The Ballerinas

 Jesse Gerstein Photography

Photographing the Ballet & Ballerinas has easily become one of my favorite things to shoot. Hahaha... You flatter me with your messages! While I didn't shoot this image, I have been working on a performance series and so far the ballet has been really fun. You can see a thousand different photo's of ballerina's but not one will be the same. You can imitate something but you can never truly duplicate the moment or impulse of the person behind it. Here's another from SMOKE from the perspective of one of the lovers... Have you figured out all the characters? It comes out on Amazon this week!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

The Ballerinas

Three ballet dancers stand before me.

One step two step

Three

I reset the shutter and look through the lens.

I need less than a handful of moments.

Between heads and tails there’ll be no more

I’ve lost the fight.

Fighting with an editor

Teaches you nothing about photography.

He tells me I’m a beautiful dame and not bother with photos at all.

I nod when he talks and shake my head when I leave.

All I’ll need is three.

Three minutes pass as they pose.

Carefully with care and grace.

My camera is the loudest sound.

Until a. strike of the match

fills the space behind me with smoke.

Enters my lungs.
Shutter releases.

I spin around as the ballerinas continue their dance.

Dancing in my mind when I’m in the darkroom.

Finn tells me to keep after it.

I smile when he looks at my negatives upside down.

I know he prefers that I’m happy.

I’m happiest with the photos and him.

The ballerinas rise and fall with the movements of swan-like perfection.

I bum a smoke from the stranger and let the moment exist.

One breathe, two breathes,

Three.

He is an older dancer with a click in his hip.

Watching the three ballerinas,

He says that life is like a dance.

Rises and falls,

Graceful while clumsy.

Takes strength to follow through.

Following through with the negatives,

Finn tells me “it’s a shame they only wanted three.”

It’s his way of encouraging me

All I want to do is encourage him.

Enjoy a moment with him smoking in his chair.

Watching the smoke escape his mouth,

Run around his head.

Leading me to his kiss.

Three kisses.
Airy and light.

Three ballerinas lips find their places on each other’s cheeks. 

Celebrating the moment.

One, Two… Three.

Vertical

The first time you see something isn't always the way you think or where you think... Perhaps you've seen it before for the first time elsewhere. Vertical Film Strips are kind of unique, not uncommon and absolutely stunning installed. Yes! They're pretty neat to look at and some people love to decorate their homes with prints of them! I can think of a few design clients homes I've helped acquire filmstill prints for in the past. They are beautiful! It's very exciting to see them! Here's another piece from SMOKE! Comes out next week... 

Have you ever seen vertical film print strips? Do you remember where first? 

Vertical

The first time I saw her she was vertical

Head tilted back laughing while smoking a cigarette.

The lines in her mouth turned into a smile when she looked my way.

It wasn’t the first time we’d laid eyes on each other

But it was the first time I noticed how much I loved her laugh

And the imprint of her stayed with me.

Tonight, again I’m vertical.

Looking at her

As the crowd parts,

I can’t help but smile.

I’m not sure why she’s looking at a guy like me.

I don’t want her to stop.

But she does.

Turning her head.

I know what she wants.

She wants me to come to her.

So I do.

Walk over.
Find my place by her.

I try to talk to her.

Interrupt what’s she’s saying.

I think I’m always interrupting her.

She always tells me I’m not.

Blowing a puff of smoke at me

There’s a hint of nostalgia in her playfulness.

The first time she was smoking a French cigarette

Toying with it in her mouth.

Up down and around.

Making me laugh.

Asking me how I’m doing.

I just talked.

I’m sure it was fine, because she laughed and asked more.

Tonight she’s just reaching out at my arm.

A puff of smoke as she grabs at my hands.

Pulling me down.

Looking into my eyes.

Hinting for a kiss.

I don’t ever want her to stop looking so I concede a kiss.

It’s not enough and she looks away.

Every time she does my heart pulls back and into my chest.

