell of my hair.

but then a baby was born. he came home to the child, and he came home to the expectation of dinner on the table waiting for him. vs how we use to make dinner together. to this day i don’t get why that changed. or how. it was unspoken. serve me dinner. seriously? i wanted to be a good wife and a good new mom and honor the affection he had for his child but the shift of losing all of his affection left me with such a feeling of emptiness. we didn’t kiss anymore.

the relationship devolved. he’d say things like. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody he said. one time when he lost a job, he said he wanted to go home. he wanted to go home to his mom and dad. the home we had built wasn’t enough. he said i wasn’t enough. i could author a book about how sexless the marriage became.

Years after it was over.  I asked him what he thought of me. I took in his words of praise silently. He was very generous with what he said. I thought to myself. I NEVER knew in all those years that he thought those things about me. I never knew. He never really treated me in praise and adoration. Why? His response made me feel awful, even though what he said was amazing. I felt like a fool. How did I miss this?

One time I gained a lot of weight. I remember feeling ugly. Self loathing actually. My gain was parallel to pain that had become chronic. There were days I was fetal I hurt so much.  My lover at the time paid the same attention to me heavier or not or so i thought – he’d get me to a place of arousal and I didn’t care that I had a belly or thicker thighs. He made love to me and that was all that mattered. That meant something to me. The acceptance.  Years later, he said. I was not attracted to you. I just faked it and went through the motions. Hurtful. so so hurtful. When that relationship began to fall apart I could tell he wasn’t into me. Automatic sex. Later i found out there was other women so of course he was distracted, and into to the chase of all of that. In hind sight. I wish he just stopped going through the motions. It would have been more honest and made more sense.

The last sex I had was sympathy sex. he too had issues with what was at that time a very strange and rapid weight gain, and while he never mentioned this in the beginning he could not stand the hair on my legs or under my arms. I found out during the summer when i was going to wear a dress and he said do you have any pants you could wear instead? I embarrassed him. this horrified me. why was i even here?

If any of these men had stuck with me. what would they think of me now? A menopausal freak of a human. All three of these men were impossible to have emotional conversations with. 31 years. If we add the silent treatment from my upbringing. perhaps the cards are stacked against me. that’s like 48 years.

once i asked someone to be extra patient and nice to me during times of PMS. It took me a while but i figured out the pattern. my symptoms for 5 days were raging. we didn’t have the internet back then, so i felt rather proud of myself.When I made this request I got looked at like i had two heads, and he felt insulted thinking i felt he was never nice to me. that was not what i said. he offered no inquiry, no compassion or empathy. no behavior shift. he didn’t care how i was feeling, and said so.

along the way fans tell me their stories. boy, the things i could share. the things they have said to me. and being the sortof person i am. curious, inquisitive, wondering and such, i’d ask questions. so, they would tell me more. i know stuff. so much stuff.

the reciprocity however was not always there. the inquiry about me, or the curiousness of my story and such. not so much. perhaps because i tell so many stories there is a feeling somehow if knowing.

the thing is ….i don’t get to be a part of that.

it’s remarkable to be asked.

what a fan reads, decides and or includes themselves in.

it’s all between them and their mind.

i – the person. am not part of the equation.

recent years of combined trauma, and now social isolation

has exaggerated my alone-ness.

the truth is, and i have said this before

i am good at this.

i am asking myself the why the questions differently

like where did these ideas i have about people come from.

the stories i tell myself about men, friends, love, community.

they aren’t very positive.

i keep telling myself it’s them

it’s not me.

because in the space of a circumstance, or another or another

it is them.

they left.

i did not.

i believed and trusted.

not sure what they thought

they left.

poof.

this is a pattern.

my wanting, wishing, dreaming, wondering, fantasizing about it …IT. ever being different is almost a waste of emotional energy.

unless you are a person of hope.

which i am.

i believe in the good of another.

to a fault. i believe.

sucker.

How can i take on being responsible about what isn’t working??

or to create something that works.

do i …

date?

communicate?

masturbate?

the other day i was reading about the body shifts of menopausal women. this gal/author is beautiful. she spoke to the huge fear of becoming one of those/them.

she called menopausal breasts. sand bags. YUP

i thought. what a grand description.

wanna know what it’s like to be me???

just slap two of those babies around YOUR neck

see what it’s like to lug those around.

pointing south me here.

it’s not pretty when the nipple is nowhere to be found

it’s not pretty when all sense of breast form is gone

it’s not pretty when flesh to flesh sweats

it’s not pretty when you can fold the thing in half.

it’s not the same and never will be.

 

 

 

 

 

OFF

tomorrow is thursday.

a week ago, on thursday i thought it was wednesday

i then proceeded to think friday was thursday.

i was on the wrong day for two entire days

oblivious.

when i found out it was friday.

imagine how mortified i felt.

imagine the befuddlement

for the life of me i can’t figure out how i did it.

