I am not usually a fan of self-congratulation. I don't like it in others, I don't like it in myself. I do understand however, that except in cases of those suffering from actual narcissism, it usually stems from a need to be acknowledged. Many, have a need to be seen, those who run websites and blogs are looking to be heard. With FH, this need was not apparent to me when I first began the blog. My initial intent was to use the blog as sort of a storage space for images that inspired and moved me in some way. If there are any of you who came upon FH in it's early days it was mostly a picture posting blog, light on words, heavy on shots of the penis.
Now in it's fifth year, FH has grown slowly and surely into a place I am really happy with. My page views are higher than ever, reaching numbers I never would have imagined. Artists I respect willingly share their work with myself and the site, and most importantly story is front and center. Posting pictures is no longer enough for me. Yes, some photos don't require a lot of text, most can, really should, stand on their own. But...that is not enough for me. If it were I would simply start a tumblr page and right click, save and upload until carpal tunnel set in. I am a writer, and mixing of image with text is what I have come to believe is why many enjoy stopping by here on a regular basis.
I am not trying...well, maybe just a little, to criticize blogs and sites that simply share the work of others. For me however, that would not quench my thirst to express myself creatively. It also, would not quench my need to be heard.
My best posts are when I find a connection to the work, especially when that connection stems from my childhood or youth. It is a personal belief of mine, one I have written about several times before on the blog, that most of what we do above the age of 25 is somehow horribly and beautifully connected to something we did or experienced before the age of 25. Sometimes it is the safety and security of a loving family that guides us through adulthood. Sometimes it is pain and trauma that casts a dark shadow over the decades that follow.
I can count on one hand the amount of features on FH that have been directly about my life. Usually I sprinkle in something here and there revealing bits and pieces that those who read on a regular basis can easily put together.
Last week, one of my favorite days of posting on FH was my circus themed day. I was really pleased with the results of the theme (insert self-congratulations here) and loved each of the features and each of the images. Mostly though, I loved how the photos and stories so connected to both memories and fantasies I experienced as a kid.
I am not sure there is any greater nexus, both connecting and also separating adulthood and childhood than clowns. There are just certain things; clowns, balloons, shiny red bicycles, yoyo's and fireworks that force you, whether you want to or not, to regress to a younger you. I wrote in my first post featuring Richard Rothstein' clown images that when I was first started putting it together, my coulrophobia resurfaced as strongly as it did when I was 12. Then...as it usually does when you face a fear, in spending time with Richard's images, the negative feelings subsided and before I knew it I was asking to see more and looking forward to featuring more of the shots on the blog.
I think the key to switching how you feel about something is to view it in a new or different light. Richards's shots brought about my first positive experiences with a clown. I think the main reason is because Richard did not shoot a clown, Richard shot a man. Richard shoots all of his subjects with such a sense of play that the nexus I described, the adult weaved with the freedom and lightness of being a child, is so vividly present in so much of his work. Finding your inner child is not always easy, but as difficult as it may be, it is usually ultimately rewarding. Richard bridges these two worlds so beautifully within his work and is one of the main reasons I am so drawn to it.
The man I have consistently referred to as 'the clown' does actually have a name. Ilan Ben-Yehuda brings such whimsy, warmth and play within his work and he is miles away from the clowns my brain had embedded from the days I was 12. There is also a sense of safety expressed, even behind the nose and the make-up, Ilan gently engages. Ilan's magic stems from not pushing for laughs but instead simply seeking something most of us crave to share, a smile.
Ilan Ben-Yehuda studied at the Lowis Cowles Harrison Centre for the Performing Arts in central Florida, and later at Florida State University. Realizing the tenuous nature of a career in the arts, he went to Core Institute of Massage Therapy for a vocation. After working in Los Angeles, Atlanta, and Tallahassee, he attended the Dell'Arte International School of Physical Theatre, where he first played in clown. His musical education began at an age too early to remember, or so his mother tells him. He has created theatre and played music in San Francisco; Los Angeles; Baltimore; Tallahassee; Central Florida; Northern California; Edinburgh, Scotland; Berlin, Germany; Falerum, Sweden; and Copenhagen, Denmark. He has also worked in small, independent film and video production. His training and work as an educator has covered a range of subjects, including, but not limited to, Basic Judaism, Holocaust, Theatre, Mask, Massage, and Creative Writing.
ilan the red
'Ilan doesn't pose for the camera. He plays a role and tells a story along the way which makes for a very creative and always interesting shoot. And even when his clown nature is expressed by nothing but a red nose, people smile and interact in ways that bring out the story and character even more. We've been out doing nudes (but with the red nose) late at night and on the streets and have been approached or passed by different kinds of people and they always smile. It's a gift he has in body language.'
Richard Rothstein
See and learn more about Ilan and his work on ilan the red.
See more of Richard's work with Ilan on Manhattan Men
Ilan
