Fantasy shoot: Dylan Rosser
This is connected to one of my Thanksgiving meditations: “I am maintaining or improving, as well as learning to see and appreciate, the beauty in me that so many others already exalt, and I am humbly luxuriating in that Gift.” We need inspiration to persevere consistently enough to attain our goals, and visualizing the desired result is proven to facilitate its realization.
I know it will sound completely hysterical or melodramatic, but Dylan Rosser‘s work makes my eyes glaze with tears. When you hear people say something akin to, “The human body is the most beautiful machine in the universe,” they must have something like his photography in mind when they say it. Perhaps I am too much of a Toreador (or perhaps it actually is a wonderful suffering that I should enjoy indulging), but agonizing over his images is making me want to concentrate deeply, sleep and eat regularly, and exercise intensely. And isn’t that an expression of something that goes far beyond the superficial motive of looking a certain way? To me it means that I yearn to take care of myself, and that reaching a high level of fitness is a fortunate byproduct of doing so.
Is male beauty only skin deep? The Classical Greeks thought the honing of the body through sport also improved the heart, mind, and soul of the boy in question. The work ethic and commitment needed to achieve prowess and skill, along with the humility youths were expected to express, married external and internal excellence into the ideal we still fantasize about 2,500 years later: The intelligent, kind, beautiful lover. Is it fair to be dismissive and to presume that athletic male beauty MUST equate to something simple, crude, or unrefined? I have often reviled athletes, because they bullied me severely from the time I was six until I was 24 (that is, 24 for the first time). I have often lumped athletic men into the “dumb jock” category, even though I know too many men whose external beauty grows out of a commitment to other forms of excellence for me to reasonably accept this mean cliché. I want to believe that Dylan Rosser’s models are the kindest, smartest, and most enlightened men on the planet. Yes. They must be (even if they’re not). But that is my privilege as the viewer: I can transform these “objects” into anything I want. And I don’t want them to be “just” sex machines. I want them to be artists/scientists and philosophers, too. I want their physical bodies to be the tangible expression of the hearts I am giving them, whether they have them or not.
But I’m a greedy bitch like that.