'Dasha': A Black and White Restrospective

This is 'Dasha' (Daria), a Ukrainian of Russian heritage parents, who

posed me when she was 18, a natural-born model with tremendous

modeling instincts. I found this capture on a chip which was damaged

and which I rescued. It is similar to previously posted color photo but

not identical. Your ratings and critiques are invited and most welcome.

If you rate harshly or very negatively, please submit a helpful and

constructive comment; please share your superior photographic

knowledge to help improve my photography. Thanks! Enjoy! John

Eat your heart out Philip.

 

Buy me some dinners in your restaurant, and I'll let you enlarge some of these files.

 

;~))

 

john

 

John (Crosley)

I said once before that these by technicalit are your best photos. Your comment "eat your heart out.."I do not understand but I think is has a crude meaning. This photo almost always exceeds the portraits catagory on the forum. It is original, the model is perfect and the lighting is excellent. Better m'od than driving your car around shooting in the dark at 800 ASA. מצוין

If you see this, (or if a friend does), please send me an e-mail. My e-mail address is on my biography page. I do not review that e-mail address frequently, so please do not expect a reply the same day, but it is permanent, and if you see it months from now, it still is a standing invitation.

 

The past is the past.

 

Yes, your mother was completely wrong, but she had good reason in her mind as I now see it, since I now have learned more about the way things are done in your country. I always respected her, your father's (and your) decision.

 

john

 

John (Crosley)

NO ! this is absloutly a perfect fashion photo in my vision.,both composition and lighting and ofcourse the subject.

best of wishes-siamak

Thank you for the nice comment.

 

As you may have noted from comments above, Dasha, an old friend since age 17 (platonic only) occupies a place in my heart but I have not seen her since age 19 or so, and would like to re-establish contact.

 

I heard she was in Kyiv from one of my photomodels who was acquainted with her working in theater or dancing.

 

She always was ambitious; and I have best wishes for her. I'd like to find out how she has fared so far. By Ukrainian standards she is expected to be married by now, but she always was a little different. I hope she does well. She has a combination of intelligence and beauty (mixed with a little cunning) that should stand her well.

 

I thought always she's be a knockout for oversize brassiere advertisements.

 

And when I met her and photographed her at 17 (can you find her three photos), I never imagined she had a large bust, never at all.)

 

She was just a fine, interested, and interesting companion to spend some first class time with and teach me about her city - Dnipropetrovsk, where we spent early summer time together, wandering the quay and the streets, supping in fast food places and just enjoying each other's company -- with NO romantic involvement at all.

 

Just one of those things one reads about in books but never understands fully.

 

John (Crosley)

I never (except for bird photos) throw away captures that are in focus (and keep a few out of focus ones too that are not deleted on camera.

 

This was rescued from a bad chip long ago using specialty software, but unreviewed until now. Dasha, as shown above, has her own 'fan club' -- of at least one devoted follower, a friend of mine. ;~))

 

If he were Italian, he'd be biting his first finger knuckle, but he's Chinese, and to borrow Jimmy Carter's phrase he 'lusts in his heart' at least.

 

(reference above)

 

But Dasha ia a long-lost friend, and I hope to re-connect with her at least sometime in the future, and hope this photo's posting will help her remember her beauty at 18, and expect that she now is equally beautiful in a different, slightly more mature way.

 

At 17, when I first photographed her (with clothes on, silly), she was absolutely stunning - you will see her with an upended Coke bottle minutes after I met her in a true 'street' photo in which she was unaware of the circumstances in which she was being photographed and NOT posed.

 

It is a classic, but its taking helped cement our friendship.

 

Best to viewers and fans of Dasha.

 

Times are suddenly very hard in Ukraine, and I wish her and all Ukrainian friends well.

 

We in America have exported our bad economy from America to around the world. We have led the world in exports of unhappiness through the bad regulation of our financial industry -- theirs is not much better, however.

 

We all reap the whirlwind, worldwide.

 

John (Crosley)

I think this picture is beautiful, the light and shadows are soft and the sharpness is good. very nice B & W conversion also

 

Great work.

 

best trgards Tore

You are a true photographic artist.

 

I shoot in many genres, as anyone perusing my portfolio can see.

 

This is just one of them, and from long ago.

 

One critic thinks this is my best genre; I don't.

 

It's just a way to keep my skills versatile.

 

And I enjoy working with models from time to time, especially so in the case of Dasha when she was available and I living in her country, both of which no longer are true at present.

 

Thank you for the kind words; coming from you they are a treat.

 

john

 

John (Crosley)

A thin ice my friend...

