So how can I explain my reaction to Jason Langer's current show at Hartman Gallery featuring --what else?-- black and white nudes? I thought it would be a quick visit but I lingered. It was nice work. Somehow Langer had managed to hit the gaps. This photo in particular made me stop and look a while.
The web doesn't really do it justice. In print the skin glowed like a diamond. And that perfect round breast! Looking at it I felt magnetized by my animal instinct. I became a winter bird pulled south. Is it ridiculous to compare that breast to a high fly ball at the warning track, suspended, not quite ready to complete its fall?