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vixensofsorrow · 10 months ago

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Demolition Lovers - Ⅱ what we know starts to waste

DISCLAIMER: This fic is a long slowburn with multiple chapters, still being updated. also on AO3 my masterlist (all the chapters are linked there) PAIRING: young!Carol Denning/fem!reader OVERALL SUMMARY: An exploration of your and Carol's relationship through the years. CHAPTER SUMMARY: Family drama and showing Carol around the lesser known parts of the school. CHAPTER TAGS: fluff, friendship, complicated feelings, reader plays soccer, high school, developing relationship, family argument, exploration of family dynamics A/N: no clue how to add footnotes on tumblr so. 2 - Edson Arantes do Nascimento, considered one of the best soccer players of the XXth century next chapter will have more carol nd reader action so stay tuned

You were caught off guard. When the fuck did she get here? You swore you closed your eyes for 5 seconds. What were you even supposed to say to that? How did she walk up to you so casually? It was almost like all the time you were apart wasn’t actually real, and the last time you spoke was actually on the phone yesterday, complaining about how your teammate sucked at practice, wondering how she’s even allowed on the team, and Carol talking about whatever she was into now. You’d like to talk with her about that, to be honest. You’d like to tell her how much you missed her and how your life changed, and you’d want to hear about how hers changed, too.

After giving it some thought, though, you’d especially like to talk about how irrelevant she made you feel. You knew it wasn’t her fault that she had to move out, but it was her fault that she stopped calling you. It was almost like she just threw you away like you were a broken toy that got replaced by something more shiny and pretty.

What if she did care, though? “Maybe wait until she comes up to you… And then you’ll know that she also wants to talk or something…” You recalled Veronica’s words.

Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen? You have dwelled on this for too long already.

You dropped your duffle bag and pulled Carol into an underarm hug, brushing past the big glasses that almost hit you in the face. She clasped you so tightly, it was almost like you were one person now. It had changed from what you could remember; her arms were more defined now, which made the hug a little rougher but still comforting and pleasant. She also had a new scent: an unexpected mix of burned tobacco, fresh cherry laundry, and hints of artificial candy.

You could feel people staring at you as they passed by, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t think that you longed for this feeling so much, as you squeezed Carol even tighter in a primal-like manner, like she was about to go off on a long hunt. Your arms were tired, your faces red from being out of breath, and your bodies warm, which slowly wore off as you reluctantly let go of the hug from exhaustion. You were still speechless, only in awe of the moment being real.

“I missed you.” She broke the silence, looking you right in the eye.

“I did too, Carol, a lot. I’m just shocked, like, you just showed up here, out of nowhere an-” You cut your sentence short before you could say too much and possibly start an argument. This was the first time you had seen her in years, and yet your mind was pushing you into confronting her right now.

“That’s a story for another day. I’m gl-” A car’s honking interrupted Carol, and her sister was incomprehensibly shouting at her. “I’ll see you!” She ran towards the car, turning her head to wave at you, before cursing something at Barb. Before the car sped off, you managed to yell out, “Maybe I could show you around?”

“I’ll hold you to that!” She flashed her dimples, but as soon as her sister hit the gas pedal, Carol’s face turned into a blur, just like she looked in your memories.

That was a long, fucking day. You threw your bag on the floor of your bedroom and sat down at your desk in an attempt to get some homework done. You knew you were just lying to yourself and that you’d have to bullshit about it to your teachers too, which usually worked—one of the perks of being an athlete. You’d just have to say something like, “We have so much practice right now, with the State Championships and all.” and they would let it go, most of the time.

Still, you rummaged through the papers on your desk—an unfinished essay on The Great Depression, geometry exercises, and a stoichiometry assignment. You tossed it all to the side and checked the clock, which read 4:50 PM.

You’d typically be at practice by now, but coach had an odd change of heart and decided to cancel today, probably because of the pep rally. Kind of irresponsible on his part. I mean, you should be training hard to win in the States, right? If he didn’t care about it, though, why should you?