The pressure is unbearable.

The thought of losing that look entices me to sit.

But I don’t.

I tease her with the thought of leaving.

My hands move to untangle from her grip.

She releases smoke at me without a smile.

I know this game is for keeps.

Playing to win.

If win, I get her hand.

She wins and gets mine.

Bend to her will or let go.

Finally removing her fingers from mine

Results in the pout of her lip.

A small reminder that she’s not happy with my actions,

But will proceed.

And proceed she does

With a stroke of my leg.

My hips lean forward.

A physiological impulse that reminds me

To get control.

Unprepared for the reaction of my own body

I edge back until she’s reaching for me and…

Vertical.

Emotional

Not all kisses are intended to elicit emotional or magical responses... But all kisses do exchange energy that affects your aura and that is magic!

Here's another 400 from SMOKE!

Are you super excited to read it?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Emotional

I'm so very emotionally interwoven.

Mentally craving the unknown.

Wanting the connection of his kiss.

Magical, the energy of him dances in front of me.

Teasing me with a look. 

A smile.

Close enough to taste the smoke but he stops.

Running his fingers between my fingers.

Innocently whispering in my ear.

I can't stop looking in those eyes.

Electric.

I'm in heaven when he stares.

Comforted by them and longing for more.

It's too far when he's standing front of me.

But he's enjoying the wait.

Testing my patience that hangs by a breath.

A breathe that takes in his emotions.

Closer until that magical kiss misses

And doesn't connect.

He relishes in this game. 

Knowing that I do too.

We like to watch the other 

As we're circling inward.

Inward.

More intimate than ever we are face to face.

I'm touching him while the swallowing the smoke.

In his space, moving toward his face.

Climbing up his neck with my free fingers.

Trying to harness this connection.

Hold it steady.

Keep it safe. 

My hands harness him completely. 

But I want more.

Waiting. 

Letting him move in.

On the brink of ecstatic 

When he slides his arm around my back.

Pulling me closer.

Giving me another taste of his breathe.

Smoke. 

Smoke that leads the way of intention.

A promise of a kiss. 

Magical energy ready to be shared.

Vibrating beneath the skin my blood pumps fiercely, 

Fastly with passion.

The passion in electricity shocks.

And those shocking eyes send volts up my spine.

I signal for no words.

I could read his mind through his actions.

Breathe, touch and taste

Are showing me more than words.

Words are meaningless. 

Useless vowels can't compete with his hand caressing my face.

Lips tracing the skin on my neck 

As the smoke climbs up and up around us.

But there's only intention.

Anticipation of more.

Tension mounting in my grip.

But I don't concede.

I lean in to pull him closer.

Up close and personal but oh so far. 

I don't know my own patience

When I slide my fingers out of his and around his back.

I pull him nearer to me. 

Taste the smoke and kiss his cheek.

My tease causes a turn. 

He pulls me back

Kissing me hard.

I feel the magic as his heart beats against mine fast.

Without a thought he's become...

Emotional. 

Don't Fall

Real friends catch you when you need them to... Some friends aren't real because they promise to catch you but then let you fall. And other real friends know when to let you go cause you're ready to soar and catch yourself. There's nothing wrong with being able catch yourself without anyone.

Hopefully you at least have one real friend who would catch you and let you go when you're ready. And hopefully you don't have a fake friend to hold you back or put you in a position to rely on real friends to catch you before you fall. 

Here's another from SMOKE!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Fall

Fall. 

They all fall down. 

Over and over again. 

The silly dames keep it up. 

Toss. Release. Catch.

I take a long drag off my death stick

While watching the acrobats drop and catch. 

It's a pack of Marilyn Monroe or Jane Mansfield impersonators.

These gals look more like quarterbacks in a skirt than Norma Jean 

“Sometimes they fall,” he says.

“Twice.” I tell him and offer him a smoke.

“Never touched the stuff” he waves me away. 

