|Here are all of the Fashion Photography Daily Deviations I've set as a CV|
|Here are all of the Fashion Photography Daily Deviations I've set as a CV|
Fashion Photography CV
Send me your DD suggestions! You can check out my guidelines here
My photos are not stock, please do not use them in photo manipulations or to show how your action works, etc. If you would like to use my photo for a drawing, please note me or comment on the photo!
For booking, licensing, and other inquiries, email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
Or use the contact form on my website: www.ashleyholloway.com
Things I Like
Favorite Artists: Boo George, Tim Walker, Arthur Elgort, Carter Smith, Sebastian Kim, Julia Margaret Cameron, John William Waterhouse, Will Cotton, Marta Bevacqua, Vivienne Mok, Victoria Zeoli, Daniela Majic, Kaylin Amabile, Miss Kika, Bella Kotak, and the list goes on...
Favorite Movies: Jurassic Park series (every single one, duh), Enchanted, Breakfast at Tiffany's, The Last Unicorn, The Labyrinth, Alice in Wonderland, The Princess Bride, The Secret Garden, Roman Holiday, You've Got Mail, 27
Dresses, Harry Potter , Pride and Prejudice, Star Wars
Favorite TV Shows: Parks and Rec, Longmire, Riverdale, Supernatural, Grimm, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stranger Things, Gilmore Girls, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Friends, Frasier, Mad Men
Favorite Singers/Bands: Queen, The Hush Sound, Train, The Lumineers, Foreigner, Matt Nathanson, Vance Joy, Billy Joel, Eric Church, Taylor Swift, Counting Crows, Gold Motel, Michael McArthur, Frank Sinatra, Michael Buble
Favorite Writers: Anne McCaffrey, Robin McKinley, Michael Crichton, J.K. Rowling, Patricia C. Wrede, Beth Harbison, Jane Yolen, Dan Brown, L.M. Montgomery, Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child
Interests: Cats, Fashion, photography, watercolors, vintage, plants, jackalopes, birds, reading, gardening, classic rock, poetry, mac & cheese, dinosaurs, old movies, breakfast food, cooking
To the BrideToday you are a queen; gracious-figure
whose presence is watched
like a moon invading midday sun.
No sleep now, all are awake curious
as your elegance eclipses.
The inhales of reverence held
to the expression of your love.
Today each footstep chimes with the hour.
You glide with baby's-breath clinched
between your palms; tight with impatience.
Eyes focused only ahead
as his face dawns with light.
Today the sun rips through glass
as if the window was paper. Pearls roll
down cheeks; silence only broken
in the exchange of promises.
The drums of applause beat
to the rhythm of love; to your love.
Dusk is calling.
When the sun sets, your silver bands
interlock and you become stars;
illuminated evermore in the sky.
Mediterranean breeze warmed my dreams;
cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets.
Tobacco smoulders and I remember-
his name was Cristian Rosas.
Sunset passed. Spirits poured
European measures- unlike tight English twenty-five mil,
relieving the throbs of snow white turned red queen.
The glow led our intoxicated journey. Sambuca fused.
We invaded the dance floor.
blue, red, green
green merged with smiles.
Freedom spun me to his arms.
Giggles blushed sunburn. Cristian Rosas
whispered his name.
Fingers caressed my shoulder;
pulses shot down my back.
music people blurred
into echoes. His words
a treat richer than coffee. Citrus
perfume infused the heat; hunger took control.
Honey seeped into locked lips.
His wink broke the spell.
Notes flew off key. Samba swayed
a desperate grind of genitals, disgust
erupted in my throat. Honey
backhand met cheek.
On patio furniture I sucked cigarettes.
Cappuccino froth sank with my lust
OverworkedWe set aside a time, one hour for a meeting;
our search for a room hindered by our search
for the solution.
Can we set aside a day
for creation and have a canvas we can all paint on
at the same time in the same room
and order ice cream or chip-shop chips
whilst we make our master design?
Then do you think we can turn our idea
into a real life innovation?
Or do we continue to scavenge old buildings
for neglected conference rooms once
booked by occupants no longer present. Do
we panic about the problem and confirm
we are in shit before we've truly understood
the colour, depth, and complexity of the shit?
Do you think we could stick to our plans and
do what we say we will do when we do it? We
go home on time and drink gin-and-tonic in
a local beer garden, enjoying the warm sun instead
of an overheated, over-exhausted office.