You got pulled out of your thoughts by your mother announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the kitchen, took a serving of your mom's cooking, and were ready to walk back to your room. Dana peeked out of the small dining room and stopped you in your tracks. “Folks said they wanted a family dinner tonight.” She tilted her head in their direction and sat back down as you were walking in.

You sighed and also took a seat, facing your mother. Family dinners were always either awkward and silent or unnecessarily loud—sometimes good, sometimes bad. You had a feeling that today was going to be the latter, although you were hoping for the first. Your headache was bad enough already.

“So, how was the pep rally?” Your father broke the silence.

“Y’know, the usual.” You said, hoping that this would be a satisfying enough answer, but your dad gave you a look signaling that it wasn’t. “Yelling, chanting. School mascot grody, as usual.” That seemed to satisfy him.

“They still haven’t bought a new one? Jeez, gag me.” Your sister added in between bites.

“Yeah, I know, right?”

“Did you share the good news yet?” Your mother turned to Dana with a smirk. Huh. Good news regarding your sister?

Recently, she has become the family disappointment — dropping out of college, fucking up the family car, and moving back in to live with you all. To be honest, however bad it sounded, you were kind of glad it wasn’t you this time, but it seemed like that was about to change. Your sister didn’t look pleased, though.

“Well… no.” She looked at your mother and tightened her jaw. You could see your mom's expression turning stern. You were sure she wasn’t about to let this topic go.

“What the hell, did you join a cult or something?” You teased your sister, and she just rolled her eyes. Your mother let out an irritated sigh and furrowed her eyebrows. Your dad was too busy with dinner, but he sneaked in a chuckle, and your mom glanced at him, just like she did at Dana a few seconds ago.

“Dana, dear. This is the best time to tell everyone. You told me, you told your friends.” She tried to reason.

“No, mom, I didn’t tell you.” She began tapping her foot, looking down at her plate.

This was something big.

“I would’ve found out one way or another. I deserved to know, and so does your father.” Your dad looked up as she said that, now his curiosity had peaked—and so did yours.

“What is this all about now?” He tried to ask but got interrupted by Dana.

“You snooped around my room! That’s how you found out!” Your sister dropped her fork, and the whole room was focused on her now, face all red and her eyes teary.

“Would you rather I found out about it from one of your friends?! Or maybe your fiancée?!” She yelled, and your dad looked at the both of them in shock.

Your mom had an expression that read, I fucked up. Your eyes widened, and Dana got up, storming out to the kitchen. Fiancée, well, that was unexpected.

“Hold on, fiancée?” He directed the question at your mother, but she just clicked her tongue and flared her nostrils, stomping out of the room after your sister and yelling something at her, your father soon following.

Well, it’s unclear who’s the family disappointment now.

You changed into your pajamas and threw yourself on the bed.

You were so fed up; all you wanted to do was watch TV and rot your brain with something dumb, but with Family Feud going on downstairs, you could say goodbye to that.

That took your mind off of Carol up until, well, now. You weren’t as distressed as when she jump-scared you with that jock shit or whatever went down at the pep rally, but you knew you’d have to bring up the ugly feelings if you wanted to truly be friends with her again.

Surprisingly, the shitshow that went down at dinner helped you realize that you probably shouldn't hide the truth for too long because it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass three times as hard. Thanks, Dana.

You walked over to the beat-up boombox your sister passed onto you for your birthday and searched through the cassette tapes scattered next to it, ranging from ones you spent a pretty penny on, to the ones aspiring musicians would hand out at the mall as an advertisement technique.

“Eenie meenie miney… moe. Led Zeppelin it is.” You inserted the cassette and turned up the volume to drown out both your thoughts and your family.

You walked over to the closet, picked up the pack of cigarettes and lighter you hid in the pockets of your jacket, opened the window, and sat on the windowsill, lighting one up.

