Kurt Lockwood posts on www.kurtlockwood.com: Here’s my first article in MIXTE that came out last month. I don’t think that they’ll mind me re-printing it here considering it’s in French in the magazine. (But you really should go buy the real glossy mag itself at a nearby Tower Records or other magazine stand!) If you’d like to see some lo-res scans they’re in my Pictures section. But the rest of the magazine is really great and worth a look. (Why is the photography of European fashion magazines so much more visually interesting than American?)
I’m shooting a scene with RANDY WRIGHT later today for JEWEL D’NYLE over at PLATINUM X so I’ll probably post that later today or tomorrow… ENJOY!
Kurt Lockwood writing in MIXTE 09/04: “As a 21st Century male pornstar living high in the Hollywood Hills, my life is not what you would say, er, normal. Given my line of work, I’m used to getting strange, yet sometimes intriguing phone calls. Two days ago was no different.
“Allo, Kurt? Allo? Can you hear me, Kurt?” It was a woman’s voice- light, intelligent, yet inviting and giggly-a sophisticated professional who’d suddenly re-discovered the excitement of her naughty schoolgirl within. I could tell by her accent that she was definitely European, French perhaps?
“Yes, this is Kurt,” I replied.
“Ahhh, allo, Kurt, this is Carole Sabas from MIXTE, a fashion magazine in Paris. How are you?” I was melting. As I heard her French accent dance on her sweetly soft feminine voice I had mad images of “The Last Tango in Paris” running through my head. I was in love. L’amour. I had taken French at the University Of Maryland where, in another lifetime, I had majored in Theatre and English Literature (of course, a lot of good it all did me now in my current fornication occupation, haha.)
And now that I lived in Southern California, it perhaps would have been a bit better if I’d taken Spanish for obvious reasons. But I’m glad I didn’t. You see, I am not your typical American. I LOVE the French, your language, your culture, your sexual open-ness, and of course, your food! I do admit that my initial interest in the French language was originally so that I could understand what they were saying in my favorite Shakespearean plays, Rimbaud, however, remains a favorite. “Apres le Deluge,” indeed! I am like the character of the “Merovingian” in the Matrix movie when he has learned every language on Earth but prefers French because to curse in French is to as he so eloquently put it, “wiping your ass with silk,” haha. But as I listened to Carole’s exquisite female voice dressed in “the language of love” I knew I could not resist her request, no matter the deed.
“Kurt, there eez a photographer named Terry Richardson, he has shot for all of zee beegg European fashion magazines and I would love to try to get you togezzer. I would reelly like it if you were to write to heem and introduce yourself.” Anything, thought I. As long as you keep speaking in those tones of cascading bells, sweet syren. I was dying inside with delight. Who knew that I would have such a weakness! She and I spoke for a bit. Rather she spoke and I daydreamed of Bridget Bardot and the Cote D’azur. We discussed that I had been recently getting a bit of press in the French adult world and she told me it was a dirty little secret that pish posh of Paris read the naughty magazines, too. Ooo la la, haha!
So I checked out Mr. Richardson’s site and was absolutely blown away. The vibrancy, the free energy, the reckless abandon, the beauty. Very punk rock, very in-the-moment. Very sexual. All of the things I have been drawn to my entire life. P.A.S.S.I.O.N. Physical lust. The pursuit of beauty at all it’s terrible costs. Only in these things do I feel most alive. What more can I say? I was compelled to his work, and even in some cases, repelled at the same time, yet always unable to look away like when you drive slowly by a bad car accident, the flashing redlights against the twisted wreckage of blood and glass and broken humanity, again, terrible beauty. It would be an honor, truly, to work this tremendous artist.
So I wrote my letter to Mr. Richardson. Of course, I felt completely embarrassed and awkward and completely unworthy in doing so, I must admit. I’m not one to -as we say in American -“suck my own dick promotion-wise” – so to speak. After all, I might be a pornstar but I’m not a whore, n’est pas? I can’t. The reason? Well, I played guitar for punk rock icon Dee Dee Ramone (in yet another lifetime). And as we toured around in a van, bringing punk rock truth to the adoring punk masses, I learned some important things from him-like humility, respect, the honesty, and the freedom of punk rock. I didn’t want to “sell” myself to anyone because in punk, all men (and women) are created equal. You let the work speak for itself. It’s the passion that matters. It’s the passion that always matters.
So there it is, Terry. I guess the idea was to give you reasons we should shoot? Hmmm I don’t know why, really. I don’t’ know what about me would interest you. A taste for the odd? Hmmmm. Because I’m a pornstar? Maybe. Because I played guitar with Dee Dee Ramone, the father of Punk Rock? Perhaps. Or here’s an idea… because of the passion. Maybe because I see in your art a little dark corner of sexual lust, it has you, it informs your work, and in the line of work for which I have become celebrated I can certainly relate to that, an excellent jump-off point wouldn’t you say? Or perhaps it would further intrigue you to know that in the e-mails discussing this assignment with Carole, she has turned out to be quite the dirty minded little minx, peppering her message with dirty little fantasies about Chiffon panties and Tom Ford Bras. I would love to tell you more… as we shoot… Did I mention how much I love the French?