I am puzzled by your comment.

 

Have you ever lived in Ukraine or Russia within recent times as an adult?

 

Women graduate secondary school at 16 and are left to fend for themselves or go on to university. Most are expected to lure a man into marriage and immediate child-bearing.

 

Dasha here went to theater school, a sort of quasi-university, when I met her (or rather, she introduced herself by coming to my table, sitting down, striking up a conversation with the obvious intention of walking out with me, which she did, when she was 17 and I was old enough to be her grandpa. Within 15 minutes I took a world class photo of her (see woman and Coke bottle photo in red in front of Coke poster -- that's Dasha not knowing she was being photographed).

 

We never touched. Not ever.

 

Before this photo session, I never saw her in any sort of undress at all. I had no idea she was large busted. The photo session was her idea. We had several over several days. She had lovers -- male lovers and told me her secrets. We were good friends who could share secrets.

 

We had a relationship that was rather intellectual and philosophical, as well as just . . . well . . . friends . . . meaning we'd do stuff together and she'd go home to mom and pop and after school. When we'd met, the first year I knew her for the ten or so days we knew each other, then we each looked forward to our walks and talks down the quayside of the Dnieper River, our sometimes dashes through thunderstorms, we sometimes argued, even fought, on one or more times she tried to take monetary advantage of me in the most little ways I disapproved, and I rebuffed that, because . . . well people just don't do that and be my friend too . . . and eventually we argued and I left for Odessa.

 

But I had a heck of a good time with her, and next time I came to her city, I was in contact with her, and we again were friends and only friends and never were anything but. . . .and that lasted several years.

 

At one time a female assistant from Moscow and I were planning on 'free' tickets (vouchers) to fly to Buenos Aires to photograph, and we invited Dasha along (with my assistant, a rather sane and brilliant young woman as escort for Dasha, and we met with momma and poppa who were rather nice. (after these photos were taken).

 

But momma and poppa feared I would be a white slaver and send there daughter to Saudi Arabia, take her passport away and turn her into a life of prostitution.

 

Quelle Horreure!

 

My God!

 

I had given Dasha money to buy a passport and get things, and never saw her again.

 

I want her to know that all is forgiven; she can't be responsible for her parents prejudices and fears (in Ukraine such things do happen with some frequency, and young women are sometimes 'groomed' by people of ill will, and how could they know of my more pure heart toward their daughter?).

 

My life then (and even later) has been populated by many younger models and younger women (from agencies and otherwise), and in my personal life older women want nothing to do with me, despite my advancing age.

 

It's not that I don't want anything to do with them; it's the other way around. When I was 40 my girlfriend was in her mid to late '50s, and she was great, but as an American she turned flakey though we had a wonderful relationship and she just skipped out (to her everlasting regret).

 

So I turned Eastward, and never regretted it.

 

My next girlfriends were Russian and after two who were semi-satisfactory, I married (after three years of going together) Masha, then 29, with a daughter and with her father's very, very enthusiastic blessing, as I had lived at their family's household with poppa and momma and knew the whole extended family thoroughly; they had become my family.

 

While I got to know this woman of extraordinary beauty (really, Russian men swiveled when they walked by and you know what they see ordinarily on the streets), and a probable 200 IQ,, we lived with her parents, I commuted from the US, then we lived in Moscow and sometimes in Thailand where she could get a visa -- all with her young daughter.

 

In 2000, after marriage a couple of months, pipes in Home Depot fell on her head and x-rays revealed terminal brain cancer.

 

Although the story is long, she (and I) were deeply in love, and that terminated our marriage. (there's much more to say, but not here, not now).

 

I'm even now much more old, and still my girlfriend is not past 30, but I don't reveal who it is, and never will; she chose me, and not I her, but she's been steadiness and love in my life.

 

I don't go hunting for young women; they come to me, and NEVER for money -- not the keepers -- and if I see $$$ in their eyes, I send them away.

 

Women in Ukraine get very old very fast, and also lose their figures very, very, very fast as age 30 to 35 seems to be a license to eat, eat, eat and not eat well.

 

Lots of potatoes and fat.

 

The women who sell nuts have a new nut from their burlap bags every five or ten minutes and the result is the nut seller women all are ENORMOUS.

 

The Moscow Times once asked the rhetorical question (could be asked in Kyiv too), 'where are all the older Russian babes on the Moscow Metro. (In other words, all the young women are stunners, but when they turn 30, where do they go?

 

The truth was they mostly ate themselves into middle age prematurely and got lots of spread, while those who came to America remained beautiful by eating right and going to the spa while not having to work six days a week, 12 hours a day and not then enduring so much financial pressure just to stay alive.