You wondered what cigarettes Carol smoked — Newports? Marlboros? Lucky Strikes? Pall Malls? You should take a mental note of that; it could be a good conversation starter if things get awkward. It was weird to even think about the possibility of there being any awkwardness between the two of you, but it seemed more real than ever now. With each puff and drag, your eyes got heavier.

Your alone time got interrupted by your sister storming in with a glass bottle in her hand. She immediately locked the door, then jumped on your bed and sat down. Dana knew you smoked, so you didn’t care about that; you did care that she interrupted your moment of peace.

“Get out.” You groaned as you turned to her, and she took a swig of an already half-empty Absolut. She's probably been hoarding that in case of an emergency.

“I’m here for the music, not you, dweeb.” You could tell Dana was lying.

“Why don’t you go to your room then? You have a fucking Walkman.” You flicked the ash.

“Oh, whatever.” She threw her arms up in resignation. “I dunno, we’re sisters; we talk about shit, right? You can help me take my mind off of this.” Your parents banged on the door, indistinctly shouting something that got muted by the music and chatter. “Fuck off!” Dana yelled out, and you just giggled. She showed off her proud smile and took another swig.

“So, what’s new in the high school world?”

“Oh, shut up, you only graduated two years ago. You’re acting like it’s been fifty years.” You bumped her arm, taking a drag of the cigarette.

“Yeah, but, you know, a lot can change in two years.”

“Yeah, like you getting married.” You teased her.

“Oh, shut up, Jeff and I aren’t even married yet.” She chugged down more of the vodka, laughing.

“Emphasis on yet.” You put out the ash and tossed it out of your window. There was a small pile of cigarette butts on the ground outside.

You threw yourself on the bed next to your sister and sighed. Should you tell her about Carol? She was probably too tipsy to remember anything in the morning anyway.

“Do you remember Carol?” You lain down on the side, propped up on one elbow, your other hand supporting your head, looking directly at Dana.

“The one with the glasses? You’d always draw those comic strips with her.” Huh, she remembered pretty well, it seems.

“Yup. The one with the glasses.” You jeered.

“What about her? I didn’t even know the two of you were still talking.” She scoffed in amusement, lying down on the bed.

“We weren’t. But, well, actually, there is something new in the high school world.” You hoped she would get the suggestion, but she just looked at you with a blank stare and an eyebrow raised.

“The Dennings are back in town.”

“Holy shit! That’s rad, oh my god! Are you excited?” Dana swiftly sat up and grabbed your knee, slightly shaking it. That was sweet; she was happy for you, even if it was the alcohol that induced it.

“It’s kind of weird.” You sighed. “I missed her so, so much. You don’t even get how much, but I’m still bitter.” You turned to lie down on your back. “I feel like such a bitch.”

“You know, relationships are complicated, friendships are complicated, shit, everything is complicated. Don’t think about it too much. You lived without her for so long, you can do it again, and like, you have even more friends than you had when she left.” She slurred her words, and her stomach rumbled. Dana furrowed her brows, scrunched her nose, and burped. Before you could say anything, she covered her mouth with her hand, got up, unlocked the door, and sprinted to the bathroom.

You could hear the vomiting as you closed the door and got back into bed, drifting off to sleep, with Led Zeppelin still on in the background.

You searched amongst your disorganized locker in hopes of finding your English textbook, yet all you found were notes you exchanged with Rachel during Chem, a beat-up copy of A Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which you were supposed to return to the library two months ago, an expired Cheez-Its bag, stickers raising awareness about AIDS, and your duffle bag. You must’ve given the book to someone you didn’t share the class period with, maybe Gina? It was too late to look for her anyway; you’d have to fall under the mercy of some good Samaritan for now.

You glanced at the wall clock, shut the locker, and ran to the second floor of the building.

You barely managed to get to class on time and took your usual seat on the slightly too small, hard wooden chair that made your ass hurt after sitting on it for too long; third row, right by the wall that was covered in profanity or cheesy quotes.

