models, methodology and mayhem

If you know me, you know I'm not at all comfortable calling myself a photographer.  In fact, it's only recently that I've started to see myself as such, and only because the meager commercial aspects of said hobby practically require building a brand of oneself, a shoddy business to be sure.  In any case, I'm happy to have met some great and terribly strange people over the past few months who somehow enjoy being shot in the face: Cassady and Taylor.

Cassady has hair rich as fresh ground coffee and eyes that smolder; fire kept deep in secret chambers. She taught me the virtue of eye pops, hair flips and whips, blowing dresses and sidelong smiles thrown at friends. Taylor is eyes like 7up with lime, fair skin and ruthless model chops. Like a gazelle upon territorial plains she stalks and measures the camera with deftness borne in natural instinct and, admittedly, a single dose of modeling school that was just too damn expensive.