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"Matt...Not
the type of guy you would
like to meet in a dark alley
in the early hours of the
morning...if you didn't know
him of course, A gentle giant
and so utterly adorable and
cuddly even though he can
fart for England and let's
not even mention the snoring,
Takes a pretty mean picture
to when he can be arsed. Has
great taste in red wine also,
Love the guy. A true inspiration
to many" ...
Sasha
Mia
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Temptation |
Through the sash window |
Flesh & Stone |
Behind the camera |
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Down in the swamp |
Harem |
Brian gets lucky |
Procrastination |
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Find some props, anything will do and don’t be afraid to dismantle the contents of other peoples houses to get them
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A bridge too far |
Cold comfort |
The Belfast sink |
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Juicy |
Golfing anecdotes |
Wilderness |
Gold |
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Egyptian Reggae |
Cypher |
Horny |
The quality of loss |
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There are three types of photographer … the scientist the artist and the pervert … The Scientist will always say “you must learn the rules before you break them” the artist will say “what rules?” and the pervert will say “show us yer tits” |
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The hand of Ra |
Dreadnought |
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Avon |
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Five card stud |
Tanning |
Health n safety |
Personal Hygiene |
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Don't talk to me about your camera, my eyes will glaze over. If you're concerned with having the best cameras, lights and all manner of fancy expensive gizmos, you're already on the slippery slope towards mediocrity. |
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Corset |
Tyred |
Statue |
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A seldom acknowledged universal truth is photography is just an excuse to see lots of naked boobies, don't let any photographer fool you otherwise.
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Body canvas |
Lurking |
Lobster confidential |
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Harp stays sharp |
Nietzsche's dream |
On the rocks |
A good idea |
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You are a fraud and a charlatan; you are a faux-tographer of the faux-grotesque. Looking at your work is like staring into a Glasgow branch of Lidl on dole day, over saturated, over the top, thieving up, down, left, right and centre, from porn, from Martin Parr, from the Kays catalogue, from photojournalists and from the playground. It is like a magpies nest at the end of the rutting season, one car crash after another. Gaudy at one end, tacky at the other, it is disposable, tatty, like Danny La Rue at midnight. It’s a picture postcard piss-take from start to end, pirouetting pixies, kitchen nightmares; it’s all gone horribly horribly wrong.
If you could chop arms off your models you would, if you could get them to eat dung you would, you are taking a sideswipe at the world. If the bog and the bum weren’t invented you would have had to invent them, it’s flatulent, it’s slack, it’s like Belgium on a Thursday.
I don’t suppose you care, you got a reaction and are probably no-longer listening, so I will sum up.
Luv your work, hun.
Marcus Green
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Site © Matt Miller 08 - Images © Matt Miller 04 -08 |
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