The rest of your classmates walked in, and to your surprise, the scent of burnt tobacco and a hint of cherry followed along with them. How many classes did you share with her? You pondered.

Your eyes followed Carol around the cramped room, and her face immediately lit up as she noticed, speeding up to take the seat next to you, her backpack hanging off one side of her shoulder.

The teacher began the lesson, and the chatter slightly calmed down. The cheap, fluorescent headlight flickered now and then.

“Oh, my God. You saved my ass, dude.” She whispered through a laugh of relief as she shifted to face you, dropping the bag and pulling out a notebook, pen, and the dreaded textbook. All the essentials.

“You don’t even know how much you saved mine.” The two of you exchanged smiles, and you scooted your desk and chair, just close enough to be able to read the text, but far apart enough, so the teacher wouldn’t get on your ass.

“So, can anyone tell me what stylistic devices the author used in the fourth verse?” Ms. Cooper paced around by the blackboard, waiting for an answer. You sighed and pretended to write something, just so she wouldn’t call on you. In reality, you were just writing down the lyrics of whatever song was stuck in your head on the margins.

The bell rang, and the noise of closing notebooks, zipping up backpacks, chairs scratching, shuffling against the linoleum floor, and conversations made itself known again. You put the desk back into place, where it was at the beginning of the class, and walked out alongside Carol.

“You got lunch now?” You asked. Seriously? Small talk? Oh, my god. Was that all the two of you had to talk about now? She probably wouldn’t have even talked to you in English if you weren’t childhood friends. She was right; you were just a fuckin’ jock now, and she was a girl that was way too cool for you.

Carol had this odd, mysterious appeal that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. Was it the combination of cherry and tobacco? It was the type of allure that would make people polarized. She was like a 70s rock star in the body of an overlooked, underappreciated teenage girl who wasn’t aware of her potential. Definitely not the type to subscribe to social conventions, which possibly was the most charming thing about her.

“Probably hold on.” She started digging through the pockets of her flared, dark blue jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Uh, yeah. Lunch, sixth period.” You walked down the stairs and headed towards the cafeteria.

“So, are you going to show me around now?” You could still remember her teasing tone. Carol stuck her tongue out, and you ruffled her hair in response, just like you used to do way back when.

You stopped walking and leaned on the lockers. “You want me to show you around or show you around?” You bit your lip and gave her a sly smirk.

“The latter.” The two of you chuckled, and you walked in the direction of your locker to take your coat.

“Who’s that?” Carol pointed at one of the Polaroids that was on the inside of your locker door—this particular one of you and Veronica. It was from soccer camp, the summer between freshman and sophomore year, and the two of you had ugly, messy blue eyeshadow, smudged red lipstick, and huge puffy hair, all thanks to Kristen, who wanted someone to practice hairstyling on. Your face had that exhausted grin after a long, tiring day of kicking the ball around. It was similar to the feeling you’d get on vacation after walking around a brand-new city for eight hours straight, but still wanting more. You remember being so happy that your cheeks were in pain from smiling. You were sure Carol knew that it was someone from your team; she must’ve seen her yesterday during the pep rally, and she wanted to find out more about your new life.

“Oh yeah, her? That’s Vee, erm, ‘Ronica. Shit. Veronica. Veronica Vasquez.” You put your hand on your slightly red forehead, giggling, as Carol laughed loudly through your stuttering. You took a breath and continued, “We are, you know—Oh my god, you fucking saw it—we are on the soccer team together.” You put on your jacket and closed the locker, turning to the school exit.

Why were you so awkward around her?

The harsh, late-October West Virginia air hit you in the face. You wanted a smoke and a one-on-one moment with Carol more than you cared about being cold, though. So far, she was the only one asking about you, what you were up to, and your friends. Shit, were you projecting how you felt during her time of absence onto her now? Nope, no way. As soon as you’re going to sit down, you’re going to ask her about everything.

“Where are you taking me, Pelé2?” Carol jeered as she put on her beanie.

