Oft-wondered the power that old grainy film photos possess. The inherent old world charm is irrefutable but there definitely is a lot more to be said about grainy old photos. As creative people, we are never really completely satiated with the work that we produce and as a result of that hunger to go a step further than just the obvious 'ol fashion posts, we decided to shoot and delve into ourselves to see if we could create photos that would serve as a time machine. Following is a series of photos from a photo essay project with the cool kids at The Open Art Project where we tried to replicate the feels of grainy vintage photographs with a styling that is part boudoir and part artistically pleasing. I wanted to challenge myself to write tales of love, passion and sordid dark humour in two-three lines to accompany the mood of each photograph and that is exactly what I have done.
It had happened. The only thing she had ever dreaded with all her might had finally happened. Surprisingly, she didn't mind the separation as much as the loneliness it brought with it.
A bare patch of skin like the even sand just before the waves come crashing over it. I didn't need to touch it to know it. It felt like an artist's canvas, complete with its colours and imperfections.
"Hi, would you mind moving? This seat's mine", I said shoving my ticket hastily in his face. I saw his gaze linger all over me before he could say a word. I had never felt so exposed.
Those lines, she remarked to her lover, were lines of good fortune. It is good fortune indeed, she replied before they completed each other like the yin and yang.
A sliver of the golden sun escaped the tightly wound up curtains around the room and found its way on her face rousing her from the depths of her sleep.
That was his favourite colour on her.
Being a mother of two didn't stop her from missing her old life. Sure she was completed in a way only motherhood could complete women but on some days, when she was all alone she put on her ripped stockings and made herself a stiff drink just to remember her party girl days.
Past life regression feels like the only truth of my life. One moment I am here, tracing the curves on his form and the other I am gone. It feels like more than just a knotty tale.
It isn't always that I give myself to something. That one time I did, I found every ounce of passion that I possessed and let it absorb me.
Unfortunately, sometimes the passion does consume all.
Boy bands sing it, self help books write about it, mothers advise you about it, but that never made letting go any easier. The day I could smile to myself about having recovered from the damage is the day I took a leap forward.
Why are all protagonists pretty with black hair, fair skin and pink lips? I am neither of those things and yet I continue to spearhead a revolution of my own with a happy ending, just as I like.
Photography, editing: Saumya and Shiva of The Open Art Project
Modelling and words: Yours truly.