HOW on earth???

and noone said anything.

if you recall i’ve done this one other time before

and felt equally puzzled by it.

WTF.

i can only blame pandemic times.

my good news of the week is that i am in a virtual group show in chicago.

it opens june 5th.

it’s my first opening since early march.

that steam punk show got lost in the pandemic shuffle.

the theme for this one is “touch”

i had done this piece about masturbation

i felt it was a good fit for the art call.

while the show was juried, one piece was gauranteed an in

i only sent in the one.

the 8.5 x 11 mixed media piece includes an image i took a good 10 years ago.

i then made it into a crazy quilt style panel. using magazines, stitching and ribbon. The edges are bound like a quilt. the collage has a baroque feel I think.

with regard to this image at that time i wondered what masturbation might “look like” this was a take on it that i loved. using a timer.

i am very proud of this. its a unique one of a kind piece.

i’ve made others.

let me know if you feel curious to see them.

It’s NOT awful

what if i said that living in times of pandemic isn’t awful

would that be a GASP of a comment?

what if all the alone that i know and that you endure with me

is in her element.

there i said it. i am actually content.

i may have to stay inside

as all of us have been called on to do

i do that anyway.

i have lived this isolated way for a long while now.

i know this life

I might be poor

i might be alone

but I HAVE
SO MUCH. 

there is content.

and there is gratitude.

2 years ago my building was painted. it went from this hideous red sortof color to a lovely bright white

i started calling it my ivory tower.

if my beard gets any longer

we could add the element of rapunzel to the mix

( ok that just seriously made me laugh )

and yes, i amuse me myself and i often.

a recent tarot card pull

found a woman holding a cat

wearing a very very tall dress

filled with hearts.

i saw myself in this card.

the cat lady in her tower.

the card made my laugh actually

it was so revealing

the card was about contentment.

it affirmed OK-ness.

such a simple thing

what sucks the life out of contentment

or being you in the matter

is comparing.

so and so does this.

so and so looks this way

so and so is in love.

If you let it

comparing messes with contentment

it calls out

on the MORE

BETTER

NOT good enough.

It messes with you.

I feel that.

i know those thoughts.

who cares what someone else is doing?

This does not include those I know that are so so very sick right now.

That part just envelopes me with an indescribable helplessness

I don’t know how to help.

and when we add that it’s wordly.

well, that’s a larger empathic swell.

it’s so so much bigger than me

The biggest lesson right now for me

is

I am OK.

I am good.

I am alone

and i am lonely

yet. that’s me.

right??

it’s what is so.

all said,

that does not mean i am FINE.

Fine is so. ORDINARY

Fine says nothing about how one is.

I am definitely not ordinary

( taken recently. i love them)

 

 

Do I Ever Wonder?

do you ever wonder how many cocks have been smacked around to your blog photos?”

hmmmmmmm what a question.

am I here on purpose to provide visuals for men to masturbate to?

I AM NOT

What started one way naively became something else.

Happy accident I guess.

if you are a cock smacker when here, then lucky you.

I get that there is over a decade of anonymously nude images that perhaps imply something of a sexual nature.

i am not by any means a heavily trafficked feed at Flickr. I do find some of my stats interesting though

my feed has had 18 MILLLION views

my most popular post has had

71, 549 views

238 likes

and 104 comments.

is that good?

does that  mean there is lots of cock smacking on flickr??

i have a 52 page word document of praise 52 pages!!! and some of that praise includes declarations of cock smacking.

perhaps all of that is flattering somehow.

i ask this…

what do i do with that all that oooh baby sex talk, the often vulgar adoration, those super gross tributes and dick pictures?

because none of that does a thing for me. sexually anyway.

what do other almost 60 year old women that you know do?

I am not complaining

i am not explaining

i guess i am simply commenting on the question asked

( taken in 2010 i believe – they are a tad dark. pre-lightroom. couch surfing dream couch, so folks said. i have been thinking about and missing a couch. ) 

 

 

The Woman With Hair

scored a small stack of used SUN magazines at the library yesterday. i love that magazine, i tear it apart for collage, and enjoy the writing. I’ve submitted my own writing a few times, and a few times a year i submit black and white images, no luck so far. at least i try.

while pulling the magazines apart last night i was drawn to it’s nude scape, with it was the title. “the woman with hair” 

One particular line made me smile. 

“Her hair was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It straddled time zones; it lived and breathed, making deep exhalations down to her toes.”

I have to marvel that issues dated back to 2005 or further are now all available online.

a discussion had at the same library talked about the days before we had the web.

to think that there are generations now of folks who don’t know before.

This  last week I heard from fans that had intrigue with my opening in Chicago this evening. ( thank you ) and NO I will not be at the opening.

they start by saying,” I’ve followed your work for a long time” 

I feel two things when I read this.

I never knew.

and,

thank you.