“Wait, how the fuck do you even know who that is?” You took a step back, slightly raising your hands and waving them around, like you were telling her to stop whatever she was doing, and stared at Carol, your agape mouth turning slowly into a smile.

“Maybe I’m a jock now too, huh? Have you thought about that?” She pulled you by the sleeve of your jacket, and you continued your walk around the school grounds. You were leading the way towards the back of the gym wing.

“Well, are you?” You weren’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

“Fuck no!” She scoffed, imitating barfing. “Wait, Y/N. I didn’t mean like it’s a bad thing, but seriously, could you imagine me as an athlete?”

“Well, shit, how could I know? You said you were surprised to see that I’m a jock now, a lot has changed; you could be one too now, as far as I know.”

“Now, you can be a hundred percent certain that I’m not.” She confirmed.

You reached your destination, and you took a seat on an old, empty beer crate, with Carol sitting down next to you. You pulled out the pack of cigarettes, flicked the lid open, handed it out to Denning, and she raised an eyebrow at you.

“Shit, you smoke now? Welcome to the club.” She took it and sparked one up.

"Yeah, you've got to keep a balance between strenuous working out and ruining your lungs.” You put the cigarette in your mouth, and Carol gave you her lighter, but no fire was coming out of it. You shook it around, but there was still nothing.

“Come ‘ere.” Carol got closer to you and put her hands around the cigarettes hanging out of your mouths to block the wind as she put her cig to yours, lighting it up.

“Thanks, Care.” To your surprise, she rolled her eyes at you and groaned.

“God, don’t call me that.” You gave her a confused look.

“Barb just fuckin’ ruined it for me. She tends to ruin a lot of good shit. Just like Debbie. God, fucking Debbie!” She kicked back the crate you were sitting on.

Shit, Debbie. She was a full-on kid now; the last time you saw her, she was a few-month-old infant.

“What about Debbie?”

“Oh, don’t even get me fucking started.” Carol scoffed. “Basically, she’s the star of the family now, and mom and dad just go along with her fucking up my life.”

“Wait, fucking up your life? How?”

“I’m just going to say she’s the whole reason I’m back in this shithole. At least you’re still here.” She looked at you and sighed. “I’d probably off myself or her if I had to put all this effort into making new friends, making an idiot of myself, just to move out again in three months.”

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that.” You sat in silence, not knowing how to comfort her, only broken by footsteps in the distance now and then before an idea came into mind. “Hey, maybe you want to go to the party my team is throwing tonight?” You stomped your cigarette, putting your cold hands inside the pockets of your coat.

“A jock party? Stop fucking with me.” She slumped her shoulders, her head shaking.

“It’s going to be chill, I promise. We could just stick together, or I could introduce you to my friends if you want. Also, free booze.” Carol tilted her head, eyes darting around in contemplation, tapping her fingers on the crate. Unexpectedly, she swiftly laid a hand on your thigh, letting go just as fast. “Fuck it, why not?” She tossed the cigarette.

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit, Denning.” Oh god, you sounded like a typical jock you were trying your hardest not to be. You winced at what you said, and Carol chuckled.

You opened your backpack and took out a pen that was lying around at the bottom, grabbing her hand. “Here’s my address; swing by at like 7:30 PM.” You almost put the pen away but remembered to write down your phone number, and Carol did the same.

“Okay, let’s get out of here. You have to show me where the weed dealer hangs out.”

“I had a feeling you’d be the stoner type.” You joked, and the two of you walked towards the soccer field.

“Hey, I can’t show up to that circle-jerk party of yours empty-handed.” You will confront her about the whole feeling irrelevant thing some other day. It didn’t matter for now.

