Liz Kaufman

Neil shaved his mustache. It took me a while to even notice. I like him clean-shaven. But I liked my ex-boyfriend with a scruff. Funny how that is. He [Neil] cut himself shaving in the first shot. I’m not too fond of the image, but it’s printed and pinned up in the bathroom where that was taken. I like doing that. I think it’s a good habit to scan and print in the same day and hang the pictures on your wall, wherever you’ll be able to look at them. Avedon used to do that. He would walk by them everyday without thinking much of them and some would catch his eye and some wouldn’t. These haven’t really caught my eye yet. Maybe they never will. Or maybe I’ll reshoot him with the print in the background. Pay homage to Nan Goldin.

Haven’t been photographing Neil as much. Oscar knew that would happen. I denied it. I think it’s okay. We’re moving soon anyway, so I think I’ll be able to get out of the repetitive green and white University Commons walls that have become all too recognizable. Change is good.

The second image is of him in a loft when we went to New York. The cat’s name is Soupkitchen. I guess that’s where he was found. The whole loft was filled with alley cats. They were bastards, but I have to admit, it’s nice to have an animal or two around.

Sometimes I think I’ve totally lost it. Like I have no idea what I’m doing with this project anymore. It’s lower on my priorities list. I shoot when I feel like shooting, not when I see a potential shot. It’s a bit depressing, I guess. I bet I’ve been missing a million opportunities to make this project bloom. No pun intended.

I took some portraits last weekend and I’m in the process of scanning them in now. I wasn’t too happy when I left, but looking at them now, I don’t think it’s a bad start. I’ll show those another time.

Hope to see everyone at the DRAFT opening tomorrow night. And maybe even at the beach on Saturday since the weather is going to be absolutely NUTS.

In the beginning of the year, I split up my closet into two halves, one side for Neil and one side for me. I gave him the top shelf because he’s tallest. It seems to be inconvenient for him sometimes. He says he doesn’t care and that he’s grateful I gave him some space in the closet. Makes me sound like a Nazi. But I must admit, I wish the closet was four times this size. I can’t fit all my clothes in there. My bed is on risers to fit suitcases of clothes I’ll probably never wear.

When Neil shops online, he has to send the packages to my apartment. Everything I receive in the mail with my name on it could be for either me or Neil. Most of the time it’s for him. Either a new Foucault book or something illegal from China. (ex: laser pointer too powerful to be sold in the US, an electronic cigarette, strange boxes with Mischa Barton’s picture on the cover). Last week, Neil bought a mustache kit. It included:

• Mustache Wax
• Darkening Cream
• Small Brush/Comb
• Handheld Mirror
• Velcro Case

When he has time in the morning, he applies wax to his mustache. He has picked up a habit of twisting the ends of his mustache. He said Graham told him it would eventually curl the right way if he twisted it enough. I’ve found that his hygiene has increased since he has decided to grow this mustache. He shaves the rest of his face more often to accentuate the mustache, he slicks his hair back, he bathes, he buttons his shirts up all the way and enjoys picking out his clothes in the morning. Just last night he wore cowboy boots outside to smoke a cigarette. He liked how tall they made him look. His mustache has become a sort of new accessory to his ensemble. It has also become a new way for him to revel in his newfound masculinity. I used to hate his mustache. It’s trendy. It’s so Williamsburg. I’m waiting for Spring to hit so he can ride his fixie with a Chrome bag and a mustache and Keds. For now, I think it’s beautiful.

I haven’t done the laundry once this quarter. Neil does it every week. He hangs my tights and knows not to put my bras and underwear in the dryer. Yesterday he told me to “do the fucking laundry” because he’s sick of doing it. I said I’d get to it and never did. He did. As a result, the clean, dried laundry will sit in our laundry basket as the dirty clothes pile up in another spot on the floor until we have to do laundry again. He spilled crumbs in my bed last night and again this morning. It really pisses me off when people do that. I told him. I ended up holding a bowl underneath his mouth to catch every flying crumb. I have a problem. Someday I’ll photograph me being a controlling bitch. I don’t know why he puts up with me sometimes.

Last night I watched a re-run of the Miss America 2010 competition. My roommates and I surfed through channels, trying to decide if it was really worth it to watch something so degrading and uncomfortable. Nothing else was on.

I’m glad we went back and watched it. Granted, we felt the strong urge to chain smoke during every commercial break, we still enjoyed watching grown women prance around in ball gowns and tutus to prove to the judges that they were more than qualified for the title. Out of 255 photographs, I’ve narrowed it down to 90. That’s still too much to include on here, so I’ve narrowed it down even more.

As I may have mentioned in my last post from a couple months ago, I’ve been working on a series exploring my relationship with Neil from an outsider’s perspective. It’s a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. When I proposed the idea to a professor of mine, he thought it was great. I showed him a few shots that I had of Neil and he was eager to see more. I’ve been hesitant in photographing Neil for a number of reasons. The first, and most obvious reason: No one wants to see that shit. I mean, really. Who wants to look at a bunch of photographs of my boyfriend being an idiot? I definitely wouldn’t if I were you. The other reason stems from my freshman year of college when I first met Neil. I filled up roll after roll of 35mm film documenting my everyday life. Just a real real original project. Of course, most of it was either Cate or Neil. After developing all of the film and printing image after image of Neil’s face or belly, I started to feel less and less like a photographer. Not only was my professor and entire freshman year photo class sick of it, but so was Neil and more importantly, my parents (who pay the big bucks so I can go to this school). So I ditched the idea of ever photographing him again on a serious level. Both of us decided it was just lame.

Now, three years later, I’ve decided to revisit my relationship with Neil, but from a completely different perspective. I’m interested in the roles that people take on in their relationships with their significant others. I’ve decided to take an objective standpoint and view my relationship with Neil like I never have. In this series, I’ve started to photograph him taking on the “male” or “female” role in our relationship. Because he plays both, just as I do. Part of the project involves my position as a female in a male-female relationship. I play the ‘housewife’ (minus wife) role just as much as I play the man-who-comes-home-from-work-and-expects-a-drink-in-his-hand. There are times when I want to be the big spoon, and there are times when I want to be spooned.

Some of it I’ll show, some of it I won’t. And I guess worse comes to worst, I can just throw it all in a “Cornelius Bloem” folder and it will remain on my hard drive for years to come.