“Well I hear you got a favor to ask me...” I hint at my need for the job.

“Babe Bixby,” he starts, “she's been working afternoons as a spotter.  Now she's MIA.” 

Two men toss Jane and Marilyn again and the doll lets her hit the ground. 

Wide open arms look convincing on your real friend until they don't catch you.

“So what's my angle?” I puff a big cloud of smoke at him.

“Harlan, she's got a sister that's living in suburbia. Talk to her. Name's Angela Reynolds.”

“I got a sister up there. She wouldn't rat me out for nothing. What makes you so sure?” 

“I'm not. Just hoping you can get the bird to sing. Find out where Babe is.”

“What's the trouble, Mac?”

Dropped like a brick.

Marilyn just hit the pavement hard. 

This makes Jane a pretty lousy friend.

“Babe is a ringer for her sister. They're twins. Identical.”

“Mac,” I say slowly and I'm interrupted. 

I'm looking at Marilyn get off the ground & start fighting with Jane. While the two young men tossing them try to break things up I finish my question, “Mac, got a pretty picture?”

When he hands it over, I realize I'm looking for a dame that matches the two fighting across the way. 

One gal breaks away from the other only to...

Fall.

Provocateur

untitled. early 2000s.

To be provocative means to evoke through provocation... Well, there's nothing provocative about smoking or a ballerina smoking because it's already been seen and done. Yet there's some people that think it's a shock... what's shocking is that you can miss the most interesting opportunities that life has to offer by wasting time wishing you were somewhere or someone else or trying to make someone want what you have. Some people like myself... we enjoy what we have already and the thrill of what has yet to come. Why? You can't be jealous of what you don't want... Sorry I don't want yours or anyone's life! People need to learn to love themselves more so they won't need validation of their life from others. 

Here's one about a provocateur that includes a bit of validation and an interesting way to give & get it... It's another new one from SMOKE!

enjoy!

kisses, m. 

Provocateur

Provocateur

That’s what they call me.

A man on the story.

A bum on the beat.

Wasted no time making a career out of controversy.

I’m back writing my story, hiding out behind the scenes at the ballet

Bolshoi smolshoi.

There’s nothing like watching a woman starve herself and binge on smokes.

Smoking too much and offering herself to a bum like me.

But Greta owes me a blow off

And I know she enjoys the validation

Probably as much as the men do.

I can’t blame em

Greta puffs and you will blow your head

She shoots a hungry stare at the prize below my belt

So I wink and toss her my pack of smokes.

Her left eye nervously twitches as she empties my pack

“Those aren’t candy,” I tell the dame

But she’s already over me.

Looking at the back door.

Why didn’t you shut the door?

I think it but don’t say it.
Back seat Charlie is coming up behind the scenes quick, slamming the door.

Tossing his weight the full figured schlub throws me a new pack.

Greta looks lost at this oversized mass of man and slowly takes another drag.

He’s got the info on Angela’s old man.

Richard Reynolds.

Perfect name.

White picket fence.
And I’m wondering why Angie wants him gone.

Why he gets to call her Gina.

Flipping through the info I realize

There’s nothing that Charlie tells me about Dick that rings a bell of right.

I’m seriously working a story that’s growing colder by the minute.

And Greta’s cold stare and smokes aren’t helping it a bit.

When Charlie finishes his bit he looks at me and then Greta.

She shakes her head.

“Look dame, you promised a floor show for that favor last week.” I call her out.

She drops the cigarette and climbs up the mountain of man that’s Charlie.

Pressing him down to sit against the back of the stage she begins to work.

Wrapping her legs around his neck she twists around his face

She leans back and downward and works on his zipper.

Up and down she works quick.

Charlie’s deep into the folds of her tutu with a groan.

I don’t want to watch her do this here.

But it’s too late.
And everyone is getting what they came for.

Including me, Harlan Freeman.

A writer, a bum but mostly
I’m a provocateur.