#orange is the new black #oitnb #carol denning #carol denning x reader #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #oitnb fanfic #carol denning fanfic #lesbian

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blogdojuanesteves · 2 years ago

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BOB WOLFENSON

O livro falado

Acima: Lina Bo Bardi

Concordando com Kiko Farkas e João Farkas, editores do livro Bob Wolfenson O livro Falado ( Instituto Olga Kos, 2023 ) Wolfenson é sem dúvida um dos fotógrafos brasileiros mais publicados. Ele mostra imagens que são referência há tempos para qualquer fotógrafo novato ou veterano e reconhecido não somente em seu meio profissional. A razão, em parte, é porque na sua produção ele inclui também referências importantíssimas do cânone da fotografia. Segundo, é um autor inquieto que em sua trajetória soube ser plural não ficando somente em segmentos nos quais consagrou-se como na moda, retratos e publicidade, mas sendo um criador que arriscou em diferentes produções no cinema e na arte, obra já representada em diferentes publicações. [ Leia review aqui https://blogdojuanesteves.tumblr.com/post/166536557006/o-paulistano-bob-wolfenson-sem-d%C3%BAvida-tem-um-dos ].

Acima: Otto Stupakoff nos Estados Unidos

Certamente seus retratos o levaram ao nosso cânone brasileiro. Indiscutível posição juntamente com outros consagrados profissionais do gênero como o seu amigo e contemporâneo, o catalão J.R.Duran ou seu conterrâneo Jairo Goldflus, vizinho de infância do bairro paulistano do Bom Retiro, onde ele nasceu em 1954, em meio a uma família de intelectuais de esquerda, o que era tradicional na região outrora ocupada massivamente por judeus ou como ele mesmo escreve um "gueto judaico": Em uma atmosfera estimulante, cheia de humor, sagacidade e inteligência. O que ele não sabe se aparece em sua fotografia, mas que aparece na forma com que se relaciona com os outros, elementos essenciais para seus retratos.

Acima: da série Antifachadas

O retrato é o meio fotográfico que toma a maior parte do livro, o mais expressivo com certeza. Entretanto, as suas histórias abrangem outros segmentos nos quais é igualmente um virtuose: a moda e experiências com a arte. Retratar alguém que expõe todo o seu potencial é algo que exige um relacionamento que pode ser imediato, improvisado ou estudado. Não há mágica. Esta fica para os que se dizem "mágicos". As figuras de Wolfenson contam histórias visualmente, e estas são escritas por ele sem afetação e sem a exposição de uma falsa intimidade quando esta não existe. Ele lembra da frase do americano Richard Avedon ( 1923-2004): "Embaixo da pele não há nada”. Para aqueles que romanticamente ainda acham que retratar alguém é buscar a sua “alma” talvez isso possa assustar.

Contato de fotografias de Caetano Veloso

A publicação faz parte da Coleção IOK de fotografia (do Instituto Olga Kos de Inclusão Cultural de Arte). É seu quarto livro, o primeiro publicado em 2018 é Caretas de Maragojipe do fotógrafo João Farkas [ leia aqui review em https://blogdojuanesteves.tumblr.com/post/179872336636/maragojipe-est%C3%A1-a-pouco-mais-de-130-quil%C3%B4metros-de ]; o segundo Estudos Fotográficos, de Thomaz Farkas, de 2019, [Leia aqui review em https://blogdojuanesteves.tumblr.com/post/186313247856/em-14-de-janeiro-de-1949-o-jovem-fot%C3%B3grafo ] e o terceiro, de 2021, Olho Nu, de Rogério Reis de 2021 [ leia aqui review em https://blogdojuanesteves.tumblr.com/post/657805456882958336/olho-nu-rog%C3%A9rio-reis-instituto-olga-kos-2021-do ].