 

Russian men typically (Ukraine men too) die at 55 to 57 and a guy like me (older) with almost no gray hair is a complete anomaly.

 

I met a women at a hotel desk tonight, and told her my age.

 

She's an American black woman of about my age and looking like a great grandma.

 

She told me 'you look no older than 40'.

 

I thanked her profusely.

 

When I have a haircut and clean up, I look a lot younger than my chronological age . . . . though I am not thin at all.

 

And women, more than men, tend to trade down in looks, for a man who is 'interesting'. They don't want a man who is equally as good looking as they.

 

(Not all women, but some of the most beautiful and interesting . . . . as my life has been populated by the world's brightest and most beautiful women, and generally I just don't play around, which also is highly valued. -- especially in Ukraine.

 

'Thin ice?'

 

I think not.

 

I have been very clear in these pages about my intentions, ages and relationships.

 

I don't chase women ever.

 

Not ever.

 

Nor do I groom women.

 

I only will go with a women who chases me.

 

Period.

 

It's just safer that way and avoids that 'thin ice'. (I also check documents, just to be sure, when photographing or making friends, to know all boundaries ,., .)

 

I've lived a good deal of the last ten years in Russia and Ukraine and have assimilated some of the Russian culture or at least respect it.

 

I also respect American culture, and when in in America follow American norms.

 

(but don't date in America)

 

John (Crosley)

I am sure it would be nice to read all the above comments, but I can't as my time is very limited. I like your thinking before taking this image. Good framing.

The reading is optional.

 

Can you imagine I spent many happy (and some not so happy) times with Dasha?

 

She is quite complex; much more so than the ordinary person, which suited me just fine; as complexity never scared me.

 

I watched her grow over a period of several years, and only this particular day (or the day before) was I even aware she had large breasts, when she asked to model (she needed money and the modeling experience). The 'physical part' was outside our mutual experience.

 

Glad you like it.

 

John (Crosley)

Someone once said, half jokingly, that mens' fantasies are for the mind of a child in the body of a woman. I don't agree of course. Here we have a very youthful face in the ripe body. And it is attractive to say the least. I want to compliment you on the backstories you tell, John. Behind ever photo there is something interesting for you in the how and why. Be assured that I find it equally interesting. I am saying that you invest yourself in your subject matter. A quality that I try for in my people shots. I mean I 'love' my subjects. To be displassionate is not in my repertoire. Nor yours from what I can see. I wish you well. My father was Ukranian, but I feel no ties to that part of the world. I sorrow for its people though as they get jerked around a lot in that part of the world....Aloha from a quiet Saturday morning on Oahu..gs

Hi Gary,

 

I accept your various compliments - with gusto and great gladness.

 

About five and a half years ago, virtually no one in the world had an inkling of who I was, and even so, no one really cared, except a very select few -- but those who did, well . . . they KNEW.

 

And of those who did 'know' when my photos which began 'taking off', and they did not even know I once had been a photographer, they just 'took it in stride' as they knew that was within my capabilities (which both surprised and gladdened me . . . at once, as they truly did understand me. But they were a very select few.

 

'Fantasies' are in all of us.

 

And in her own way, Dasha is the embodiment of a 'fantasy' as the image of a beautiful female late adolescent/young woman with full figure, but that is not quite how I experienced her as I met her.

 

As noted above, she had set out to 'pick me up' -- yes, she set out to 'pick me up' by intentionally sitting near me in a fast food restaurant in Dnepropetrovsk, Ukraine, as I sat there with my Coke Lite and hamburger, having spied my pro quality cameras on the table, my arm cautiously (and uncomfortably) through the straps for safety, as I stopped briefly from 'street shooting' in her home town, a 'steel mill town' that once famously manufactured nuclear missiles, Soviet bombers and other aircraft -- once a closed city known to astonishingly few Westerners.

 

She started conversation, which was welcome - she turned out to be fabulously interesting, (and also complex) which suited me and my intelligence - we were intellectually well matched despite age difference. And neither of us had any 'romantic' interests in the other - if we spent days together having fun we had our other 'entertainment' at other times.

 

Over time Dasha had her boyfriend(s) and sometimes told me about them, and we had good conversation.

 

I once later was on blocked traffic in the West of the Ukraine on a major highway from Poland (the highway was shut off completely for a very long time - weeks or months at least,) and I was lost and could not find the far, far away bypass which was patrolled by corrupt militia who wanted bribes to pass. I was trapped, with no money should the militia stop me, which was a certainty, and demand a bribe.

