Copy and Paste Your Face

I never forget a face. You'll have to tattoo your name on me so I don't forget it, but a face stays in my mind forever. Unfortunately.

This is how it goes: If I've ever seen you on Facebook, or in passing with a friend of a friend, I will remember. And when I run into you, I smile or say hi. You then shoot me a weird look, or maybe feel flattered because you think a little blond girl is hitting on you. There's a lot of blushing and physical tension, and we both walk away. 

I just.... always remember faces, and it can make my life kind of awkward. 

It's facial features. We recognize patterns and proportions, muscles and wrinkles. But I remember the swagger in a cocky smile, the droopiness of a pissed off mouth. I even like crooked teeth, because they help build the story.

Anyway. I've always had a theory that the reason why people look alike is because there's a limited number of ways people could look. Certain noses, eyes, hairlines, chins, etc. are reconfigured and repeated in faces. I've had my share of twins. Francois Brunelle has got this all figured out.

Danielle Boucher and Jovette Desmarais

Alex Bartosik and Victoria Stusiak

He's a Canadian artist who has been working on a long-running photography project 'I'm Not a Look-Alike', in which he photographs doppelgangers. Brunelle's photos have already gotten a ton of press coverage, but deserve more than 15 minutes of fame. At least 20 or so would be good. There's something really magical about these long lost non twin look-alikes.

A whole bunch of other unrelated twins

So the truth is out, I'm big on doppelgangers. If you've ever seen Mulholland Dr., David Lynch really twists his storylines with doppelgangers. (I'll say no more; If you haven't seen it yet, do it. Right now.)

Since I'm really feeling this, I thought I'd go out on a limb, and share my own personally captured twins.

Brents Pix and Dogwelder, via Flickr

Party fire hydrants, these fratboys are brothers from another mother.

Daniel Hurst Photography and Laurie Melissa Photography, via Flickr

Tire swinging. Separated at birth.

00 images, Andrew Lively, chemicalbrother7, HoraVarlan via Flickr

Lonely clouds all look the exact same.



What is the conclusion one can draw?

Chances are, your photography isn't original. Neither is your face.

(But hey, I never forget a face.)

Art School, Cool Fools

The best part of being an art student is getting away with anything. Nothing is of major consequence; you're not trying to sell your work or please a client to pay your rent. In fact, you're the one paying a school to nurture your creativity, foster your ideas. Often those ideas are strange, confusing... experiments [mistakes].

I wish I cared a bit less when I was in school. I was such a hard ass, very strict with my brain. I really didn't like the idea of making mistakes. If only I relaxed a bit, maybe I'd have come up with something as heartwrenchingly exciting as these stunners:

This is my favourite, elephant aaaaaaaarrmmmmm

I mean it. I think these are incredible. It's like jumping off the roof into a pool of garage sale. I'm getting itchy just looking at them. 

To be fair, the designers are fashion students at a top school in England. They need press and notoriety to get somewhere after grad. They probably don't have the laissez-faire attitude I'm imagining. 

Have you seen Art School Confidential? It's mandatory. That's all. 

I don't like to get into conversations about art with people who hate. There's always someone who says, my 5 year old could make this crap. And I think, but they didn't! If your 5 year old can somehow get a gallery show and sell their work successfully, that's when they'll get the seal of approval from the public. You need to join the capitalist club to be someone. It's kind of confusing (which is why I try to avoid talking about it altogether).  

But then there are those under appreciated, quiet artists who don't get the recognition they deserve. Don't worry, when I'm rich enough I'll buy their art and support those stars. Or just blog about them behind their backs.


(Student designs on the runway at the Royal College of Art Graduate Show June 2, 2011)

Plastic in the Face

I just turned 25. Every time I get carded and the bouncer asks my age, my mouth opens to say I'm 21. Apparently my long-term memory doesn't log any age after that. Which is fine for now, because at least I look 21, if not 17. I often dress like a teenager, and my hair is never styled like a grown woman would wear it. Most of the time, I don't even brush my hair. I call it 'Beach waves'.

But. I'm starting to notice the effects of aging. 

Now, I don't smoke. I don't drink. I always protect my face from the sun. I moisturize, and I do what I can to avoid looking ragged or pruneish. 

But my eyes. They seem to be getting eye wrinkles. They're only prominent when I smile, but I think I'm starting to look James Franco-y when that happens.

I promised my bff (best boyfriend forever) that I wouldn't ever have cosmetic plastic surgery. And I don't want to, really. I'm terrified. There's so many garbage faces out there, women who threw out the eyes and mouth and noses they inherited from their ancestors, only to adopt scary plastic masks that look, at best, not like them at all. 

These plastic faces seem to mimic representations of beauty that are prevalent and enjoyed, even by me: 

Eyebrow lift,  nose upturning, eye expansion

  +

Total facelift, cheek injections, heart-shaping of the face

=

Source: GUP Magazine

Japanese anime doesn't even include noses in its characters much of the time. But Michael Jackson accidentally proved that cutting your nose down to 1/8th of its size is a very poor idea. When it gets that small, it looks like a hangnail. 

I'm never going to have a cute little nose, I'll never have eyes that take up half my face. I appreciate the aesthetic on Bambi, but I'm a real person, and I should probably stay that way. 

Because once I get started, I'll probably end up looking like this:

It looks like a glamour shot from Toddlers and Tiaras. And nobody wants that, unless you're a stage mom or an eager 5-year-old princess. (What is wrong with this world? Also, I kind of like my blush colour here. Ugh I'm the worst.)