Acima: o diplomata e poeta João Cabral de Melo Neto

Editadas pelo fotógrafo João Farkas e o designer gráfico Kiko Farkas, Bob Wolfenson o livro falado, conta as histórias de bastidores das fotografias. É a possibilidade de levar ao grande público os sucesso e os percalços que o fotógrafo teve na construção de imagens que podemos considerar icônicas no corolário de sua obra. É um elenco multifacetado em que figuram o compositor baiano Caetano Veloso, a atriz e roteirista niteroiense Fernanda Young (1970-2019), o diplomata e poeta pernambucano João Cabral de Melo Neto ( 1920-1999); o fotógrafo paulistano Otto Stupakoff (1935-2009); o jogador de futebol Edson Arantes do Nascimento, Pelé ( 1940-2022) ou a cantora americana Nina Simone (1933-2003) entre outras personalidade que fizeram história, além de seus comentários sobre séries de lavra mais autoral que resultaram e seus livros Antifachada e Encadernação dourada (Cosac & Naify, 2004); Apreensões ( Cosac e Naify, 2010) e Belvedere (Cosac Naify 2013).

Acima Nina Simone, músico e manager da cantora no Free Jazz

Em sua narrativa curta e simples, Nina Simone estava cambaleante e exausta quando veio para sessão de fotografias após sua apresentação no Free Jazz Festival de 1988, talvez cansada do show. O fotógrafo improvisou um fundo infinito nos bastidores e fez poucas imagens dela sozinha, por que viu que ela não ia conseguir mais. A solução foi juntá-la com um músico e seu manager, que a ampararam e posaram beijando a genial cantora. Com um domínio claro, os dois retratos apresentados são nada menos que excepcionais. Não é qualquer profissional que com apenas sete imagens consegue o que Wolfenson conseguiu. Fica aqui a mensagem, que às vezes o improviso dá certo.

Acima: Flagrante de Charles Chaplin

Radicalmente oposto aos retratos está a série Apreensões publicada no livro homônimo em 2010. A ideia surgiu ao deparar-se com a frequência e a infinidade de apreensões feitas pela polícia e publicadas pela imprensa. Ele conta que "Se, por um lado, trata-se de experiência à parte da minha vivência mais prosaica, por outro, seria impossível ficar indiferente à presença acachapante desses fatos na vida entre nós." Aqui, o leitor fotógrafo ou amante da fotografia ganha um bônus, pela descrição da técnica usada pelo autor: "O aparato empregado para recapturar aquilo que vemos diariamente na mídia foi novo para mim. Cheguei a ele na busca de um procedimento que substituísse os sistemas analógicos tradicionais, para obter mais agilidade no set fotográfico e na pós-produção. Utilizei o sistema de varredura digital, ou seja, um fracionamento da cena no momento da tomada fotográfica para que a imagem final alcançasse uma definição alta, salvo nas fotos de animais, pelo fato de eles se moverem e impossibilitarem o uso dessa técnica."

Acima: Retrato do artista Hélio Oiticica

A história do retrato de Caetano Veloso é curiosa. Um de seus portraits mais difundidos - assim como o da arquiteta italiana Lina Bo Bardi (1914-1992) segurando um pequeno bule que está no livro - no qual o músico estica sua sobrancelha. Wolfenson conta: "eu vinha já fazendo há algum tempo uma coisa em fotos de moda, baseado em fotos que eu tinha visto do Irving Penn (1917-2009), do William Klein (1926-2022), principalmente uma foto do Klein que eu tinha no meu estúdio, num pôster. Eu achava que arquear a sobrancelha conferia uma classe maior às modelos e eu fazia isso sempre quase como um método, e pedia isso a elas."

Acima: A fotógrafa Maureen Bisiliat

O fotógrafo dá uma pequena receita: "Quando você está diante de alguém, você precisa um pouco dirigir, inventar gestos e falar coisas. Nessas fotos do Caetano uma hora eu falei “levanta uma sobrancelha” e ele, que já fazia isso com uma destreza impressionante, imitando um ator de cinema americano desde a adolescência, fez variações pro lado esquerdo, pro lado direito, pra cima, pra baixo, enfim, uma profusão de variações e uma delas eu congelei. Enfim, virou a foto principal e é isso, a história é essa. Há pouco tempo alguém perguntou como é que eu tinha feito esse Photoshop... Eu deixo as folhas de contato junto para verem que a coisa é real mesmo..."