I guess I get the silent fandom thing

i admire and am a fan of many a person.

it’s just in the realm of lonely.

it’s nice to actually know you are here.

speaking of scapes.

i really don’t have that many in my portfolio.

i am partial to the over exposed one. mod and lunar somehow

 

 

Once Upon A Time There Was A Story

my art is narrative.

my photography and art making are story telling.

i am a gifted visual artist

I have a way with words

so i am told.

to tell the story that is now. i find myself tongue tied.

like perhaps the tale is not particularly pretty or sexy or erotic, or that there isn’t much of a story to tell, or that i am a downer.

thats a lot of “or”

i know i am downer, who am i fooling

i still get private messages that are kind, or playful, or a gift, or someone will encourages me, or my blog gets high traffic like today. ( woot )

i could think that happens because I am loved.

and that’s pretty wonderful.

the reality is most who come here have lives and commitments that do not include me.

vested interests are elsewhere.

i am pretty sure many who come here are simply looking to whack off.

but hey, if you are seeking something other than that.

i might want to know.

which gets me to the point of this post.

what makes the image posted below a delicious visual story?

this is a very beautiful, very “me” capture.

this image is what makes this blog. what made this blog?

( image by K Smith for anonymously nude )

this was taken on a crisp sunny bright winter late afternoon. near valentines day.  2011.  My hair is almost all silver now. geeesh. i had just completed an email exchange with a consistent and attentive male. after the email i felt aroused. not all fans arouse me. i have to feel a trust somehow. i have to be attracted to that person. chemistry plays a role. even in a virtual way

consistent because he was there, day in day out. attentive in that he paid attention to the details. he remembered the little things. he paid attention to the me in the equation. he knew what to say.

i took this image because i felt i had a valentine. it was fantasy, but in that moment. I was his and He was mine.

this man was married, a father, an employee at a corporate job, yet he found a way to have time for me, to validate me. the word validate is the difference between the very hot sexy excited me then, and the broken me now.

one can not look this way ( or like this image ) alone. this image is the product of two.

i don’t subscribe to the you don’t need someone else to validate you …just validate yourself!!

bullshit.

i am better when i have someone paying attention to me.

an erotic capture like the above?

takes two.

now, as the story goes

i no longer held the sexual attention of this man,

he was there for the arousal

he had needs that i was not willing to provide.

i could never really have him. loyal that he was to his marriage.

we both felt frustrated.

i was there for the kindness. i was there for the attention.

perhaps i didn’t mind the bit of self touch

on the side.

there is of course way more to the story, and the volume of them from that time.

NINE years ago.

THIS narrative however is an OLD story.

i don’t look like this now.

self touch was brand new then.

now, masturbation is pretty down and dirty.

i self love to get a desperate release.

it’s not particularly fun anymore

the attention/validation person/s

is/are long gone now.

i am different now.

there is no two to the equation.

i am not willing to play that way now.

all of it is rather sad.

don’t ya think??

I’m sorry.

i will visually share the bright and shiny old me

so as to not disappoint you with the now me.

i say this not for self pity.

OK?

i am trying to find the words

that describe what’s different.

who i am now

is not who I was then.

i think the images do it better than I do.

not sure who i am right now.

that might be the truth right there.

( images by K Smith for anonymously nude )

P.S. Sold this heart photograph yesterday. Just in time for Valentines Day. May  yours be filled with love.

IMG_7430

 

 

 

ZERO

a year ago. i brought my cat home from the humane society.

she’s an interesting creature and we’ve come a long way together.

i can’t remember life without her. I took over 600 images of her in 2019.

folks here don’t seem to care much about her.

which is fine.

crazy cat lady is probably not very alluring.

in the beginning, i described having her like looking in the mirror.

she was/is as skiddish as I.

she was supposed to be pet therapy.

instead we had to figure out how to get along.

a lesson one can definitely learn from.

2019 was a high anxiety year for me.

i was looking at images from a year ago and we had a bright sunny january.

not this year. way way more wintery. bleak. dim, as a good friend of mine says.

i don’t mind the dim. i am lucky that way. i love being at home.

at this time of year my envelopes are almost all empty.

ZERO.

this makes me anxious.

there are many ways to manage a financial  life.

i function penny to penny.

month to month.

when there is something extra.

like from the sale of art.

or a gift.

my policy. or the way i manage is

that cash goes into envelopes.

my larger bills all land around this time of year.

the vet visit, the car tag, an oil change, the dentist, the fees for my websites, holiday mailing, cat supplies etc…

THIS year, for the first time in quite awhile the envelopes were full. fat. and ready

I now have to rebuild them again for next year

but for the sake of personal satisfaction

and pride.

firstly…I DID IT.

and secondly.

i can do it again.

a good feeling.

My art opening in Chicago is tonight. Perhaps I will sell that photograph???

THANK YOU to those of you who send me something from time to time.