 

A Ukrainian native came to my assistance, called by mobile phone from far away. We drove through the Carpathian mountains aided by a very, very, very detailed map, higher, higher, higher, higher and higher, over an ultra wide road made of stone, absolutely level from side to side as it climbed even higher and higher and steadily so with surface stones so large they made it impossible to travel in an ordinary sedan more than 12-15 miles per hour at the fastest.

 

Later, I understood that the most likely explanation for that very improbable huge, isolated road over the very old but high mountains - with its enormous width and its amazingly study construction, but inhospitable stone surface, was in fact perfect for transporting mobile missiles from the Soviet Union (Ukraine was once part of the heart of the Soviet Union) to Poland (a Satellite country) and on towards a possible invasion of the West.

 

I don't know if I'm correct, and it has only historical significance now, just like the 'Great Wall of China, was a defensive/offensive installation. Of course it was known to almost nobody (except certainly the CIA), and certainly not prominent - just an amazing stone road over the mountains in nowhere, now used a little by villagers, but most difficult to drive on because of its roughness, but in 400 to 500 years, it'll probably still be there.

 

Against that background, Dasha had grown up, daughter of a driver who drove for someone who some little had power or money.

 

Her father lusted all his life for his own car, but had not gained one, and when I finally met him seemed to have no prospects for ever owning one, but he and his wife seemed genuine and sincere people - and for all appearances very good parents -- especially momma, who exacted promises about Dasha's well being, which she received and which were not breached.

 

Dasha earlier was a dance student at an academy, at 17, one year graduated from secondary school (high school) and fending for herself.

 

Dnepropetrovsk has a number of institutions of higher education, including a world class mining school as much of Ukraine is devoted to mining - a rich natural resource.

 

I know usually within 10 minutes of meeting someone and talking to them. their approximate intelligence level, and it is probably true that Dasha is somewhat equal to or just below MENSA level -- not that that means anything significant, except that in my estimation Dasha is very, very bright and NOBODY is going to take advantage of Dasha, without amazing cunning, unless she consents.

 

She is extraordinarily clever, as any Ukrainian woman with ambitions must be, but although from time to time she would try to take little financial advantages of me as we came to know each other (if I would give her money to take a cheap taxi home, she would delay and take a jitney bus home keeping the difference, which to me then was a form of cheating, since I was not 'paying' or 'going to pay' her for anything except a ride home and not 'spending money'.)

 

I did not and still do not base any kind of 'relationship' or 'friendship' with any female woman based on her expecting to receive anything for my company other than my company -- it's that simple.

 

(And in America it means that sometimes I can be quite lonely, but in Ukraine the opposite is true.)

 

And from time to time, if she did such behavior (infrequently) we did quarrel about that, and the first time, it led to my saying 'goodbye' and just walking away (perhaps forever, I remember thinking as I left her on a city street the end of our first meeting.

 

I had perceived too much 'greed', was not then so well acquainted with the extent of Ukrainian poverty. I did not know that if there were two sisters in a family there might be one pretty sweater or dress and the sisters would share it, or a mother and a daughter might do the same thing with the only 'pretty' garment.

 

I was naive because the women seemed to 'dress so well'. I did not then understand, and most Westerners would not understand the lengths to which the women there will to go show their attractiveness despite sometimes crushing poverty.

 

My father was not rich -- a skilled laborer - but at times he had a Mercedes, a Porsche and numerous other cars and even as a youth we had a model A Ford in the garage for amusement for a while. (The exotic cars were very old, however, and had no real value, but he appreciated them for their 'quality', and the Porsche was one of the first 1,000 ever made, I have found out. It was sold for scrap after its crankshaft broke and its engine blew as I drove it fast in about 1967-68 in rural Oregon near Idaho in bitter cold and snow.

 

I met with Dasha's momma and poppa when I asked with my assistant, a female Muscovite, that Dasha accompany us (on free 'mileage' tickets) to Argentina, which Dasha wanted very much to do, but there is an extensive 'back story' to this 'back story' much of the details of which I have just learned.

 

I found it interesting and worth repeating here.

 

I did not know then 'white slave traders' spend substantial time 'grooming' young women from Ukraine into becoming prostitutes and exporting them to other countries, taking away their passports at their destinations for alleged 'infractions' and then taking away all their 'earnings' with so-called 'fines' for this or that invented claim or just beating them and stealing them - even raping them.

 

Worse, destination countries treat such women as criminals, and even WORSE, according to the study I just finished (very professionally done, but five or six year old and thus somewhat out of date since the Ukraine government has changed), the Ukraine government had no money to repatriate its young women who were trapped abroad by 'white slavers' and had escaped or tried to escape.