Acima: Fernanda Young

Todo autor, mesmo os mais importantes, apesar de alguns renegarem dizendo que inventaram a roda (e não são poucos) tem suas influências e inspirações em alguns de seus predecessores, como já escreveu o genial crítico Harold Bloom (1930-2019) em seu A angústia da influência (1973), um livro sobre poesia, mas podemos fazer a transcrição para fotografia. Estamos perto dos 200 anos da invenção de um aparato que reproduz as coisas na nossa frente em imagens. Wolfenson como vemos acima, com sua modéstia e generosidade conhecida, não deixa de revelar algumas receitas e influências. É como uma receita de um grande chef, pode dizer os ingredientes com precisão, mas somente ele sabe aquele pouquinho de pimenta a mais que muda todo o sabor.

Acima: Luiz Frias > Otávio Frias Filho

Na fotografia do Grupo Oficina, comandado pelo ator José Celso, que estavam montando a peça Ela do dramaturgo francês Jean Genet (1910-1986), de 1997. Os atores estão de costas, agachados e nus, cobrindo seu derriére com as mãos. [Infelizmente não é possível de publicar neste blog por conta da censura]. Wolfenson diz: "Essa é a foto mais difícil, mais forte, mais agressiva de todas as fotos que eu tenho. No fim da leitura começamos a fazer umas fotos e eu falei “ah, vamos tirar a roupa?” Eles toparam – eu sabia já que eles tiravam a roupa na peça. Primeiro fizemos uma foto de frente – e eles é que deram a ideia dessa foto: “nós vamos melhorar... vamos fazer essa aqui”. A ideia é totalmente deles e fica um documento histórico desse momento Zé Celsiano." Podemos aqui fazer um saudável paralelo com a famosa imagem de Richard Avedon do grupo inglês Monty Python, quando Graham Chapman (1941-1989) e Terry Jones (1942-2020) sugeriram que os Monty Python fossem fotografados nus.

Acima: da série e livro Belvedere

Outro "desvio" das produções editoriais ou publicitárias, é a série Antifachadas de 2003, que tem o livro homônimo. Wolfenson conta que era inverno estava perambulando tristemente pelo centro de São Paulo, "a luz estava oblíqua, límpida, olhei praqueles edifícios carcomidos semiabandonados, a luz conferia a eles uma nova beleza na feiúra de seu abandono. Eu fotografava mais pessoas, o meu barato era sempre foto de gente. Mas fiquei com isso na cabeça: realizar um trabalho sobre esta paisagem que me era muito familiar, porque eu era do Bom Retiro, nesta região central, e morava num primeiro andar onde a paisagem era sempre um prédio à frente, tudo meio amassado, não havia horizonte e a atmosfera era, digamos assim, rarefeita." Para o fotógrafo essas antifachadas são o começo de todos os trabalhos que começou a fazer, a partir de então, "que eu inventei e realizei a partir de uma mera observação de um lance fortuito."

Acima: “moda impressionista”

"O livro falado" traz uma oportunidade rara de "ouvir" um autor excepcional sobre suas inúmeras imagens em uma narrativa essencialmente informal e franca, afinal são mais de 50 anos de fotografia e um reconhecimento indiscutível. Seu encontro com personagens já mencionados e outros como os presidentes Fernando Henrique Cardoso e Lula; artistas geniais como Luiz Hermano, e Hélio Oiticica (1937-1980); conhecer os bastidores dos lindos nus e imagens sensuais da Playboy de atrizes como Maitê Proença e Bárbara Paz ou da cantora Anitta ou se preferir o cantor Chico Buarque e o artista chinês Ai WeiWei seminus, além de imagens que foram resgatadas do estúdio do fotógrafo, inundado por duas vezes, que transformaram-se em obras de arte. A história do entretenimento contemporâneo brasileiro ( e as vezes internacional) por um raro e feliz raconteur.