The Cat BossI know he lurks;
alert eyes behind the sofa
Suddenly a paw torturing
these feet, yanking at
Crawling the pond edge
musing perhaps how cold
it might be, the creature
Pats delicate yet
Springs back in terror;
He won't be soaked today.
Stolen comfort, he
Places himself in prime
Spot- my chair
my chair. Only
the shake shake of biscuits
allow his ginger tail to bob
into the kitchen
Begrudgingly, he plants
his purr-box up against
my side. The gentle scratch
behind his ear reminds
us both, he's always
St Anne's ReelWe danced together, you and I, when the night was young. Jigs followed reels, and the whole hall moved to our music.
Strangers and old friends, it made no difference, then. We watched children and old men alike as they paused on the threshold, uncertain. We watched them take those first stumbling steps, faces creasing into smiles, and then they were whirled away into the dance.
Feet stamped in time, hands clapped, and skirts spun open as bright and fleeting as flowers carried on the wind. Together, we urged them on, faster and faster, until you were a blur across my strings.
The years have moved on though, and that floor is empty now. You are gone I know not where, and I lie alone in the dark, the sheen of my varnish turned dull with age. Yet some things can never fade.
When the winter wind blows in from the sea, it still carries the memory of songs and laughter. From some other friendly shore, or from the ghosts of ships long gone, the music lives on; and footsteps passing by m
Milking It “Well now, this is inconvenient for both of us.” The brownie sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor across from Nicki. “We both know what will happen to you if I return empty handed; but I know what will happen to me – and believe me when I say you’re the lucky one.”
Nicki blinked slowly. The world was blinding, fuzzy, and somehow upside down.
“Look; my own self-interest aside for the moment, you’ve always been such a good provider. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume for the moment that there’s some exceptional reason for tonight’s lapse?”
Ah, that was it. Events of the past few hours returned wrapped in a bundle of nausea. She shut her eyes and replied, slurring her words across the stone tiles of the kitchen floor. “Graduation… After-party…”
Moonlight Meeting We stumbled from the dockside pub, laughter and the final bell ringing in our ears. She held my hand as if the world was ending, and tugged me across the road to the promenade. One night only, she’d told me much much earlier, when the line of empty glasses stood at one and a half. And boy was I going to make the most of that night.
A light fog had rolled in off the sea, just enough to blur the lights of the pier and cast a halo round the moon as it sank towards the waves. In the damp air, her hair moulded to the curves of her face, a trail leading from cheek to full lips that tasted of sea spray and worlds unexplored.
A taxi slowed as it passed us, the driver hopeful, but I never looked up. Her deep dark eyes held me ensnared, drowning in the sorrow held back below the surface.
“Shh,” she said, holding a finger to my lips, though I’d said nothing. “The moon is bright; the ni
FFM29 2017 - Swans in the Evening Sunlight sparkled on the river as two sisters walked together along the bank. Rings shone bright on all their fingers, and jewels gleamed in their hair; fairest of all though, was little Betty’s golden necklace. A gift from her sweet William.
It glittered still, as she slipped and stumbled, her sister’s hand upon her back. Her dress, billowing around her in the river, formed the image of a swan.
The feast had already begun when a strange bard entered. He brought with him a harpist; a lady, cloaked and hooded, bearing a bone white harp strung with golden strings. Tears streamed down William’s face as the harp began to sing alone, a song of death and drowning.
Eyes turned from little Betty’s empty place, to ashen Margaret sat beside. Her chair fell back, and the elder sister fainted.