 

Some went to Russia, a neighbor, many to Arab or Arab speaking countries, others to Western Europe and other places afar.

 

I had understood that in countries such as Netherlands and Germany where prostitution is legal and other Western European countries that many Eastern European women worked as prostitutes, but in the late '90s and early 2000s when the study was written and researched I was not aware so many of them were 'enslaved' and deceived into becoming prostitutes or (if they agreed to the profession) had been greatly misled about their prospects, and often had their earnings literally stolen by white slavers/pimps and/or corruption.

 

Moreover, even when caught and deported home by destination countries, the study noted, some countries expelling the women, sent them by train or bus, and along the way, they were intercepted by cohorts of corrupt officials, police. or militia who expelled them, or they were 'found' and re-enslaved by other white slavers on the route home, and often never did make it home -- ending up once again as prostitutes abroad.

 

Worse, they were not welcomed, even by family, at home in most situations, if they did make it home.

 

So, that is the 'back story' I have just learned to 'Dasha's and her parents' own 'back story'.

 

Dasha's momma and poppa somehow suspected I was a 'white slaver' with some sort of clever deception, and would take away Dasha's passport if Dasha went with me and my female assistant to Buenos Aires on mileage tickets, and Dasha would never return.

 

Of course they were wrong.

 

Although I have intuited that such things happened of course to some young women, for me to be mistaken for a white slaver made me aghast when I learned how studied the white slavers were, and how easily one who did not know me could make the mistake, even with my extensive photo

Thanks for the interesting comments. It took me long enough to get to them, John, but there is a lot to think about in your stories of the Ukraine. I never knew my grandfather when he came to Boston around 1910 along with my father. They were Jews living in the city of Zhitomir. I do not know how Zhitomir compares with Kiev. I imagine it to be like Pittsburgh is to Philadelphia. My father was an early draft evader when he was here just in time for WW I draft. He spent the war in a federal confinement, that is about all I know. I have read that conscription in the Tzarist army was for over ten years, and tough on religious minorities living in the Pale of Settlement. He would have gone to a camp outside of Boston infamous for its bad flu outbreak. And I would not be here or typing this,,,funny side line...

 

Since I have some ethnic Ukrainian in me, along with some Austrian, I think I may be housing a tug of war between a Dostoevskyish hedonist unashamed to sing in the subway etc, knee dancer and sometime vodka drinker and a Prussian tight assed petty rural governmnent official. I like the idea of fellowship that the country people sound like they have a lot of with us U,S,ers... Be that as it may,anyone who shoots anything to just get belt notches or even sales is not me. Happily, I can look for deeper associations. And I hope that never stops much as I get into my seventies. Aloha, Gerry S.

Your caption nailed it.

 

For me 'people photography' is in itself an 'act of love' (for humankind) that is not always rewarded, until one reviews the better captures, and they're coming more frequently.

 

Latest: LA's famed Venice Beach yesterday and City Walk of Universal City and then South Central this afternoon, then soon to Ukraine again.

 

I cannot recall having been to Zhitomir, but soon, I'll have been in every major city, though few are much to write about; Ukraine has its strength in industry and mining; and if you've ever been to the Saar, and tried to compare it to either France or Germany (with its coal and darkness and bleakness) you'd understand it's hard to keep things fresh looking in industrial towns/cities.

 

Dnepropetrovsk, where i often visited and camped is trying hard to keep current, and often succeed (this photo taken there in an apartment with a hand-held camera, with most shots too shaky to be processed.

 

I am affected greatly by learning that my recounted history/sociology/tales of life in Ukraine are read and enjoyed by you.

 

And bless the Ukrainians, most love the USA, much like the neighboring Poles, for whom the the State Departments often refers as the 51st State (and who have kept a very, very nice country after the Communist rule -- orderly, nicely kept, no trash, and pretty well run. Someday, if bickering stops, Ukraine may get there. Kyiv has a leg up on that, as it seems to be run OK - not wonderfully, but OK.

 

Best to you Gary.

 

Aloha,

 

john

 

John (Crosley)

 

 

Because I am Cuban and know in my flesh the pain and suffering of oppression I ralate to your expressions and way of communicating. I love this gorgeous image of a natural model!  Warm regards from Miami.

Well Done!

Just the sight of Dasha is enough to make any male's (Cuban or not) passions arise, I think, right?

Thanks for a kind comment.

john

John (Crosley)

'Well Done' is more than good enough for me.

Thank you so much.

john

John (Crosley)