Leah Johnston Art: Photography and Poetry

Originally we were going to wrap me up in duct tape, which I thought would be rather painful in contact with my skin, so I geared up head to toe in this dorky out:

Upon beginning the mummification process, we realized this would look too shiny, so we went back to the store and got a bunch of ace bandages and hoped those would do the trick. Three additional trips to the store later, we finally had enough badage to finish the wrap. Here it is almost complete:

Hardly perfect, but we thought it would have to do. Here is the photo I ended up editing. Scroll down for before and afters:

I am still not sure I chose the right shot, so here are a couple outtakes:

I’m a bit obsessed with the idea of truth and trying to ascertain what people’s individual truths are. It’s a recurring theme in my relationships. I suppose it’s a symptom of being an overly honest/naive person, and coming to find out that much of the world is run on lies and deceit. From intimate relationships to national politics, it’s endlessly surprising to me how often we lie to each other, to ourselves, despite the fact that these ugly truths always have a way of resurfacing. I tend to think it’s the need to investigate this notion of truth that drives one to be an artist. To my mind, the most interesting artists are those who are able to extract those ugly truths and put them in front of us. Looking at their work becomes a revelation of ourselves, like pulling a curtain off a mirror.

Influenced by Brooke and her goop, though I’ve had this idea in my head for quite some time. This is for my Dad, who makes a living in teeth and, like me, is a fan of the macabre.

It’s strange how life calls you in unexpected directions, in spite of all your plans. When I moved to New York at 17, I really felt I was following my destiny: to study musical theatre and pursue a career on Broadway. And while I still carry the hope that I will one day be able to sing again, my health issues have put that dream on hold for now. Now I feel I am suddenly being called out West, to cultivate my newfound passion for photography and film/tv. It seems so strange to pick up and move across the country, after having tried so desperately to plant roots in New York. But there’s something telling me that I need to do it, even if it means saying goodbye to so many things. I need to go where I am happy, and hope that all the other pieces fall into place.

This is Brooke. We met up in L.A. yesterday and drove to Malibu to take some photos. It was such a blast! She is such a wonderful person and so much fun to be around. It was really interesting getting a glimpse into her life and seeing some of the incredible settings she shoots in. I hope this will be the first of many shoots we will work on together now that I’ve made the decision to move here. This state just seems to have so much more to offer me at this point in my life. Not only does is have a booming entertainment and arts industry, but it also just makes me happy being here. Everything is so much more calm and relaxed, and I’m endlessly soothed and inspired by the warm weather and the incredible landscapes. It’s a great change of pace from NYC.

I wasn’t particularly happy with this shot, but Brooke encouraged me to post it. The shoot just didn’t go as smoothly as planned. My lens finally went kaput as I was setting up, so I ended up using Brooke’s Nikon which was rather confusing. Additionally, it was a bit of a backwards process for me not having a clear idea of the setting, costume and pose I would be working with beforehand. It came out much differently than I had imagined. The original idea for this was decay, though I feel this photo illicits a much more peaceful message. This photo reminds me a bird taking rest in the arms of a tree. What do you see?

Check out Brooke’s picture of me, which I much prefer. It even looked amazing SOOC.

Like a footprint slowly fading,
like a snowman in the heat,
you will leave me,
softly,
gently,
just like
dying in my sleep.

***
Happy Valentines Day! Nothing like a depressing break-up poem & pic to celebrate the holiday!

On a personal note, I am so sick of taking photos in this bed! I even went so far as to attempt this photo lying naked in the snow, just to avoid using the bed again! As you can imagine, it was painfully cold and awkward being naked in the snow. My friend Chris helped me and we barely got any shots as I was screaming in agony the entire time. The worst part is I didn’t like how the pictures came out so I resorted to using the bed again! It was a funny experience none-the-less, so I had to post the result below. L.A. will be a welcome change of weather and photo-scenery.

The day had gone
Unnoticed
For several years.
And the incident
Which we do not speak of
Had been hidden like the innards of
A morgue
Slipped between the pages
Of an old dusty book
That I never cared to open
Again.

You pulled it out
Tonight.
You had saved it
On your computer
So that you wouldn’t forget
That which I couldn’t.

That day:
March 6, 2006

So.

I am
Shocked
That I still have the capacity
To weep
Over some unformed remnant
Of myself
That transpired and was
Abandoned
En route to that
Illusive castle
That I endlessly traverse toward

The incidental one
That visits
Like the ghost of your distant cousin
That you never were that close to in life
But just pops in
Every now and then
For a little visit
To tug on your skirt
While your doing the dishes
Or prod your side
As you watch a movie
About women in aprons
That dimly resemble
Yourself.

This incident
Must be swept
Back under the rug
With the dust-bunnies
And other unconscionable truths
That are too big
To drown out
With the Asprin.

Some things
Are better left
Unnamed.

Some things
Are better left
Forgotten.

Your love
Like suicide
Has its sinister magnetism
That draws me to the edge of the blade
As I’m cutting through the carrots
Or pulls me up dangerously close
To the side of the freeway
Where I can feel the breath of violence
Chase along my skin
As the Big Rigs rush recklessly past

Your hand
Between my thighs
Brings forth that kind of violence
Shaking me
Like a baby
And then filling me up
Like a breathing tube

It leaves me hungry
At night
Gazing into the open refrigerator
Or pacing
Through cold quarters
Like a corpse called up from the crypt

So when you tell me to
Give up
Or give in
Because it isn’t working
Because it never was
We both know
There can be no
Absolution

Like a toy boat
Cast into an angry ocean
We never
Had a choice.

I assault the world
with my whining,
with my ‘work’,
as though
that meant something,
as if
I were
more than a loser
rotting in a rented room.

People are dying
in Haiti,
I’m told.
Some of them
children.

I throw
ten bucks
at the issue,
tell it
to go away,
so I can go back
to whining
about the fact that
you left me
again.

Alone on
a Friday night.
Nothing else for me
but the work.

I taught
my arms
to stop
reaching for you.
my eyes
to stop
searching for you.
my lips
to stop speaking
your name.

but, my heart-

oh
my heart.

You enter
Like a stranger
You take me
Like a thief
I cling in solemn silence
Like a fated autumn leaf

My body
Like a glacier
Your body
Like a storm
Our fingers reaching out for love
That hasn’t yet been born

The sins
Of this transfusion
Like a needle
Like a knife
Will pierce the perfect veil
Upon this newly christened life

And so we move with chaos
And so we flirt with chance
Adrift inside a snow-globe
Of a slow hypnotic trance

Your body
Like a glacier
My body
Like a thorn
Our fingers reaching out to love
That comes to us
Stillborn.