The song ended in silence; bard an
Brittlesparrow: wings half-extended
head back, beak open
encased in clay, a snapshot
sudden as a nuclear shadow
sparrow trembles inside
Coffee and Chapstickanother eight AM Saturday
his breathing too fast next to me
my quilt black, his grey
sunlight pinstripes through blinds
Mandarin murmurs from another apartment
highway traffic five storeys down
water around the bathroom light
a night’s worth of droplets in the sink
I dreamed the ceiling flooded
muted garlic in the scrubbed kitchen
oily styrofoam on the counter by his phone
blue numbers on the new microwave
if I smoked I’d lean over the balcony rail
breathe sunshine, exhaust, gum tree pollen
instead I scrape chapstick from the tube
and lift my fingers to my lips
Fireweednever know who saw each other first in this garden of faces
your voice windtossed among a drumbeat ode to the ancients
but you smirk the first time you catch me looking
I watch your hands tap rhythms that dissolve into air
my feet rooted into soil that gives no water, no life
time and again you pass me by, seeing, never pausing
we, a Venn diagram, the overlap of two social circles
maps direct me home but you become my magnetic north
tattooed points on your chest draw me in deeper
you wind around my body like vines up sandpaper walls
fireweed grows best on scorched skin and frozen lands
in this city where your family sought shelter and I have only just arrived
we roam streets lit by wanderlust, cling tight in brick alleys
I breathe your pollen and laugh into your neck when people stare
your smirk becomes a smile, a confession, a leitmotif plea
you, an autumn bloom, unfolding in my hands
Lunar EclipseObserve the birds that soar so high
Their wings that stir in endless flight
Like vibrant sails become aflame
And lit below by beacons bright
The moon rusts red in darkened skies
Absorbs the glow of midnight light
A blood moon is too cruel a name
Let rest the stars and sleep tonight
Oh love, stay here and rest with me
Oh love, sleep calm and rest tonight
To Someone You Eat Pizza WithLike when someone you haven’t seen in months doesn’t notice how much weight you’ve lost and emptiness tastes so much better than food for a few days after.
When shoulders that can hold up the world seem somehow less than delicate wrists with a child’s watch, hanging loose on bones that still bear the never-quite-healed cracks of too many fractures and the memory of jeans that slid over narrow hips and the gap between waistband and concave stomach.
When you laugh about how sweet you take your coffee because you used to count it as food, the only calories you will allow yourself today, sixteen in each spoonful of sugar, and the habit never totally left, even after you started eating solid things again.
Standing in front of the mirror, breathing in, trying not to long for xylophone ribs and telling yourself over and over that you shouldn’t miss the spikes and troughs of skin stretched over skeleton.
Repeating the mantra it is better to be healthy and
December's Apologydecember fades
she loosens her grip
and raises her hand
in a cold goodbye
and it falls
like blood pressure
a flurry, a blanket
to cling to her bones
december encircles his body
with pale brittle arms
with the weight of the weightless
the weight of his words
like a stone
or an arrow
hangs in the air
Do I Have To Beg For Your Pardon (A Cento)there'll be no more curtains on
your windows, no pictures on your
walls: we have feet and wish
for wings. we’ll talk
about it when the morning comes - you'll wake
the fish, you'll scare the birds. you ask me
what it’s all about, what is it that I had
to be before you let
the stranger in. we are
meat, we are spirit, we'll waltz
to the counter with our pockets full
of american money, to shine and comply
just like a boy of nineteen would
do. and when the band starts to play lead me
onto the dancefloor - ça me fait tant
plaisir - and wake the devil. so
what if the sky is on fire? someone's lost out
in the storm and green light says
i'm going if another damn day goes
by and the sun is going down. no
comfort in naked shadows, no warmth
when evening falls. light your
lamp and hold it high and we can
talk about it when the morning comes.
All Mediums Contest: One WordContest Announcement
I am pleased to announce another all mediums contest projecteducate is hosting for the coming month. Please carefully read all the details below to find out how to enter!
We often find that a piece of art can be described with one word, one word that encapsulates everything about it. For this contest, we'd like to challenge you to approach this notion in the reverse order. We'd like you to pick one word, and create a piece of art around that word. Pick the word first, then decide what you could create to turn that word into an entire piece of art.
We will absolutely favor those who choose descriptive or symbolic words (i.e: nefarious, serendipity, ethereal, iridescent, epiphany, etc) and create a whole piece around that word rather than more literal cases like painting a dog and using the word "dog" or writing a poem about loss and using the word "loss". The more th
15 Under 15 Feature 100!!!I can't believe we've hit 100 15 under 15 features! I hope you have enjoyed them as much as I have enjoyed creating them over the last couple of years. I hope I've managed to introduce you to some new art and even better some new artists! I thought it might be cool, if you're up to the challenge, to make your own 15 under 15 features in celebration! If you get some time, leave a comment below linking your own and I'll check them out
15 Under 15
15 Under 15 is a weekly feature by Queen-Kitty showcasing 15 wonderful but under-appreciated works of art with under 15 favorites. 15 under 15 doesn't focus on medium or theme, it is simply a showcasing of favorited art of interest from the week.